#but she also has people - men - who love and support her..........disobedience | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gayoperatorgunclub · 4 years

Note

For the ultimate ship meme, Lion and Doc? I'm sorry, I'm LionDoc trash-

it’s all good!! whenever someone sends in an ask, i get an excuse to talk/write about one of my interests! really, it makes me so happy to be able to create content that people hopefully enjoy!! 💝💝💝

General:

How long will they last? - until the end of time, babey

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - it was love at first sight but then they started talking i do think it was some form of ~interest~ in one another at first sight, but then all that drama and lack of communication happened so they didn’t really allow themselves to even dream about the possibility of a relationship. HOWEVER! once lion joined rainbow and they talked their shit out like people who know how to cope, there was a period of a few months that is now referred to as The Four Months of Pining™, during which glaz did a lot of paintings where the subject (who usually bears an uncanny resemblance to doc or lion) is staring at something (or someone) longingly. he calls it his french period. when they finally get together, a LOT of money changes hands. and goes straight into sledge’s pocket (he was the only one who bet that it would take them this long). diana gets a brand new collar (handmade), bed (handmade), dish (handmade), and many new toys (some handmade, some store-bought. sledge’s craftsmanship can only get him so far)

How was their first kiss? - you know how the french are supposed to be super suave and confident??? and how gay people are trying their hardest but they’re just Not Good at things????? (i know these are stereotypes but stay with me). well, with their 5/8 french blood (i hc one of doc’s parents is fully algerian while the other is half french, half algerian), and their 4/4 gay blood, they have an 81.25% chance of success in matters of the heart. sadly, that 18.75% chance of failure came into play during this situation. picture it. doc and lion. romantic, home-cooked dinner. le festin is playing in the background. they’re holding hands over the table. suddenly, doc’s cat goes into labour. all hell breaks loose. lion is getting flashbacks to his son’s birth, so now he’s hyperventilating. doc carries him to the couch and turns on the fan so he can cool off and catch his breath, before carefully moving his cat, Rayie (arabic for gorgeous, pronounced rye-ah) to the living room in his handmade Birthing Box, then grabs a pile of blankets and a heat lamp and situates himself on the ground nearby so he can help her if she needs it. once the kittens are born (they’re twins!! Sadiqi is the boy, and Amirti is the girl!!!) doc makes sure they’re nice and warm and that Rayie is recovering, and gives her pets while she cleans her babies. once the happy family is all settled in for the night, doc walks over to the couch and just. lays down on top of lion. once he’s gotten over the adrenaline of the birth, he takes lion’s face in his hands and says “promise me you’ll be more calm if we ever decide to have kids” and gives him a BIG smooch while lion’s just short-circuiting like “does he know i have a son???? did i forget to mention my son?????? also what about these kittens??? are they not sufficiently childish to count as children????? DOES HE WANT KIDS????? does he want to marry me??????? wait why is he getting so clo-”

Wedding:

Who proposed? - lion. it was the day of their two year anniversary (yes i AM saying they got together the august after outbreak don’t @ me) and they were on vacation at doc’s family’s Secret Beach House. they were vibing on the balcony, watching the sunset, when lion suddenly clears his throat. doc turns to look at him and finds his boyfriend down on one knee, looking like he might flee to Bermuda. he’s reaching for something in his pocket. doc starts laughing. lion, completely misunderstanding his reaction, flushes and stammers out an apology. doc sees this, and immediately stops, though he’s still smiling gleefully as he catches lion by the biceps, then reaches into his own pocket and pulls the ring he was going to give olivier. they exchange rings, giggling like little kids, and spend the rest of the night making out on whatever surfaces are available.

Who is the best man/men? - for lion? montagne. (his son is the ring bearer and doc’s niece is the flower girl). for doc? rook. he’s so happy he gets to participate in his dad’s wedding

Who is the bride’s maid(s)? - for lion: finka. for doc: twitch

Who did the most planning? - both of them!! do you know how hard they worked to ensure the ceremony was valid in the eyes of both of their religions

Who stressed the most? - s e e a b o v e

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - lion’s parents. they tried to call him during the reception but doc’s grandma grabbed his phone and started cussing them out, talking about dishonor and how they tried to disown him so they’re not his parents anymore, and besides, his new family absolutely adores him, so really, it’s their loss. once she hangs up, she pulls lion into a hug and he calls her his favorite, if only, grand-mère

Sex:

Who is on top? - who’s topping? lion. but sometimes doc gets bitchy so he gets to set the pace if you know what i mean

Who is the one to instigate things? - they are both lowkey horny 24/7 so 👀👀👀

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now (only because they do get to see each other fairly often. if one goes on a long mission without the other, once they get back they will bump it up to a 10 real quick)

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - idk long enough ig. maybe longer if someone feels they’ve been left ~unsatisfied~ they might go a few more rounds ;))

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - ok it depends on what they’re doing but usually it’s one or two each, but on ~special~ occasions it’s either doc getting edged and denied for hours, OR doc getting forced to come over and over again until he’s begging for something, whether it be more or a goddamn break even he isn’t really sure. either way he’s crying and lion is consistently asking if he needs to safeword and otherwise checking in because they may like it rough but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - unless someone’s hormones and organs get fucked, zero

How many children will they adopt? - probably none?? idk they’ve already got lion’s son and they’re both busy enough with work so

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - NEITHER!!!!! DISGUSTANG!!!!!!!!!

Who is the stricter parent? - god i wanna say both. like lion and his attachment to rules??? but doc and his Mom Friend energy????? but ig lion BUT HE’S NOT STRICT TO THE POINT HE’S A BUZZKILL OR ANYTHING HE’S JUST RESPONSIBLE (he will NOT allow his husband and son to go vandalize the property of some islamaphobic brits, as much as he agrees with the sentiment)

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - doc will only allow vandalism if it’s in the name of righteousness. meaning, he’ll allow their son to spray paint the walls of a goddamn walmart with shit like “eat the rich” and a portrait of robespierre and a guillotine, but it is a HARD NO on defacing places like the library or community center (unless he has a good reason to do so). lion spends his time praying and making sure his son knows which acts of civil disobedience are acceptable and which are distorting their goal

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - doc. he (privately) dreams of retiring (eventually) and living out his lifelong dreams of being a househusband. so

Who is the more loved parent? - SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW GET OUT OF MY HOUSE IM GONNA BEAT YOUR ASS. but ig lion??? BUT ONLY BECAUSE THEIR SON HAS KNOWN HIM LONGER. doc is half Dad and half Cool Uncle Who Gives Me Spray Paint And Tells Me To Make Myself Heard (to clarify, i know doc is a pacifist, but im kinda projecting my own sentiment of “we’ve tried to be peaceful but you wouldn’t give us the time of day. now that we’ve “acted out” we’ve gotten your attention, and rest assured, things are going to change.” he won’t hurt anybody, he’s just tired of having to be everyone’s “muslim friend” and educating people on things they could google themselves)

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - it used to be lion out of necessity, but when people started asking about his “wife” he was really torn between telling them that he and his son’s mother separated, but now he has a partner and his son seems very happy about it. when doc finally attends a meeting with lion, people really struggle to hide their shock. a few clunky but well-meaning “we support you”’s and “we’re sorry for everything that’s been going on”’s later, doc has used his charm to make friends with literally everyone. from then on, he is on pta duty on behalf of lion and his ex

Who cried the most at graduation? - lion! his parents purposefully didn’t show at his, so it’s a big deal for him to show his son just how proud he is. doc tears up a little too, but manages to mostly keep it together so he can support lion, who spends most of the day heave-crying about how proud he is into his husband’s shoulder. gustave just pats him on the back and tells him that they’ll run out of donuts if they don’t get to the concession stand soon

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - doc. civil disobedience, baby!! he has never been caught. lion fears the law after his youth, so he tries to avoid any visits to law enforcement. he also can’t stand to see his son behind bars

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - doc. househusband, remember?

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - doc, but only because he can be a bit of a spice supremacist. he has to get his ingredients from these very specific farms and markets or else his great grandmother will begin manifesting in their house to curse them

Who does the grocery shopping? - doc, bc he does NOT trust lion to not just sweep all of the microwave ramen and kraft mac n cheese into the cart then sprint to self-checkout

How often do they bake desserts? - whenever possible. doc and maestro live by the philosophy “don’t do anything halfway” if they’re going to go through the trouble of making a meal, it will have multiple courses.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - doc is more of a salad eater but only for ease of consumption with halal laws. he adores filet mignon

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - lion! maestro enlists himself as assistant head chef after walking into the base’s kitchen one day to find lion covered in flour and lying facedown on the floor, crying

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - also lion! though he’s memorized doc’s order at all of their favorite restaurants, so he usually just gets take out and puts on a big show of being a “tired housewife who works in the kitchen all day just for this one meal” and setting up the table so it’s all nice and romantic

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - lion. he tried crème brûlée once. never again

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - lion. organization is everything to this man. doc helps with laundry and such, but for the most part he leaves organization to lion and his systems (think leslie knope levels of planning and organization)

Who is really against chores? - neither! they both understand that teamwork makes the dream work, baby!!

Who cleans up after the pets? - doc, since lion’s already asked him which color hanger should represent “clothes i can tear off my husband before we fuck” and he needs a Moment

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - neither. they don’t own a broom

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - lion because of the deep-seated catholic urge to appear perfect in front of others, and doc because people will gossip, olivier!

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - lion. he immediately called doc into the room and asked “is this your stash of drug money?” doc, who had been asleep because it was 3 in the morning on a saturday, just stares at him

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - it is so bold to assume they don’t shower together to “cut costs”

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - lion is known in their neighborhood as the man who walks cats. there is a facebook page where people post pictures of him walking his cats. vigil is an admin

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - LITERALLY EVERY HOLIDAY GETS DECORATIONS. lion makes his own for the muslim holidays since there really aren’t many “of good quality” in stores. when they first started dating, doc came home to find his house covered in ramadan decorations, and lion standing precariously on a ladder, trying to string up fairy lights while learning how to pronounce important arabic words. needless to say, doc cries

What are their goals for the relationship? - mutual joy and contentment!!!!

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - doc. he’s sleepy

Who plays the most pranks? - lion, but they’re stupid ones like replacing certain pictures with danny devito. doc gets back at him by replacing pictures of jesus with ewan mcgregor, and putting yoda into his nativity scene. lion doesn’t notice

#ask #anonymous #r6s doc #r6s lion #doc/lion #ass alert!#could you tell i forgot whether or not lion's ex and son had names #thank you for interacting!

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iwillbeinmynest · 4 years

Text

Primus

Pairing: Bucky x OFC (Listen, I know OFC’s aren't popular but if it make’s you feel better just replace her name with yours, or better yet, pretend you have a new name, kay??)

AU: Gladiator

Prompt: *top center photo* “Last Warrior” from T over at @tilltheendwilliwrite for her writing challenge!! Congrats on the followers and thank you so much for hosting this!!

Author’s Notes: I wrote this in one day...yeah, you read that right, ONE DAY. I haven’t been this inspired in a long time okay and ancient rome AU’s have a very very special place in my heart so needless to say I had a fire under my butt to actually finish this fast before I lost whatever motivation was within me. Also, I am obsessed with Roman Empire era fiction, okay. I got way into this and now I can’t get the vibe outta my head. Please excuse me as I go find my sandals and a maxi dress.

Word Count: 4.8K (don’t be mad, I needed to keep it a one shot)

Notes/Warnings: Kissing (It gets a kinda steamy but I tried to not be inappropriate), blood and gore (like, lots), mentions of abuse and trauma, mentions of slavery (ancient rome, y'all. I do not support it.) major character death, angst, grief, sadness, fear. - This is a tragedy, okay? I made it sad.

Masterlist

Moodboard by @itsanerdlife

She walked through the sleeping city under the stars concealed by her dark cloak. She’d pulled the hood up to cover her hair and face from any passers by, which at this time of night were very few and those who did pass her, were too drunk to pay any mind. Her sandals hardly made a sound on the compacted sandy streets. She stayed close to the edge so that she would be out of what little light tonight’s moon provided.

She turned a sharp corner and hurried down a narrow alleyway. As she emerged onto the next street, she was greeted in silence by a man who she only knew as The Falcon. He was dark of skin and he wore his tragedies in his eyes.

The Falcon handed her the reins to a dark colored horse, it was too dark to tell it’s true color, but Cassia assumed it was black. The steed swayed beside her, shifting its weight.

“Ride swiftly. Your time is short and you must be back before the sky begins to turn. I will not wait for you.” He reminded her.

She nodded and he helped her mount the beast. She turned the horse towards the city gates and took a deep breath but before she could kick the horse The Falcon grabbed her leg below the knee. Cassia gasped quietly but she didn’t pull away.

“The Captain will meet you at the ludus gates.” The Falcon handed her a cloth that was wrapped around something thin and hard. “Give this to him and tell him his debts will soon be settled.”

He let go of her after she took it and then slapped the steed beneath her, sending it straight into a gallop.

Cassia held tight and rode through the final streets before speeding through the west gate- unattended thanks to The Captain’s orders. The way to the ludus, Cassia had long ago put to memory. She’d many times accompanied both her father and The Captain to the ludus to watch from the balcony as Lentullus’ gladiators trained.

Her father, Praetor Marcus Cassius Faustus, often visited the surrounding ludus’ to obtain the best gladiators for his games. He’d put on many games during his time as Praetor and the people loved him- or, at least, the rich and the noble did. The rest of the city tolerated him as they had no choice.

The Captain, or Steve as Cassia had come to know him, was one of her father’s closest confidants, having served under him in his final years as a general in the Legion. Steve was near the same age as Cassia and they’d become close friends. Cassia’s father even suggested that The Captain marry her but her heart belonged to another and Steve knew it.

Now, the ludus was in sight. Her journey was very brief thanks to the swiftness of the horse she’d been loaned. She could see the flames of the guards who stood at the top of the walls and she watched as the flames disappeared the nearer she became.

She pulled back on the reins and the horse huffed and heaved hot breath from its nose as it was finally given a respite.

A young servant approached her and took the horse to get water after she dismounted. He didn’t meet her eyes and Cassia’s heart broke at the sight of the leather collar around his neck.

Steve appeared with a torch in hand, his blonde hair looked golden in the light of the flame. “Cassia,” He greeted her with a kiss to the cheek. “Come, we haven’t much time.”

She grabbed his arm giving him pause. She handed him the cloth, “The Facon says your debts are soon to be settled and to give you this.”

“What are its contents?” He asked, puzzled.

“It was not my place to look.” And she meant it. What ever was between The Falcon and The Captain was none of her business nor her concern. She only had one task on her mind tonight.

Steve pocketed the cloth and placed a hand at her back, urging her closer to the ludus. But instead of entering the front doors to the house, she was now sent down a steep hill and towards the metal gates at the bottom. The two guards, that stood on either side, looked straight forward and into the black of night.

Cassia’s pace stuttered but Steve pushed her on.

“Nevermind them,” He reassured her. “They know their duties.”

She nodded and followed him through the gates. After a short walk and a right turn, Cassia let out a soft gasp. She recognized this ground. She was standing at the edge of the training yard. She’d seen Lentullus’ gladiators train here with wooden swords and blunted spears. She’d watched as they were whipped for their failures and praised for victories. She looked up and saw the balcony where she usually stood. How strange to be looking at it from this angle. Was this how he saw her?

“Cassia!” Steve whispered her name, shocking her from her moment of perspective. “This way.”

She hurried to catch up with him. Cassia followed him through the passageways of the slave quarters and up to yet another metal barred gate and beyond that were more bars and cells. It was like a place for wild animals and while many romans believed this is what they deserved, Cassia knew better.

From the darkness beyond the cell door where she stood, there was a shuffling of feet and a muttering of harsh words.

Her heart jumped when she was finally within hearing distance and she recognized his voice. She turned to smile at Steve but he was staring, with brows furrowed in concern, at the cloth she had handed him from The Falcon. Even with the cloth now unwrapped and it draping over his fingers, she still could not see what was in it.

“I only get so much time for sleep,” A distant voice grumbled. “Pray, what has you dragging me from my slumber this night, Crassus?”

Bucky shuffled his feet, stirring up the sand as he was pushed forward by the guard behind him. His gaze jerked forward from the shove and he froze.

Tears welled in Cassia’s eyes and she grabbed the bars that separated her from him.

His stupor only lasted a moment before he rushed to the gate as well. His hands went to her hair and he all but whimpered at the sight of her. “Cassia?”

The Captain nodded to the guard who pulled the keys from his belt and unlocked the gate.

“Remain here.” The Captain ordered. “I will bring him back shortly.”

The guard nodded and turned his back but remained in his place.

The moment the gate was wide enough, Bucky was through it. He grabbed her and lifted Cassia off the ground in a long overdue embrace.

“Life has returned to my body. Have I been blessed that I get to hold you again?” He set her down and held her face in his hands. His thumbs wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Buck remembered the day he first laid eyes upon her. She stood beside Steve on the balcony of the ludus. Lentullus was lavishing her father with praise and complements while Cassia’s eyes focused on his fellow gladiators. He’ll never forget the look on her face. It wasn’t disgust not pity nor lust, as so many other patrons of his Dominos would look, but rather he saw grief and compassion in her eyes.

Bucky had known Steve all his life, they even served in the legion at the same time but Bucky disobeyed a direct order to kill a young family of Gauls and his punishment was immediate death or to fight in the next games.

Bucky chose the games, as most do, and won his match. Lentullus was enamored with the way Bucky fought and bought him then and there from his chair in the pulvinar of the arena.

It was only months later that Steve arrived with Cassia trailing behind him. She followed Steve to meet Bucky that same day. Bucky asked her why a woman as beautiful as she looked so sad to watch what most other consider to be exciting.

She responded ‘No one should be enslaved- whether they are bound by debt, the collar or blood- no man should have to be forced to do something they don’t want to.’ It was then that he knew she was different. He knew she had endured a the tragedy of slavery he just didn’t know at what end.

Bucky would later learn of the hardships her father had put her through- forcing her to keep slaves, encouraging her to please other men he wanted to impress- he learned that she refused this order every time it was given, causing her father to strike at her for her disobedience- or attending the games, which she couldn’t stand.

In their next handful of secret meetings, Bucky fell in love with her. Their romance was forbidden and secret. It had to be, her father would never allow her to marry a gladiator as they were only a short rise above slaves. But Cassia still came to him and he would thank the gods every time he was able to hold her.

And now, he thanked them again.

He studied her for a moment before looking at Steve, “Thank you.” Cassia’s voice stole his attention before The Captain could respond.

“I had to see you.” She tried to stall her tears but they escaped even still. “I had to be in your embrace before…” She couldn’t say it.

Bucky’s eyes softened. “And I you, only I did not think it would be possible.” He pulled her into another hug and then felt a foreign hand at his shoulder.

Steve was looking around. “Let us move to a place more secluded. I fear a slave may spot us here.”

Bucky nodded but never lost touch of Cassia. They followed Steve out past the training yard and into the small hall that leads to the final gate. With none but Steve’s torch to light them, long shadows were cast onto the sandstone walls.

Bucky took Cassia into his arms again, her tears now stopped and content on her face. “How did you get her here?” He looked to Steve for answers.

“Samuel, arranged a horse.” Steve answered.

“And what did that cost you, this time?” Bucky kept his eyes on Steve but his hand rubbed a gentle circle across Cassia’s back.

Steve swallowed but remained steady. “I’ve yet to make my payment but It will come soon enough.”

Cassia felt Bucky tense and she leaned back to look at them both. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Steve took in a breath, “I’ll go pay the guards and leave you to solitude a moment but you don’t have long.” And Steve hurried off, leaving them in the dark.

“Bucky-” Cassia began to question but he cut her off with a hungry kiss.

He leaned into her until she was flush against the wall. She weaved her hands into his long, dirty, hair and tugged gently, making him grunt into her mouth and bite softly on her bottom lip. His hands roamed over her dark blue, linen, tunic. The purple and gold sash at her middle hung low on her hips, hugging her bottom, and Bucky traced the fabric with an open palm.

Cassia pushed him back and gasped for a breath that she wished she didn’t need.

Bucky paused his attack on her neck when he thought he heard someone coming.

Cassia used the respite to her advantage. She took Bucky’s face in her hands and kissed him slow and gently. She tried to forge every sensation to memory. The feel of his beard on her cheeks, the warmth of his lips and the taste of his mouth. She was afraid of loosing him.

Bucky pulled away from her and it wasn’t until she felt him wipe the tears from her face that she realized that she was crying again.

“I pray that I am not the cause of such sorrow.” He said with a familiar grief.

She shook her head. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to ruin our last-” A sob broke her sentence.

Bucky held her head in his hand and shushed her. “I’ll be alright.” He tried to soothe.

She shook her head again. “You fight in the Primus tomorrow. Against Theokoles! A champion in all his fights!”

Bucky tried to smile. “Does my beloved hold doubts of my skill and strength?”

She grabbed his face. “Never. But-” She reconsidered her statement and then said, “Bucky, I have seen him fight ten men and leave with nothing but a scratch. You fight him alone!” Her eyes danced as she searched his face for any sign that he understood the severity of tomorrow’s games.

“Cassia,” He caressed her cheek but it did nothing to ease her worry. “If I win tomorrow, I will win my freedom. And with the winnings I earn, we can leave this city and start again somewhere new.”

She only looked at him and offered a small smile. He kissed her again and she struggled to remain in the moment. Her mind wandered with images of tomorrow’s games and all of the horrendous ways he could die. She did consider him winning but she knew he had never faced an opponent such as The Mighty Theokoles. His size nearly doubled Bucky who was well fit in his own right.

Bucky fought double swords while Theokoles took all victories with double spears. Theokoles was her father’s favorite champion. Whenever he fought, the crowd swelled within the arena, bringing in much coin to his purse. Tomorrow’s games would be no different. Senator Claudius Tiberius Sextus would be attending and if the games fair well, her father would be able to speak with him about elevating his position from praetor to governor. With the senator’s backing her father could very quickly rise to a higher power.

Bucky nipped at her ear, making her gasp and hold him tighter. She let out her breath with a low moan and Bucky began to work faster. He kissed down her neck to her shoulder.

Cassia’s hands had also begun to roam. Being a slave, Bucky wore nothing but a little bit of cloth to cover his hips. Her fingers traced his bare and chiseled stomach, then they ran around his torso to feel the strength in his back.

Just before Cassia and Bucky could take things any further, Steve came running up quick.

“You must come back!” Steve whispered loudly as he pulled Bucky from Cassia’s arms.

Bucky looked back desperate and Cassia ran to catch his hand and follow.

“What happened?” Cassia whispered, praying to whatever god would hear her that she may have more time with him.

“Doctore has called for him. He must answer from his room, lest you be discovered.” Steve said quickly as he hurried them back to the gate.

Before Steve could push Bucky through the iron cell door, Bucky ripped from his grasp and took Cassia in his arms again, kissing her with solidity and fervor.

He pulled back with a happy smile. “I will free us both tomorrow, you will see.”

Cassia yanked the blue beaded necklace from her neck, breaking the latch, and pressed it into his chest. His hand covered hers. “Take this, that I may be with you in the arena.”

He kissed her again, “You always are, my love.”

Steve pulled Bucky hard and shoved him through. “Go!”

The guard hurried Bucky back into the darkness of the ludus corridors and he was gone from Cassia’s sight.

Her heart sank to no longer be in his arms but she didn’t have time to grieve because suddenly Steve wrapped an arm around her waist and she was hurled the other direction. Steve then took her hand and tossed his torch into a nearby barrel of water, putting it out. He ran them back through the halls and the training yard and back to the final gate.

The two guards who’d kept watch hadn’t moved nor did they now. Steve helped Cassia back on her horse and then mounted his own.

“Hurry,” He said. “We mustn’t be discovered.” and he kicked his horse, slapping Cassia’s as he passed. They both rode back to the city as fast as their horses would go. As they neared the city walls Steve broke to the left, leaving Cassia to ride the rest of her way, alone.

* * * *

The roar of the crowd was nearly deafening as Cassia sat in the pulvinar. The servants behind her slowly waved fans at her back. She hated that this was the life she led. Having servants and being expected to command them. No one should be commanded or forced to do anything they didn’t want to and people shouldn’t be owned. She’d grown up with servants and she’d seen the cruelties they’d endured. It made her sick. She never struck at her servants, save once when her father demanded it and she promptly apologized once in the privacy of her room- she was only fifteen then.

Cassia sat beside The Captain as they both awaited the primus, the final fight of the games. It was why everyone had come. The executions and following fights entertained the crowd, to be sure, but they came for Theokoles and Winter’s Soldier.

Bucky had acquired his Gladiatorial Title after a brutal and bloody defeat in the snowy arena in the northern outskirts of Rome. Bucky had beheaded his opponent and the blood spatter looked like a legion eagle, thus being named Winter’s Soldier.

She hated that name.

The gladiators in the arena below her clashed as their armor and shields collided. A man with a red feather atop his helmet thrust his sword upward in the final strike. The crowd erupted in cheers as they basked in the gore. Cassia turned her head.

“My lovely daughter never could stomach the games.” Her father said to Senator Claudius.

Claudius looked over his shoulder and chuckled at Cassia before turning back to Marcus. “The delicacy of women.” He teased.

Cassia clenched her jaw then stood. “I should like to get some air before the primus, please excuse me, father.”

“I’ll escort you.” Steve offered.

“How very kind of you, Captain.” Marcus smirked. “I’m hoping to have him as a son-in-law soon.” He said to Claudius.

Claudius nodded and smiled. “It would be a wise arrangement.”

Cassia hurried out of the pulvinus and Steve followed. She only made it as far as the second corner before she almost collapsed. Steve caught her arm and she grabbed him. “I can’t do this Steve. I can’t sit there as my father uses the life of the man I love to elevate himself so that he can enslave more people!”

Steve sighed and helped Cassia to stand upright. “Not to mention the humor at your expense.”

She snapped her head at him, “I’d have him shout my worthlessness to the gods if it meant Bucky didn’t have to fight!”

Steve shushed her and stepped closer. “Calm yourself!” He whispered at her. “Keep shouting and he’ll hear you.”

She shook her head. “Tell me the truth, does Bucky stand a chance?”

Steve paused. “I- I don’t know.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted but it was the answer she expected. Her lip quivered but she clenched her jaw, took a deep breath and straightened. She nodded her head once. “Right.”

The horns blared in the arena to announce the beginning of the primus and both Steve and Cassia jumped and turned back to the path to the pulvinar. The arena shook with the stomps and cheers of the crowd.

Cassia tensed and started to run back to her seat but Steve grabbed her arm. “I have to confess to you!” He shouted so he could be heard but he pulled her close to keep their conversation private. “I can not let your father rise to be governor. He will not leave this arena today bro will the Senator. It is how I will settle my debts with The Falcon and save Rome from yet another tyrant.”

Her eyes widened and tears pricked her eyes at the vastness of what the rest of the primus will bring. But she knew her father was a mad tyrant, for him to be in power any higher would be devastating. So, she nodded her head. She understood what needed to be done.

“Where will you go?” She asked.

“Arrangements have been made. There are a few senators who will back me.”

Suddenly, she had a thought. “What did The Falcon give you?” Her expression left no room for lies or dismissal.

He pulled a small dagger from his waist for just a moment before concealing it again but she saw the markings of yet another corrupt senator, Senator Julius. Thats when she figured it out, Julius was to be framed for her father’s murder.

She nodded. Whatever plan The Falcon had drawn was well thought out. Three evil men would be taken down. Cassia wanted to feel sorry for her father’s fate but there was little chance that he would ever be anything but wicked.

They were both brought back to the moment when they heard Marcus begin to announce the final fight.

Steve took her hand and they ran back to the pulvinar.

“My fellow citizens!” Her father shouted with arms wide. “It is my great honour and privilege to host these games for you today! But The honour of announcing the primus,” The crowd erupted briefly, “The honour goes to the magnificent Senator Claudius Tiberius Sextus!”

Claudius stood up proud and raised his arms as Marcus sat back down.

“Good people! I present to you from the house Lentullus Sepius Romulos, Winter’s Soldier!”

The crowd cheered and some booed. Some threw flowers and others rotten food.

Bucky emerged from the left of the arena. His waist was covered in cloth and belts. His legs were covered up to the mid thigh in leather and gauze. His right arm was bare but his left was covered in chainmail and metal plates. He walked out of the iron gate with both swords already drawn. He ignored the cheers of the crowd and whatever was thrown his way and he looked up and locked eyes with Cassia.

Her breath caught in her throat and she squeezed Steve’s hand.

“And your reigning champion!” Claudius continued and the arena began to stomp. “Theokoles!!”

The crowd screamed and cheered and the massive man burst from his side of the arena with arms raised high and he screamed with pride.

Theokoles pointed one of his two spears at Bucky and then spun them both around.

Bucky stood firm where he could see Cassia and he didn’t even look to his opponent.

“This is a fight to the death!” Claudius shouted over the roar. “The winner of this Primus will receive a Rudis! And with that, his freedom!!”

Cassia walked to the edge of the Pulvinar and gripped the harsh stone.

Claudius dropped an arm and yelled, “Begin!”

Steve was at Cassia’s side in an instant, eager to see the fight.

Theokoles charged Bucky with a roar and Bucky swung his swords in one full rotation and prepared for impact.

The fight felt like it took ages and yet it seemed to be nearly over in minutes. Bucky landed fair hits to Theokoles but the beast of a gladiator paid his wounds no mind.

Bucky took blow after blow as Theokoles showed no mercy. Theokoles cut Bucky’s side, back and right shoulder. Bucky was bleeding and fading.

“Steve,” Cassia’s breathing was short as she feared the worst. “Steve stop this.”

“There’s nothing I can do,” He said as he watched in horror.

“Kill him, now.” She said as she glanced to her father.

Steve considered it but, “I-” She could see he was afraid.

Marcus looked over to his daughter. “My, Cassia, I never have seen you so invested.”

She turned to him, her final hope. “Father, please, if you have any love for me, I beg you to stop this game.”

Marcus looked stunned and offended, “Stop the games? Why would I do that? Look at this crowd!” He gestured an arm out and Bucky screamed as Theokoles landed another blow. “They love this!”

Cassia’s heart sank in despair. Bucky swung his arm around in an attempt to cut his opponent but Theokoles hit him in the jaw with the back of his spear. Bucky stumbled back and looked up to Cassia. Blood ran from a cut on his head, over his eye and down his face. He was covered in blood and sand and as he looked to Cassia, his eyes told her he knew he couldn’t win.

“Father, please!” She cried.

It was then that it dawned on Marcus. “Cassia, do you-” he chuckled, “Do you have feelings for Winter’s Soldier?”

Theokoles grabbed Bucky by the hair and laughed. Bucky whirled around as best he could and sliced through the back of Theokoles’ knee, severing the tendons. Theokoles screamed out and dropped to the ground. Bucky regained his footing and the crowd was stunned.

To stir the people in his favor, Bucky raised his arms and screamed so loud, he felt his vocal chords ripping.

The crowd joined him in praise.

“Looks like your beloved might survive after all,” Marcus taunted his daughter. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

Bucky turned to the pulvinar and raised his armored arm to Cassia.

Movement behind him caught her eye but before she could even breathe, Theokoles hurled a spear at Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. He looked over at his shoulder, his arm dropped as he watched the blood drip down his chest.

The spear had impaled his left shoulder just below his armor. The bloody spear head stuck out through the top of his chest. He struggled to breathe. It must have hit his lung.

Cassia screamed out his name.

Steve turned to Marcus. “Stop the games,” he demanded.

Marcus waved him off. “Don’t be ridiculous, Captain. Friends or not, that man,” he pointed to Bucky, “Is a criminal and chose to be a gladiator to pay his dues.”

“That man is a hero and you know it to be true. You condemn him to death for sport and to elevate yourself, you selfish-”

“Hold your tongue, Captain.” Marcus warned.

Bucky stumbled forward, eyes finding Cassia’s again. His mouth moved but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Theokoles stood on his only usable leg and grabbed his final spear. He changed his grip and prepared to strike but before he could, Bucky dropped to his knees and threw away his swords.

He held up a finger to the pulvinar, a sign of surrender in hopes his life could be spared buy the call of the editor.

“Marcus!” Cassia called at her father. “Call life!”

Marcus grinned. “I do not make the call.” He turned to Claudius, “Senator, how should we proceed?”

Senator Claudius stood and watched the crowd. Most of them threw out a thumbs down, urging him to call for Bucky’s death. They favored Theokoles and Cassia knew it.

“I won’t be from him in death.” Cassia said to Steve. “Help me.”

The sands of the arena were only ten feet below. Cassia climbed over the waist high stone and Steve helped lower her to the sands.

“Cassia!” Marcus cried out and stood from his chair. “Have you gone mad?!”

The Senator, who ignored the commotion around him, smiled to the crowd and stuck out his hand- thumb down.

The crown began to chant and cheer, “Death! Death! Death! Death!”

Cassia lifted her robes and ran to Bucky as fast as she could, but it wasn’t fast enough. She watched as Theokoles drew back his final spear and hurled it at Bucky’s back. The spear went straight through his chest and came out the other side dripping in blood.

Cassia screamed, “NO!” and ran faster.

Bucky lurched forward and caught himself with his hands. Trying desperately to take a full breath. He could hear her voice but she seemed so far away.

Cassia stooped over as she ran and grabbed one of Bucky’s swords. Tears blurred her vision but accuracy was not important. She shouted and with all her might she slashed at Theokoles, who was turned away in victory.

The blade sliced open his side and some of his organs slipped out. He cried out in agony and fell to the sand. She climbed on top of his crumpled body and slung the sword again, lodging it in the place where his neck met his shoulder. She flinched when blood splattered all over her.

Theokoles did not get up.

Cassia didn’t know if she’d killed him or not but she didn’t care. She ran to bucky and fell to her knees in front of him. “Medicus!” She screamed, “Please, someone fetch the medicus!”

She drew Bucky’s head up and blood dripped from his mouth. It hung loose from his jaw and his eyes drooped.

“Bucky,” She sobbed, “Bucky, please, don’t leave me!”

His hand reached up weakly and touched her bloodied cheek, smearing it into her skin. “You’re hurt.” He whispered gruffly.

She shook her head. “The blood is not mine. Bucky, please get up. We must go.”

A scream from the crowd and Cassia’s head turned to the pulvinar. Her father lay halfway over the balcony, Steve above him, stabbing him in the chest two, three, four times before turning on the Senator.

He must have found his courage to pay his debts.

Like a bolt of lightning, men on horses swarmed the arena sands firing arrows into the crowd. Everyone screamed and ran from their seats.

But the chaos meant nothing to her.

She rubbed her thumb across his cheek. “Bucky, get up.” She cried. “Get up!”

Bucky’s hand fell and a flash of blue caught Cassia’s eye. Her necklace slipped out from under the armor on Bucky’s left arm- he’d wrapped it around his wrist.

Bucky looked up to her. “You are...always with me, my love. And I...with you.” His voice was fading as was the color from his face.

She lifted his head, where he could no longer, and kissed him. She pulled back with his blood on her lips and in her mouth. “I love you, Bucky. I love you with all that I am.”

“I love you...Cassia,” he tried to breathe but instead wheezed and coughed blood, “My life...my...only…”

Bucky fell to the ground, eyes open and gripping Cassia’s hand firmly. She cried out in agony and wept over him. Her hands palmed at his hair, brushing it from his face as she kissed him again and again, begging him to return to her.

The arena was burning. The screams of the crowd had long faded and now only a few men on horses remained.

A hand grabbed her arm and tugged. “Cassia, we must go!”

She turned in her grief to see Steve’s eyes pleading with her. “Please, we must go, now!”

“I won’t leave him!” She cried.

“You must!” Steve wrapped his arm around her waist and heaved. Cassia was lifted from the bloody sand and thrown onto a horse. Steve mounted behind her and took off.

She screamed and begged him to go back but he ignored her, wiping the tears from his own eyes at the sight of his closest friend dead upon the sands.

The Falcon rode up beside them and called out, “Follow me! This way has burned down. The only exit is north!” Steve followed behind The Falcon and Cassia wailed as they passed Bucky one final time.

Bucky’s body lay still in death. The sand around him was stained red. His opponent dead several meters away. The wind blew the fire all around as the arena continued to burn.

Cassia’s necklace remained wrapped around his wrist.

* * * * *

Forever Tags:

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@miraclesoflove

#tpromptsachallenge #Bucky x ofc #gladiator AU #Gladiator!Bucky #Primus #iwillbeinmynest

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hyunjoochung · 3 years

Text

Raise Three Fingers for Democracy

Exhibition Information Board

Updated on May 4, 2021

Title: Raise Three Fingers for Democracy

An illegitimate takeover

On February 1st, democracy in Myanmar was taken hostage in a brutal coup. The proxy military party won a humiliating 33 of 476 seats in November elections that were declared free and fair by the election commission and international observers. After demands to seize the ballots to recount personally were rejected, they launched their coup in the early hours of the morning, arresting over 200 elected officials returning for parliament, including de-facto leader Daw Aung San Suu Kyi.

Unprecedented nationwide protests broke out in a country still finding its democratic voice after a half-century of repression. A civil disobedience movement (CDM) formed. Doctors, teachers and government employees refused to work, joined by other essential sectors. Peaceful, creative protests filled the streets: families banging pots every night at 8pm, days of silence, highways blocked by 'broken down' cars.

Gradually, and then systematically, this was met with horrible brutality. The same military that perpetrated a genocide against the Rohingya now issued orders to shoot protestors in the head. They raid homes at night, and have arrested over 5,000. They have killed over 700 people, including over 50 children, like 6-year-old Khin Myo Chit, shot in the belly to teach her family a lesson. They have tortured over 20 people to death in custody. The internet has been shut down to all but 0.5% of the population. Media outlets that refuse to publish propaganda have been outlawed.

Freedom of the press (54 words)

This now-illegal newspaper can give you a picture of what is happening right now. It’s journalists continue to report while on the run.

[QR code & Screen set to: Mizzima reporting from a safe house]

To understand the nature of the military and their police stooges, you only need a few entries on the lists of this civil organisation tracking and verifying killings, arrests, indefinite detention and warrants:

[QR code & Screen set to: Link to PDF]

Freedom of expression

But there is still hope. The majority resists. People continue the fight every day. A symbol of hope is #threefingers. Used before in other Asian countries where democracy is under threat (the milk tea countries), it has gained major prominence in Myanmar. A group of Myanmar artists, illustrators and creatives used images of this symbol of resistance from the very first day. Since, you can see it in marches, at funerals, through the prison bars, in messages of defection, in the United Nations General Assembly, and where support can be found. It can be carried with you everywhere, and it can mean everything to those who show it.

These artists who first raised these totems of democracy in Myanmar are now putting out the call for support. Already artists, illustrators and cartoonists from around the world, from the UK to Korea, to Australia, Thailand, Hong Kong and farther have begun to return the call. Now, they need more people to join in. The fall of democracy is a worldwide phenomenon – this is just the latest front. They need YOU to stand for democracy, and help them delegitimise this brutal regime.

At night, after a day of beatings, shootings, horrors, frightened of gunshots and raids, losing hope, the young people continuing this fight can look at these artworks, songs, dances or messages, and see hope, solidarity and others that still believe in what they are risking everything for.

Every #threefingers raised builds awareness and support for human rights, freedom and democracy in Myanmar.

Message from our founder

(VIDEO: “We Will Win” by Latt Thone Chuang)

Quote

“At a very basic level, art plays a very practical role. It gets people energized, it makes people emotional, and it gets people to organise and get things done.

Art helps to frame the direction of the protest movement.

Art can also create hope and resilience. It takes people to another level and can help uplift the mood of the people.

I believe art – in all its forms – can give strength to people.

That’s what art can do.

It’s important to keep creating because you can’t handcuff ideas.

You can’t kill art with bullets.

– Maw Khun Thit, Latt Thone Chaung

Night arrests

At night, gunshots and flashbang explosives can be heard across the town. Security forces raid homes, trying to arrest and intimidate dissenting voices. Having suspended laws requiring warrants to search, they leave family members with no knowledge of the charges, location, or condition of their loved ones. Communities set up unarmed neighbourhood watch groups, local men and women who stayed up all night, banging pots to warn of approaching security forces.

Killing children (104 words)

On 23 March, security forces entered the home of 6-year-old Khin Myo Chit and her family in Mandalay. They asked her father if anyone was hiding in the house, and accused him of lying when he said no. When the girl ran to her father's arms, they shot her. She died before they could reach medics. Her last words were: "I can't father, it's too painful". Her brother was arrested and the family are yet to learn of his charge or whereabouts. Khin Myo Chit is one of over 50 child fatalities. All but one on record was shot.

Ethnic minorities

The coup instigator, Senior General Min Aung Hlaing, was found by UN Investigators as the perpetrator the Rohingya genocide and publicly stated he would 'clear up the Bengali problem'. The coup has led to the formation of a National Unity Government of protest leaders, a government that previously had to keep the military on side, and ethnic minorities targeted by the military including the Kachin, Karen and Chin. The Rohingya, the most known of these minorities internationally, are anti-military and are showing the three finger salute themselves.

Targeting poor communities

Since the start of the coup, many noticeable groups have been targeted: elected officials and election monitors, doctors for treating injured protestors, government employees and bank employees for refusing to work. But the violence has been worse in neighbourhoods where poor or factory workers live and work. With the least access to medical or legal help, and the least ability to escape or hide, they continue to risk the most for democracy.

Internet shutdown

Internet and mobile phones were inaccessible to all but the super rich until after 2014. A sim card cost over $3000. Then as democratisation opened up the country, it swelled to over 80% smartphone coverage. Over the last 2 years, Myanmar’s military has conducted the world’s longest internet shutdown over eight townships and a million people in Chin and Rakhine states, to suppress information about its actions there. Now this darkness is returning everywhere: just 0.5% of the population have access to the internet, only then to stop the banking system collapsing. And yet these short years of information have taken root – people know now that they deserve more.

Creative freedom in danger

For fifty years before 2012, art and expression was repressed in Myanmar. It left just one art school, teaching stuffy figurative pastiche. Censorship was visible every day, in newspapers with black bars, banned books, arrests of cartoonists or performers. Art lay dormant, but never died. In 8 short years, expression flourished fearlessly once more. Now over 35 artists, directors and performers have been arrested, and more than 200 are on the run from arrest warrants. Yet, they continue to speak out and use their expression to fight oppression.

Can you help them?

These artists need your words, pictures and actions to amplify their calls. They need you now to fight for democracy under threat in Myanmar and everywhere.

Message of hope

Quote 2 (with Nobel Aung artwork)

“The most inspiring thing has been the unity of people. We all have the same objective. This was apparent since the very first night of the coup. People continue to bang their pots and pans every night at 8 pm to make noise, every day even until now. We are not scared of guns anymore but the military is scared of the noise we make. We give courage and inspiration to each other.”

-Nobel Aung, illustrator and animator

Founder of Raise Three Fingers

Mandatories:

About:

Raise Three Fingers (formerly Art for Freedom MM) is a campaign founded by artists and creatives from Myanmar to bring the global art community together, stand up for democracy and highlight the humanitarian crisis unfolding since the military coup on February 1 2021.

Founders:

Art for Freedom MM

Using Art and Illustration to uphold human rights for Myanmar.

Latt Thone Chaung

We are here to celebrate all forms of creative protests against the military coup in Myanmar.

The Professional Cartoonists’ Organisation (UK)

Home to some of the UK’s finest cartoonists’ talent.

Collaborators:

Fine Acts - A global nonprofit creative studio for social impact

Human Rights Foundation - We partner with world-changing activists in creating innovative solutions to unite the world against tyranny.

Arts Help - Founded on the principle of art making the world a better place, Arts Help is the #1 art publisher, with a community of 2.5 million members.

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swanqueeneverafter · 3 years

Text

The Once & Future Queen Pt.36

The Crystal Cave. (The group continue their journey. Upon entering the cave, Morgana conjures two torches and hands one each to Xena and Gabrielle. Seeing this, Regina conjures a fireball to light her way while Emma simply pulls a small flashlight from her pocket. As everyone continues on through the cave, Zelena produces her own green fireball and walks alongside Morgana.) Zelena: "So we can't use magic to get here, but it's fine once we're inside?" Morgana: "Apparently so. I didn't make the rules." Zelena: "Hm. You've been here before then?" Morgana: "No, but my sister visited from time to time. It was here where she used to watch me through the crystals." Zelena: "Well I'd call that creepy, if I didn't do something similar with Regina." Morgana: (Smiles:) "Seems we're a lot alike." Zelena: (Stares at Morgana a moment, then gruffly:) "Maybe we can paint each other's toenails and share stories after we rescue my niece?" (Zelena picks up her pace, leaving Morgana to trail behind.) Morgana: (Calling after her:) "I had nothing to do with Mordred kidnapping the child!" Zelena: "Do you mean this time or does that include the time before as well?" Morgana: "Both. Whatever dark deeds I may have done in my past, none of them included harming innocent children." Zelena: (Sighs and allows Morgana to catch up to her:) "Her name is Maria." Morgana: (Nods:) "I know." (Listening to their conversation, Xena's memories return her to the time of her own redemption.)

Many, Many Years Ago. (Xena walks through the wreckage of a village to see everything destroyed.) Xena: (Marching up to her second in command:) “What have you done?!” Darphus: “A message, to those who defy us.” Xena: “You killed women and children?” Darphus: “If this doesn’t strike fear into the hearts of the northern villages, nothing will.” Xena: “You’re a butcher. Your disobedience will not go unpunished!” Darphus: “I expected as much.” (A few feet away, a baby starts crying. Xena walks over and picks up the child.) Cretus: (To Darphus:) “I thought I killed them both.” Darphus: “Kill it!” (Cretus draws his sword and approaches.) Xena: “Stop! (Points at Cretus with menace:) You kill this baby, you die next. (Stares at Darphus:) Contrary to what some might think, I still lead this army.” The Crystal Cave. Present. (Gabrielle, like the true bard she is, continues the story while the group walks along through the darkness.) Gabrielle: “The child should have meant nothing. But it was the beginning for Xena. The past is a harsh and unwilling mistress to change and so her own men put her through a gauntlet of death.” (Images of Xena being brutally beaten by members of her own army flash through Xena’s mind’s eye. Left for dead, the soldiers begin to disperse but Xena’s indomitable spirit pushes her to get to her feet and walk away.)

Gabrielle: “But now that good had taken root, the will to survive was too great. Her destiny now was to fight for the innocent. And that is what she’s done. And with that, Xena became good.” (Morgana smiles as Gabrielle finishes her story, realising perhaps for the first time that she’s surrounded by others who have dark pasts.) Morgana: “And you’ve never been tempted back to the darkness since?” Xena: “Oh, there have always been temptations, but somehow I just seem to resist them.” (Xena smirks at Gabrielle.) Gabrielle: (Rubbing Xena’s back:) “Yes, I don’t know how she does it sometimes.” Zelena: (Rolls her eyes:) “Oh please. While these two may need each other to keep on the straight and narrow, there are those of us who have no problem doing it by themselves.” Regina: (Joining them:) “What are you talking about? Zelena, you have spent most of your life looking for acceptance from others. The whole point of your obsession with going back in time was so you could have people around you to love and support you.” Zelena: “Yeah, and you certainly put a stop to that, didn’t you?” Storybrooke. Past. Barn. (Zelena turns her magic on Regina. Lifting her up, Zelena begins strangling her sister.) Zelena: (Pleased:) “Only light magic can harm me. And you’re as dark as they come. It was your destiny to be this way. And it’ll also be your undoing.” Regina: (With a strained voice:) “Don’t tell me what I can be.” Zelena: (Chuckles:) “I tried to be good once, but it wasn’t in the cards. This is who I am and it’s who you are.” Regina: “You’re wrong, Sis.” (Now, white light emerges from her hands.) Zelena: “What are you doing?” Regina: (Smiles:) “Changing.” (With a sudden burst of strength, Regina forcefully pushes her sister back.) Zelena: (Angry:) “How?” Regina: “I make my own destiny.” Zelena: “So, now you’re a hero?” Regina: (Smiles:) “Today I am.”

The Crystal Cave. Present. (Zelena glares at her sister, then turns at the sound of laughter coming from Morgana.) Morgana: "I'm sorry, but the Wicked Witch was defeated by the Evil Queen's use of light magic. That's hilarious." Zelena: "Oh, well thanks very much. And I thought you and I were just starting to get along. (Morgana continues to chuckle:) Need I remind you that Morgause didn't find my time travel spell a laughing matter? Or that out of the six of us, I am the only one who has defeated Mordred not once, but twice?" Mordred: (Unseen:) “There will not be a third time. (Xena and Gabrielle’s torches extinguish and everyone draws their weapons trying to find Mordred:) Over here.” (Zelena conjures another fireball, walking forward.) Zelena: “Show yourself, Mordred.” Mordred: “How has it come to this? Betrayed by my truest ally.” Morgana: (Speaking up:) “I have not betrayed you, Mordred. (She listens for a response:) Please, face me.” (Mordred’s voice sounds as if it’s coming from different directions. The group keep turning, trying to pinpoint where he is.) Mordred: “Who would of thought it, the great and powerful Morgana joining forces with those who would have seen her dead mere days ago.” Morgana: “Face me.” Mordred: “But you cannot stop me now. You cannot even help yourself.” Zelena: (Having heard enough:) “Why are you hiding? You still afraid of me?” (She turns back to face the way they came. Mordred comes through the passageway behind them.) Mordred: “I fear no one. Least of all you. (Mordred swings the sword towards Zelena but it is blocked by Xena who points her sword at his throat. Mordred laughs at her:) You have defied me for the last time, Xena.” Xena: “Oh no, you and I are just warming up.” (When Xena starts to back him up, Mordred walks back through the passageway and utters a spell, causing rocks to fall and block the way forward.) Mordred: “Stanas ahreosath!” (As the dust settles, the group has been cut in half. Gabrielle, Regina and Emma stand on one side of the rock fall while Xena, Zelena and Morgana's conditions are unknown.)

Gabrielle: "Xena! (She hurls herself at the rock wall, attempting to move a large rock but it is stuck fast. Gabrielle reaches higher up and pulls some small rocks away. She tries frantically to pull the rocks down but nothing happens. She slides to the ground, and turns to the others:) A little help?!” Regina: “But we don’t know-” Emma: (Steps forward:) “I’ve got this.” Regina: “Emma, wait!” (Emma takes aim at the wall and blasts it with a pulse of magic, blowing a sizeable hole in the rocks before more begin to fall on top of them. On the other side of the rockfall we see Zelena flying through the air, having been knocked backwards by the force of the blast. Gabrielle covers her head with her arms until the rocks cease falling.) Gabrielle: (Looking up at Emma:) “Thanks anyway!” (Gabrielle returns to digging by hand while Regina pulls Emma aside.) Regina: “I was going to say that we can’t just blast our way through because we don’t know who’s on the other side of that wall.” Emma: “Our daughter’s on the other side! Mordred has her and unless we do something about it real soon-” Regina: (Cutting her off:) “I know, Emma. Trust me, I know.” (Regina walks over and joins Gabrielle.) Emma: (Incredulous:) “We can’t just sit here clearing rocks while Mordred’s getting away from us!” Regina: “Well unless you want to kill us all with another rock slide, we don’t have another option.” (With her heart racing and her frustration mounting, Emma has no choice but to put her feelings aside and aid with the excavation effort.)

(Meanwhile on the other side of the wall, Xena, having recovered from the initial rockfall, dusts herself off and continues further into the cave. Elsewhere, Zelena looks all around her. With her path blocked at every turn except for one, Zelena takes a deep breath and walks along the passageway and out of sight.) Centre of the Cave. Alcove. (Although not having seen a single crystal so far, Morgana is first to find Mordred’s hideout within the cave. Following the illuminated pathway, Morgana enters an alcove where a child’s cradle rests upon a makeshift altar. Walking towards it, Morgana’s attention is caught by Mordred, who steps out of the shadows.) Mordred: “Welcome, My Lady.” (Morgana glances at the cradle containing Maria and then back to Mordred as slowly, she gives him a warm smile.)

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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ill-will-editions · 4 years

Photo

THE FUNERAL OF SALVATORE RICCIARDI: Celebrating a friend and comrade, while taking over public space again

WU MING

A final farewell to Salvo, to the songs of Su, communists of the capital! "This rebellious city, never tamed by ruins and bombings…"

Of all the measures taken during this emergency, the ban on funeral services is among the most dehumanizing.

In the name of what idea of "life" have these measures been taken? In the prevailing rhetoric of these past few weeks, life has been reduced almost entirely to the survival of the body, to the detriment of any other dimension of it. In this there is a very strong thanatophobic connotation (from the Greek Thanatos, or death), a morbid fear of dying.

Thanatophobia has permeated our society for decades. Already in 1975, the historian Philippe Ariès, in his landmark History of Death in the West, noted that death, in capitalist societies, had been "domesticated", bureaucratized, partly deritualized and separated as much as possible from the living, in order to "spare [...] society the disturbance and too strong emotion" of dying, and maintain the idea that life "is always happy, or at least must always look like it”.

To this end, he continues, it was strategic "to shift the site where we die. We no longer die at home, among family members, we die at the hospital, alone [...] because it has become inconvenient to die at home". Society, he said, must "realize as little as possible that death has occurred". This is why many rituals related to dying are now considered embarrassing and in a phase of disuse.

Even before the state of emergency we are experiencing, the rituality of dying had been reduced to a minimum. That is why we have always been so impressed by the manifestations of its re-emergence. Think of the worldwide success of a film like The Barbarian Invasions by Denys Arcand.

Forty-five years ago, Ariès wrote: "no one has the strength or patience to wait for weeks for a moment [death, Editor's note] that has lost its meaning". And what does the 2003 Canadian film depict if not a group of people waiting for weeks - in a context of conviviality and re-emerging secular rituality - the passing of a friend?

Eight years ago we undertook, together with many others, to set up an environment of conviviality and secular rituality around a dear friend and companion, Stefano Tassinari, in the weeks leading up to his death and in the ceremonies that followed. Much of our questioning on this subject dates back to that time.

If the rituality linked to dying was already reduced to a minimum, the ban on attending the funeral of a loved one had finally annihilated it.

Back on March 25th we shared a beautiful letter from a parish priest from Reggio, Don Paolo Tondelli, who was dismayed at the scenes he had to witness:

"And so I find myself standing in front of the cemetery, with three children of a widowed mother who died alone at the hospital because the present situation does not allow for the assistance of the sick. They cannot enter the cemetery, the measures adopted do not allow it. So they cry: they couldn't say goodbye to their mother when she gave up living, they can't say goodbye to her even now while she is being buried. We stop at the cemetery gate, in the street, I am bitter and angry inside, I have a strong thought: even a dog is not taken to the grave like this. I think we have exaggerated for a moment in applying the rules in this way, we are witnessing a dehumanization of essential moments in the life of every person; as a Christian, as a citizen I cannot remain silent [...] I say to myself: we are trying to defend life, but we are running the risk of not conserving the mystery that is so closely linked to it".

This "mystery" is not the exclusive prerogative of the Christian faith nor of those possessing a religious sensibility, since it does not necessarily coincide with the belief in the immortal soul or anything else, but something that we all ask ourselves, when we ask, 'what does it mean to live?' 'What distinguishes living from merely moving on or simply not dying?

That said, those who are believers and observers have experienced the suspension of ritual ceremonies - including funeral masses - as an attack on their form of life. It is no coincidence that among the examples of clandestine organization that we have heard about these days, there is the catacombal continuation of Christian public life.

We have direct evidence that in many parishes the faithful continued to attend mass, despite the signs on the doors saying they were suspended. One finds the "hard core" of the parishioners in the refectory of the convent, or in the rectory, or in the sacristy and in some cases in the church. Twenty, thirty people, summoned by word of mouth. In particular last Thursday, for the Missa in coena Domini.

The same can be said of funerals. In this case as well we have direct testimonies of priests who officiated small rites, with close family members, without publicity.

In the past few days, we have identified three types of disobedience to some of the stupidest and most inhumane features of the lock-down.

Individual disobedience

The individual gesture is often invisible but occasionally it is showy, as in the case of that runner on the deserted beach of Pescara, hunted by security guards for no reason that has any epidemiological basis. The video went viral, and had the effect of demonstrating the absurdity of certain rules and their obtuse application.

Continuing to run was, objectively and in its outcome, a very effective performance, an action of resistance and "conflictual theatre". Continuing to run distinguishes qualitatively that episode from the many others which offer "only" further evidence of repression. As Luigi Chiarella "Yamunin" wrote, the video brings to mind,

"a passage from Crowds and Power by Elias Canetti on grasping, which is indeed a gesture of the hand but also and above all is 'the decisive act of power where it manifests itself in the most evident way, from the most remote times, among animals and among men'. Later, he adds - and here comes the part pertinent to the episode of the runner - that 'there is nevertheless a second powerful gesture, certainly no less essential even if not so radiant. Sometimes one forgets, under the grandiose impression aroused by grasping, the existence of a parallel and almost equally important action: not letting oneself be grasped". The video [...] reminded me how powerful and liberating it is not to let yourself be caught. Then I don't forget that if you run away you do it to come back with new weapons, but in the meantime you must not let yourself be grabbed."

Clandestine group disobedience

These are the practices of the parishioners who organize themselves to go to mass on the sly, of the family members of a dearly departed person who agree with the parish priest to officiate a funeral rite... but also of the groups who continue in one way or another to hold meetings, of the bands who continue to rehearse, and of the parents who organize themselves together with a teacher to retrieve their children's school books. It's an episode that happened in a city in Emilia, which we recounted a few days ago.

In order to retrieve the books from a first grade school that had been left at school for the last month, a teacher came to the school, took the books out hidden in a shopping cart, and entrusted them to two parents who live near a baker and a convenience store respectively, so that the other parents could go and pick them up with the "cover" of buying groceries, avoiding possible fines. The books were given to the individual parents by lowering them with a rope from a small balcony and stuffed into shopping bags or between loaves of bread, as if they were hand grenades for the Resistance. In this way those children will at least be able to follow the program on the book with the teacher in tele-education, and the parents will be able to have support for the inevitable homeschooling.

After a phase of shock in which unconditional obedience and mutual guilt prevailed, sectors of civil society - and even "interzone" between institutions and civil society - are reorganizing themselves "in hiding". In this reorganization it is implicit that certain restrictions are considered incongruous, irrational, indiscriminately punitive.

Furthermore: at the beginning of the emergency, parental chats were, in general, among the worst hotbeds of panic, culture of suspicion, toxic voice messages, calls for denunciation. The fact that now some of them are also being used to circumvent delusional prohibitions - why shouldn't a teacher be able to retrieve the textbooks left in the classroom? why should a dad or a mom have to resort to subterfuge, self-certification, etc. to retrieve those books? - is yet another proof that the "mood" has changed.

Provocative group disobedience

The performance of the trio from Rimini - a man and two women - who had sex in public places and put the videos online, accompanied with insults hurled at the police, is part of this rarefied case history.

The police have since held a grudge against the case, as exemplified by their official social channels.

The only thing missing from this catalog of disobedience is, of course...

Claimed group disobedience

Here we have in mind visible, and no longer merely clandestine collective disobedience.

For a moment we feared that the fascists would be the first to bring it into play. Forza Nuova attempted to leverage the dismay of believers in the prospect of an Easter “behind closed doors,” and without the Via Crucis. However, when leaflets circulated calling for a procession to St. Peter's Basilica tomorrow (Sunday 4.12), accompanied by mottos such as "In hoc signo vinces" and "Rome will not know an Easter without Christ", they were dismayed to find that it wasn't the Fascists who were behind them. Instead, it was our comrades and friends from Radio Onda Rossa and the Roman liberatory movement who, this morning, in S. Lorenzo, greeted Salvatore Ricciardi with what in effect became the first political demonstration in the streets since the beginning of the emergency.

Salvatore Ricciardi, 80 years old, was a pillar of the Roman antagonist left. A former political prisoner, for many years he was involved in fights inside prisons and against prison conditions. He did so in a number of books and countless broadcasts on Radio Onda Rossa, which yesterday dedicated a moving four-hour live special to him. He continued to do so until even a few days ago, on his blog Contromaelstrom, writing about imprisonment and coronavirus.

Headlines about this morning's events can already be read in the mainstream press. A precise chronicle, accompanied by some valuable remarks, can be heard in this phone call from an editor of Radio Onda Rossa [here]. Among other things, our comrade points out: "here there are rows of people standing in front of the butchers shop for days and days, yet we cannot even bid farewell to the dead? [...] We're in the open air, while in Rome there's not even a requirement to wear a mask and yet many people had masks, and there were only a few people anyway"...Yet the police still threatened to use a water cannon to disperse a funeral ritual. The part of the district where the seditious gathering took place was closed and those present were detained by police.

During this emergency, we’ve seen so many surreal scenes - today, to offer just one example, a helicopter took to the sky, wasting palates of public money, in pursuit of a single citizen walking on a Sicilian beach - and even still, this morning's apex had not yet been reached.

For our part, we say kudos and solidarity to those who run, and are out running great risks to claim their right to live together - in public space that they have always crossed with their bodies and filled with their lives - out of pain and mourning for the loss of Salvo, but also out of happiness for having had him as a friend and companion.

"Because the bodies will return to occupy the streets. Because without the bodies there is no Liberation."

That's what we were writing yesterday, taking up the “Song of el-'Aqila Camp”. We reaffirm our belief that it will happen. And the government fears it too: is it by chance that just today Minister Lamorgese warned against "hotbeds of extremist speech"?

In her telephone interview, the Radio Onda Rossa editor says that the current situation, in essence, could last a year and a half. Those in power would like it to be a year and a half without the possibility of protest. They are prepared to use health regulations to prevent collective protests and struggles. Managing the recession with sub iudice civil rights is ideal for those in power.

It is right to disobey absurd rules

We should point out once again that, whilst keeping a population under house arrest, while prohibiting funerals, and de jure or de facto preventing anyone from taking a breath of fresh air - which is almost a unique phenomenon in the West, since only Spain follows us on this - and while shaming individual conduct like jogging, going out "for no reason", or shopping "too many times"...while this whole little spectacle is going on, Italy remains the European country with the highest COVID-19 mortality rate. Good peace of mind for those who spoke of an "Italian model" to be imitated by other countries.

Who is responsible for such a debacle? It is not a hard question to answer: it was the people who did not establish a medical cordon around Alzano and Nembro in time, because the owner asked them not to; it was those who spread infection in hospitals through an impressive series of negligent decisions; those who turned RSAs and nursing homes into places of mass coronavirus death; and lastly, those who, while all this was happening, diverted public attention toward nonsense and harmless behavior, while pointing the finger at scapegoats. This was blameworthy, even criminal behavior.

Everywhere in the world the coronavirus emergency has presented a golden opportunity to restrict the spaces of freedom, settle accounts with unwelcome social movements, profit from the behavior to which the population is forced, and restructure to the detriment of the weakest.

Italy adds to all this its standard surfeit of irrational ravings. The exceptionality of our "model" of emergency management lies in its complete overturning of scientific logic. For it is one thing to impose - for good (Sweden) or for bad (another country at random) - physical distancing as a necessary measure to reduce the possibility of contagion; it is quite another to lock the population in their homes and prevent them from leaving except for reasons verified by police authorities. The jump from one to the other imposed itself alongside the idea - also unfounded - that one is safe from the virus while "indoors", whereas "outdoors" one is in danger.

Everything we know about this virus tells us exactly the opposite, namely that the chances of contracting it in the open air are lower, and if you keep your distance even almost zero, compared to indoors. On the basis of this self-evidence, the vast majority of countries affected by the pandemic not only did not consider it necessary to prevent people from going out into the open air generally, as they did in France, but in some cases even advised against it.

In Italy, this radius is, at best, two hundred meters from home, but there are municipalities and regions that have reduced it to zero meters. For those who live in the city, such a radius is easily equivalent to half a block of asphalt roads, which are much more crowded than in the open space outside the city, if it could be reached. For those who live in the countryside, however, or in sparsely populated areas, a radius of two hundred meters is equally absurd, since the probability of meeting someone and having to approach them is infinitely lower than in an urban center.

Not only that: we have seen that very few countries have introduced the obligation to justify their presence outdoors by authorizations, certificates, and receipts, even calculating the distance from home using Google Maps. This is also an important step: it means putting citizens at the mercy of law enforcement agencies.

We have recorded cases of hypertensive people, with a medical prescription recommending daily exercise for health reasons, fined €500; or people fined because they were walking with their pregnant partner, to whom the doctor had recommended walking. The list of abuses and idiocies would be long, and one may consult our website for further examples.

Legal uncertainty, the arbitrariness of police forces, the illogical limitation of behavior that presents no danger to anyone, are all essential elements of the police state.

Having to respect an illogical, irrational norm is the exercise of obedience and submission par excellence.

It will never be "too soon" to rebel against such obligations.

It must be done, before it’s too late.

Translated by Ill Will Editions

#Italy #COVID19 #defiance #coronavirus #state of exception

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spiritualdirections · 4 years

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Interpretive Charity and the two paradigms of the pandemic

In the Gospel today, the woman at the well and Jesus begin by talking past each other. The woman thinks Jesus is interested in water, or perhaps she thinks he’s interested in being her next husband. Jesus is interested in her conversion. She doesn’t get what he’s saying, at all. She lacks the imagination to consider this conversation the way that Jesus does.

A lot of us are talking past each other: At MIT this week, the administration managed a giant operation to shut down the university within a few days. Every so often, there would be a conference call where exhausted members of the administration would explain what they were doing and why, receive feedback in the form of “have you thought of this?”, and then give an answer (which, as often as not, would be changed within a few hours). Their work and efforts were really quite intelligent, and earned praise from MIT’s president. Also at MIT this week, students protested the various decisions of the Institute, often in vulgar language, which really hurt the feelings of the men and women who were working long hours to evacuate (sorry, “de-densify”) the campus. But, of course, the decisions of the Institute hurt many students in obviously real ways. Both sides had a point, and yet neither was really able to get inside the mind of the other and interpret the other’s actions charitably.

A poll just came out which shows that Republicans and Democrats view the facts and dangers of the pandemic in extremely different ways. There’s a popular saying, that you're entitled to your opinions, but not to your own facts. But, the fact/opinion dichotomy is not sustainable, as anyone who ever studied the great MIT philosopher Thomas Kuhn’s work on scientific revolutions knows.

What we seem to have here are (at least) two different paradigms for looking at the pandemic:

One paradigm, expressed really effectively in this article, is that the pandemic is really big, really scary, and that the more governments act in a dictatorial fashion, the better we’ll all be.

The other paradigm is that over 80% of those who catch the virus get the sniffles and can be treated with DayQuil, that of those with the virus in South Korea (where they have the best testing and thus best data) only .06% die from this, and that it’s harder to catch than the average flu because you can’t infect anyone else unless you’re coughing and sneezing. People under 50 have little to worry about unless they have a preexisting respiratory, heart, or immune condition, and young people under 20 don’t have anything to worry about at all.

I’ll call those who subscribe to the first paradigm Team Pandemic (slogan: “Act now to avert the catastrophe!”), the second group I’ll call Team Don’t Panic (slogan: “You can’t spell ‘pandemic’ without ‘panic’!”).

Each paradigm looks at the information available to us and evaluates things differently. Each has important “facts” to build their theory upon: Team Pandemic can point to the limited number of respirators and hospital beds and point out that there’s an absolute number of severe cases that our healthcare system can handle before being overwhelmed, even if the percentage of cases that are severe is low. Team Don’t Panic can point out that we don’t need to isolate everyone, just those who are likely to develop severe cases because of age and pre-existing conditions, and those who are symptomatic. Team Pandemic worries that you can transmit the virus without being symptomatic; Team Don’t Panic points out that no evidence supports this. Team Pandemic points out that the regions that instituted strict policies quickly have the virus spread under control; Team Don’t Panic responds that we should adopt China’s approach of having huge numbers of “contact tracing” teams tracking down the network of those exposed to the already infected, which is a scalable response (interviewers can be trained and deployed quickly). Team Pandemic points out how one woman, Patient 31 in South Korea, who ignored social isolation policies infected thousands of people. Team Don’t Panic points out that she was symptomatic (including feverish) for over a week and didn’t self-isolate--that hardly justifies asymptomatic people being forced into isolation. Don’t Panic points out that isolating policies are likely to have devastating effects on the local and global economies. Team Pandemic points out that a global health crisis might be even worse.

I’m not the guy to adjudicate the debate. Actually, it’s not just a debate, but a deliberation about how we should live together right now. Academics can analyze and debate things for years. But we have to make decisions about how to behave right now based upon very incomplete information. We also can’t just adopt a “live and let live” attitude, since my neighbor’s mistaken decisions might affect me. So we need to deliberate together. Unfortunately, as the philosopher Alisdair MacIntyre has shown, our society’s capacity for moral argument across competing paradigms is quite low.

I do think that in the days and weeks to come, we should work to try to understand the other side’s paradigm. This past week, I’ve seen both sides be extremely focused on solving problems within their own paradigms, while being completely unsympathetic to the viewpoint of the other team. Because the authorities have largely joined Team Pandemic, most people on Team Don’t Panic are actually quite aware of the arguments on the other side; they just see things differently. I think most people on Team Pandemic are oblivious to the critique of their own position. That sort of imbalance in listening is a recipe for social unrest, civil disobedience, and riots. If the authorities on Team Pandemic continue to order people around without listening and responding to the arguments from Team Don’t Panic, they might lose their ability to lead. If Team Pandemic happens to be right about the necessity of social isolation, and yet people start disobeying them because of their own unwillingness to listen, they might bring about their own worst nightmare.

But I’m a priest, and chaplain of hundreds of college students, and so my more direct concern is that people make the effort to be charitable to one another. If you are squarely on one team, don’t yell and scream at people on the other team. Try to see the world from their perspective. Try to focus on the “facts” that are most weighty in their opinion, and see if there’s some sort of compromise you can make about your own views. Investigate the facts that are under dispute, analytically, with an openness to new evidence. Check your blind spots, by broadening your vision to think about other aspects of the situation than those you usually do. Love the people on the other team, not in a condescending way, but as people who also are seeking the truth about how to live under these circumstances. If you continue to disagree, don’t be disagreeable. Bear with the faults of others, and apologize if you realize that you lost your temper or argued disrespectfully.

And, if, like me, you’ve been forced into working from home--don’t be resentful about it. Assume God has a plan!

#pandemic #coronavirus #sars 2 #ars technica #3rd Sunday of Lent 2020 #charity #alasdair macintyre #thomas kuhn #scientific revolution #paradigm #samaritan woman

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travllingbunny · 5 years

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The 100 6x13 The Blood of Sanctum

This was a rather underwhelming finale to what was probably my favorite season of The 100. That doesn’t mean it was really bad or that it ruined the season for me; no, it was just something that felt more like a midseason finale than an epic conclusion. This may be because the writers were already sure that they were getting season 7 – and may have already planned it as the last, which made season 6 something like the first part of one big, 29 episodes season, aka “Book Two”.

Out of all the storylines, only SheidMadi got resolved – as did the two-season story of Madi as the Commander, which is not history, together, apparently, with the Flame. I admit that I really did not expect the show to finally do away with this long-standing plot device. On the other hand, not only is Sheidheda still a villain who is going to cause trouble in season 7, but the main plot with the Primes and bodysnatching has not been fully concluded – because Russell Lightbourne is still alive, several of the mind drives are still in function, and there are still a lot of “devout” Prime-worshippers in Sanctum. Out of all the storylines, that was the one I expected to be fully over.

The best parts of the episode – the strongest emotional moments – all involved Clarke. Even though Clarke suffering and losing people she loves has been done to death, the show can always count on Eliza Taylor to deliver those big emotional moments. The only problem with her scenes is that they were somewhat predictable – especially since the promo department saw fit to spoil the emotional climax in promo videos and pictures. Still, the scenes where Clarke is tempted to give in to the desire to believe that her mother is still alive, but then stays strong and smart and floats Simone in her mother’s body alongside most of the other Primes; and the climax with her confronting Madi, are really good. Sure, it’s the “Power of Love” trope, but the show knows how to do that trope well, and I liked it. It fit with the show’s themes, including the old “Love is a weakness” theme. Sheidheda was the one to repeat that mantra, but it was something we first heard from Lexa (who eventually changed her mind about it), later learned was actually a part of her Flamekeeper Titus’ teaching, and eventually learned (in season 5) that it was also a part of Gaia’s teaching to Octavia, as something that Flamekeepers generally teach Commanders. Here, Sheidheda said that Lexa told him Clarke was strong (he would have first known about Clarke through Lexa, years before Madi took the Flame), but, according to Sheidheda, Lexa was weak because of her love for Clarke, and Clarke now proved she was weak because of her love for Madi… But then Clarke proved that Love is strength by risking her life and using her love for Madi and Madi’s love for her to bring her daughter back, when she seemed fully possessed by Sheidheda.

This season was full of parallels to season 2 – which was for the long time my favorite – as a redoing, in a better way, of what happened; and the reunion scene between Clarke and Bellamy was a beautiful one with parallels and contrasts to their goodbye scene in the season 2 finale. The song and the softness and tenderness of the scene were similar to the Bellarke season 2 goodbye, and the dialogue recalled both that scene, and Clarke’s conversation with her mother, when she said “I tried to be the good guy” and got the reply “Maybe there are no good guys”. But that mindset was very damaging, to Clarke, to Abby and to everyone. And here, Clarke says she tried to do better (which irked me somewhat, because she has to know she did do the right thing – it would be absurd to think that killing Primes in self-defense is somehow wrong, or that she was in any way responsible for the mayhem Russell caused, because he’s the worst) and Bellamy assures her she did, they did. What makes more sense is that Clarke is wondering if doing better was worth it, since she lost her mother. It is the opposite of the season 2 finale, when she saved everyone she loved, but lost a part of her soul and all of her moral certainty in the process. (Even though, in the circumstances in that season finale, when the choice was between killing all the Mountain Men or letting them win and horribly murder Clarke and Bellamy and everyone they loved – Abby, Octavia, all their friends – the former was the right choice, and anyone who disagrees has to explain how lying down and saying “yes, kill us all, you superior Mount Weather people” was a better choice.) But this time, Clarke accepted Bellamy’s comforting words and hug, and is staying with her people instead of isolating herself.

But the relationship issues with Bellamy and Clarke and Echo, respectively, were put on hold– which was obviously a deliberate decision by the writers to not resolve them before the last season, and the way it has been made to work is by making the last few episodes so full of action that characters didn’t have the time to sit and talk about their feelings and relationships (especially Bellamy and Echo, who haven’t had an on-screen one-on-one scene since 6x04, and weren’t even in the position to have one since 6x08). Many of the character arcs feel like they just reached the halfway point.

The weakest part of the episode was the battle for Sanctum. Aside from some funny moments involving Murphy and a confirmation that Octavia has changed and that she and Bellamy have repaired their relationship, most of it was just action - and I’m someone who gets bored with action scenes if they don’t involve meaningful character moments and/or real stakes, which was missing. The show also missed the chance to portray the changing society of Sanctum, and the revolution/civil war that started in 6x12, in an interesting way. Instead, we just got beaten over the head with how brainwashed the “devout” Sanctumites are, which took quite a bit of screentime. It was hard to care when none of these people were characters we had met before, and were hard to relate to. What happened to the rebels who shouted “Death to Primes”? Did they just lose the battle off-screen and got captured? What happened to Delilah’s parents – the only Sanctum residents we had already gotten to know that are still alive? The show has done much more to humanize Russell freaking Lightbourne and the Primes, which is not a bad thing in itself, than it ever did to humanize the ordinary residents of Sanctum, who remain a nebulous crowd with few individual characteristics (ironically, similar to how the Primes treat them), which just serves as the motivation for our heroes to spare/help so they would do better.

Seeing Jordan brainwashed does help somewhat understand that the people of Sanctum are not stupid and sympathize with them: if he can be so brainwashed after a few days, what chance did the Sanctumites have? They had that happen to them for years. Jordan’s new mindset after literally drinking the Kool Aid is scary and promises big problems for season 7. Remember when they said Priya was overseeing his recovery? The Primes are always proving even more evil than you thought. She and the “adjustor” seem to have somehow managed to make him transfer his feelings for Delilah to Priya – to the point that he carries a mind drive (probably Priya’s), and to make him believe in their BS mantra that their world was happy and peaceful before Earth people came (which cannot be further from the truth), when he was the first to call the Primes murderers when he discovered the truth about them in 6x05.

The mystery of the Anomaly, of course, has been established as the main plot of season 7 (no surprise there), and while I expected a Diyoza to come out of the Anomaly (I expected a younger Charmaine, but at least one person on Twitter guessed it would be her daughter Hope), the final twist with Octavia disappearing into the Anomaly did come as a surprise. But that part of the episode felt somewhat disconnected from the rest.

Other thoughts:

Indra’s story about Sheidheda’s rule of fear was a little weird – because I don’t really see how exactly his actions were that different than those that were expected from any Commander. Apparently, he butchered everyone who refused to submit to his rule. But isn’t that what Commanders generally do? We learned back in season 2 that Grounders have a strictly hierarchical society and are expected to obey their leaders. When Lincoln showed disobedience and went against an order of his Commander (going back to help Octavia in Mount Weather against Lexa’s orders), Lexa issued a kill order on him. Blood must have blood, Love is weakness – these are mantras taught to Commanders (or at least the recent ones) by their Flamekeepers. Sheidheda’s actions may have been more extreme in scale and harshness, but at the core, he was following the exact same rules he was taught. Giving anyone, especially a child, absolute power, doesn’t tend to end well.

One of the few characters who got a rounded character arc in season 6 is Gaia, who ended up choosing saving Madi over saving the Flame. Yes, it was also about destroying Sheidheda, but it was a big thing for her to decide to destroy the thing to whose worship she had dedicated her life, for the common good, to protect people and to save the life of a real, living child. But she will have an identity crisis next season and will have to decide what her life is now.

The hug between Clarke and Raven was nice but…semi-satisfactory to see: they have made up, and Raven has done better in the last few episodes, and made amends to Clarke, in a way, by saving Madi, just as Clarke did better by caring about the common good and saving everyone, again (something she had lost in season 5) rather than just people close to her.

But Raven really needs a good storyline again and a better characterization. In season 6, she was a side character who was there just to support other people’s stories. Even Gaia’s: in order for the decision whether to kill the Flame to belong to Gaia, the show had Raven ask Gaia what to do with the Flame – which was quite mind-boggling. Since when does Raven care about the Grounder religion, to the point of giving the decision to a Flamekeeper? Especially when a child’s life and everyone’s being is at stake?

Speaking about sacrificing one character’s characterization to give a cool moment/uplift another, I didn’t enjoy the way that it seemed like Octavia is now the most morally developed and Bellamy just followed her lead when she decided to help Gabriel save the people of Sanctum. As if Bellamy didn’t always care about saving people who weren’t necessarily “his people” – e.g. saving the slaves in 4x02, his insistence in season 2 that they spare the children and innocent people in Mount Weather, trying to stop Finn from killing a Grounder prisoner in season 2, trying not to get Children of Gabriel unnecessarily killed in 6x03 – when they were seen as enemies…

Layla, one of the very few non-Prime new characters we got to know, got murdered by a devout nutcase, and her death scene was spoiled in a promo… But I wasn’t even sure she was injured when I saw the promo, because the scene must be the least unconvincing killing scene ever. That little surface scratch with a knife looked like it can’t do more than just leave a little mark on her neck, for a while.

Emori and Murphy were fun to watch in their glamorous new clothes and makeup and with their ‘god” personas.

Even though he made the choice to help his friends, Murphy still wants immortality. And he is not concerned with the well-being of people he doesn’t know, which is in character for him. We’ll see if any of that comes into play in early season 7.

Does it count as Bury Your Gays when a show reveals an already dead character as gay (or possibly bisexual)? I remember that this was brought up when Lost did it with a dead recurring character in a flashback. Here it was a character we saw for just a few seconds in 6x02, who didn’t get any characterization, and has been dead for 12 episodes, and super-definitely-dead for 8 (one of the Primes, Daniel Lee).

Are Bellamy and Echo still together? Who knows. Are they still kind of technically an item just because they haven’t had any time or chance to interact in private, which would be necessary for a breakup? If they are together, why are they acting more platonic than Bellamy and Clarke? It would have been easy for the show to confirm they were still a couple: it would be obvious if they had kissed during their reunion – as Miller and Jackson did in this episode, or if they kissed at some other point (as Murphy and Emori do all the time) or had other gestures of intimacy other than the reunion bro-hug in 6x12, with Bellamy patting Echo on the back the same way he did his sister a couple of episodes back. At this point, Becho is the Schroedinger’s Ship.

Rating: 6.5/10

#the 100 #the 100 season 6 #the 100 6x13 #the blood of sanctum #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #bellarke #octavia blake #madi griffin #sheidheda #raven reyes #gaia kom trikru #john murphy #emori #abby griffin #the primes

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lo-lynx · 4 years

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Dangerous women in His Dark Materials

CW: Sexism, racism

Spoiler warning: spoilers for all of the His Dark Materials book series. Extremely tiny spoiler for The Secret Commonwealth.

In the opening pages of Northern Lights, we meet our heroine Lyra Silvertongue as she sneaks through the collage where she has grown up, to get access to a forbidden room. Her daemon Pan chides her to behave herself, which she, of course, does not listen to; as the lovely hosts of the podcast Girls Gone Canon are fond of saying when anyone says “Lyra, no”, her immediate response is “LYRA YES” (look, I tried to find a specific episode where they say this so I could reference that, but even though I love their podcast I didn’t want to relisten to hours of the podcast just to find that). In many ways, Lyra is perhaps the very definition of the word “willful”. Another early example that the reader gets of her willfulness is in the second chapter of Northern Lights when Lyra’s relationship to the scholars of Jordan Collage is described: “(…) they were men who had been around her all her life, taught her, chastised her, given her little presents, chased her away from the fruit trees in the Garden (…)” (Pullman 2011a, 19). That last part about chasing her away from the fruit trees in the Garden is particularly interesting since it clearly connects Lyra to Eve and the Garden of Even. Later in the story, we find out that Lyra is prophesised to play a sort of Eve 2.0 role, something the Magisterium dreads (Pullman 2011c, 68). I’ve previously written about the power relations in His Dark Materials and their connection to gender and sexuality here. In this essay I want to continue on a similar track, by analysing femininity and female sexuality specifically, and the Magisterium’s view on them.

But before we get into all of that, I want to return to our dear Lyra. When the reader is first introduced to her, she’s disobeying rules, and this is, of course, a theme that continues through the series. Throughout the books, she is constantly doing things she’s not supposed to do, no matter what the adults or institutions around her say. She is at different times described as “half-wild, half-civilised”, “fierce and stubborn”, and having “some nerve” (Pullman 2011a, 19 & 120; Pullman 2011b, 202). Now, this portrayal of a half-wild young girl sounds very similar to the idea of the “willful girl” that Sara Ahmed describes (2017). Ahmed writes that wilful girls show up in all sort of fiction, and one specific example that she gives is the Grimm story called The Willful Child. Ahmed quotes the story in her text, and since I think it is very illustrative of the point both she and I try to make I will do so as well:

Once upon a time there was a child who was willful, and would not do as her mother wished. For this reason God had no pleasure in her, and let her become ill, and no doctor could do her any good, and in a short time she lay on her death-bed. When she had been lowered into her grave, and the earth was spread over her, all at once her arm came out again, and stretched upwards, and when they had put it in and spread fresh earth over, it was all to no purpose, for the arm always came out again. Then the mother herself was obligated to go to the grave, and strike the arm with a rod, and when she had done that, it was drawn in, and then at last the child had rest beneath the ground. (Grimm & Grimm 1884, 125. Quoted in Ahmed 2017, 66)

As Ahmed points out, it is only when the willful child gives up her own will that she can become at peace. Furthermore, Ahmed writes:

Note that the rod, as that which embodies the will of the parent, of the sovereign, is not deemed willful. The rod becomes the means to eliminate willfulness from the child. One form of will judges the other wills as willful wills. One form of will assumes the right to eliminate the others. (Ahmed 2017, 67)

Now, if this doesn’t describe Lyra’s story, I don’t know what does. Ahmed also notes that willfulness is generally a trait which is assigned to girls, while boys are described as “strong-willed” instead, a more positive trait (ibid, 68). This is because girls are generally not supposed to have wills of their own. However, it’s not just girls who are not supposed to have wills of their own, of course. Ahmed also notes that a similar framing was used to describe enslaved and colonised people, who were often positioned as children, and was supposed to obey their master (ibid, 80). Continuing with the theme of the strong arm who breaks expectations, Ahmed references the famous speech Ain’t I a Woman by Sojourner Truth (ibid, 87). For those who don’t know, Sojourner Truth was a former enslaved black woman and abolitionist who in 1851 held a speech at a women’s convention in Ohio (there exist several performances of this speech that you can find online, I would especially recommend this one by Kerry Washington and this one by Alfre Woodard). There she criticised those who said that women should not have rights because they were the so-called weaker sex. It is said that during her speech, she bared her right arm to show her muscles and pointed out that as a formerly enslaved person she was hardly weak. I’ll return to this speech later, but here I’ll just reiterate the point that Ahmed makes: “The arms of the slave belonged to the master, as did the slaves, as the ones who were not supposed to have a will of their own.” (ibid, 87). This, I think, is a point that becomes clear throughout the His Dark Materials. The powerful claim the right to override the will of the marginalised, be it women, people of colour, or other groups. In previous essays, I have written about how this becomes clear with the illusions to eugenics, etc in the series, so I will leave that here for now. But it is important to remember how race and class interact with gender, and I think that if Lyra didn’t have white privilege and class privilege, she would have a much harder time getting away with being so willful.

Now, Ahmed notes in her text, that all of these stories in literature about willful girls really go back to the “first” willful woman, Eve (Ahmed 2017, 70). These other stories:

(…) becomes a thread in the weave of the stories of willful: returning us to Genesis, to the story of the beginning, to Eve’s willful wantonness as behind the fall from Grace. The wilfulness of women relates here not only to disobedience but to desire: the strength of her desire becoming a weakness of her will. (ibid)

Here we see another twist of the willful woman; the woman whose desires overpower her self-control. Having returned to Eve, which I previously noted is deeply connected to Lyra since she’s considered an Eve 2.0 of sorts, it feels necessary to look at how the Magisterium of Lyra’s world sees Eve. The Church in Lyra’s world (in a parallel to our own) teaches that when Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of knowledge in the garden of Eden, their daemons settled, and they start experiencing shame over their bodies (Pullman 2011a, 370). That is of course also the moment sin comes into the world, and the first humans are cast out of the Garden. I’ve previously written about how this has led to the Church wanting to control sexuality and sin (both in our world and Lyra’s world). If possible, they would eradicate sin from the world altogether. As Mrs. Coulter puts it in The Amber Spyglass: “If they could, they’d go back to the garden of Eden and kill Eve before she was tempted.” (Pullman 2011c, 205). The church here puts the blame for humanity’s sinfulness on the first woman, and much like in our world, I would argue that this has been transferred upon women as a whole. As for instance, Yolanda Betata Martín has written, in the middle ages, the church would generally describe female sexuality as particularly sinful, if not outright demonic (for instance by linking it to witchcraft). She writes:

First, the sexuality is perceived as an activity linked exclusively to reproduction and no to sexual pleasure. Second, female sexuality is projected symbolically as a phenomenon endowed with negative connotations and even destructive defined in terms of greed, insatiability and animality. Both beliefs are based more immediate ideological patristic discourse, i.e., in a Discourse of biblical inspiration that projects an image of women deeply misogynist based on the biblical figure of Eve and her role in the Edenic fall. (…) The Discourse gives patristic principles of rationality, morality and intellectuality to men so that women are defined, following the principle of otherness, as irrational, immoral and visceral. This view of feminine nature, supported ideologically on the supposed natural inferiority of women under the Edenic fall, is radicalized throughout the Middle Ages and especially from the thirteenth century. (ibid, 48)

Women are, therefore, simultaneously seen as potentially dangerous and inferior. Sounds familiar? This, I would argue, is not just how Lyra, but perhaps, even more, her mother Mrs. Coulter, is seen by the Magisterium in His Dark Materials.

Now, I’ve pointed out how Lyra most of the time outright goes against the wishes of the adults around her (with some notable exceptions of course, she is Lyra Silvertongue after all, and can be really sneaky). Mrs. Coulter, on the other hand, usually plays into the perception people have of her. In a world where she can only hold a limited amount of official power (she can’t become a priest in the church, and rise in the ranks in that way, for instance), she has been forced to rely on other means (Pullman 2011a, 372). In this patriarchal world it is quite clear that women are generally devalued, I mean, just look at the disdainful way Lyra describes female scholars at the beginning of Northern Lights (ibid, 71). Lyra is however transfixed by Mrs. Coulter’s charms, and to the reader who already knows how she kidnaps children, it is clear that these charms are dangerous too. But to Lyra, and quite a few other people in the story, they are not obviously sinister. Later, in The Amber Spyglass, Mrs. Coulter uses these same charms to trick Metatron (Pullman 2011c, 405). She seduces him, while simultaneously portraying herself as a weak woman. As a reader, you definitely realise by this point, that the Magisterium is right in fearing both Lyra and Mrs. Coulter. To quote Sojourner Truth (see, I said we’d return to her!):

Then that little man in black there, he says women can't have as much rights as men, 'cause Christ wasn't a woman! Where did your Christ come from? Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.

If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again! And now they is asking to do it, the men better let them. (Truth 1851. Quoted in Women’s Rights National History Park n.d.)

Yes, these women will turn the world right-side-up again. They’ll create a world (more) free from religious control, and with more equality.

I want to note, that when Lyra sees the female scholar Dame Hannah Relf again, at the end of The Amber Spyglass, she thinks that Dame Hannah is much more clever, interesting, and kind than she thought before (Pullman 2011c, 515). Perhaps Lyra has just grown up, perhaps she has learned to value women more, I’m not sure. However, Lyra definitely has changed. Later in the same chapter, she is described as defiant but lost by Dame Hannah. I don’t quite have the space to go into Lyra’s changing character later in her life, mainly in The Secret Commonwealth, here but perhaps that’ll be a separate essay one day. However, I think it’s quite clear that Lyra has lost some of her wilfulness and daring (not all of it though). And, if she is to save the world again, then she must regain that. Perhaps that is part of Pullman’s message to his readers; be critical of authorities, be brave, be willful.

As we’ve seen throughout this essay, the patriarchal society in Lyra’s world is fearful of willful girls and women. This fear goes all the way back to their hatred and fear of Eve, and their resentment of her being responsible for humanity’s expulsion from the garden of Eden. As Sojourner Truth puts it, they’ve seen that women are strong enough to turn the world upside down. Therefore women, and their sexuality, must be controlled. It must be demonised, and women must be seen as inferior as to not get too much power. In a way, the Church’s fear is proven correct by the story; the women of the story are able to change the world again. This time to turn it right-side-up.

References

Ahmed, Sara. 2017. Living a Feminist Life. Durham: Durham University Press.

Beteta Martín, Yolanda. 2013. “THE SERVANTS OF THE DEVIL. THE DEMONIZATION OF FEMALE SEXUALITY IN THE MEDIEVAL PATRISTIC DISCOURSE.” Journal of Research in Gender Studies Volume, 3:2, 2013, 48–66.

Pullman, Philip. 2011a. Northern Lights. London: Scholastic.

Pullman, Philip. 2011b. The Subtle Knife. London: Scholastic.

Pullman, Philip. 2011c. The Amber Spyglass. London: Scholastic

Women’s Rights National History Park. n.d. “Sojourner Truth: Ain't I A Woman?” National Park Service. Accessed March 22, 2020. https://www.nps.gov/articles/sojourner-truth.htm

#hdm #hdm spoilers #His Dark Materials #his dark materials spoilers #feminism #cw: sexism #cw: racism

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zcldrizes-a · 5 years

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“ 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲. ” ⋰ canon divergence.

my daenerys is very heavily influenced by book, show, and personal headcanons. i have taken what i want from each, but ultimately, if you don’t like certain things, you are free to unfollow. this is what you can expect if we write together. massive credit to both @killthebxy and @tymptir for their input, and everything they’ve contributed.

⋰ ⊰ 𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌; 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕. ┊┊ spans the time across all books, and seasons 1 - 5.

The main verse takes place as a mixture of book, show, and headcanon influences, starting with the history we know and love, so I won’t go into a ridiculous amount of detail since the plot points are pretty universally known. Born during the worst storm the world has ever seen, and at the cost of her mother’s life, Daenerys was raised by her brother Viserys in exile, to escape the wrath of the Baratheons who had already destroyed the majority of her family. She was eventually taken into the Free Cities with her brother, by loyal retainers, and after years of trying to raise support, they were given sanctuary by Magister Illyrio Mopatis in the Free City of Pentos. Despite living in constant fear of her brother ( who threatens she’ll “wake the dragon” ) and somewhat meek and malleable in response to such treatment, she dreams of finding a peaceful home and a place to belong.

SUBVERSE NOTE HERE: In any canon where someone who is not Viserys raises Daenerys ( whether that be Rhaella, or whether that be any other person – Arthur Dayne, Elia Martell, etc ) the tag will be as linked beside this. This is to signal that her background in that verse may be different, thus lining her up for the potential of a different life.

After reaching a ripe age for marriage, she is sold to Khal Drogo in exchange for an army of 40,000 men for the khalasar, for an army to take back the Iron Throne, Daenerys is initially terrified of her husband, who does not hesitate to take what is his by purchase. Throughout her time with the dothraki, she eventually finds the strength to fight back against her older brother, and manages to impact the culture of the people around her - instilling ideals against the way the dothraki used to live in a respectful manner. After Drogo’s death, and the birth of her dragons, her time with the dothraki comes to a close, as they won’t follow a woman who has not displayed traditional stereotypes of strength. As such, she seeks out the major cities in Essos in an attempt to fortify her power beyond just her broken people.

Making her way from Qarth, to Astapor, it is there that Daenerys acquires the army of the Unsullied, and forms an alliance with the Stormcrows. After freeing the slaves of both Astapor and Yunkai, she marches to Meereen, though she suffers unrest from the people under her power, and some degree of disobedience from her dragons, resulting in two of them being locked beneath the Great Pyramid after her largest slaughters a child. Note, there is a lot of content within this timeframe to take in, and solely for the avoidance of rehashing everything in the earlier books and the earlier seasons, I won’t go into more detail than that, but time frame wise, this verse will cover the duration of Daenerys’ reign until the fighting pits, where she takes flight on Drogon for the first time. It is also worth noting that while I will not defer to show canon when it comes to things like Doreah’s betrayal, if it works for our plot, I am happy to make it work.

The important things post books ending begin here. I will be accepting the canon that accompanies the course of season 6. That is, that after being found by the dothraki, Daenerys is taken to Vaes Dothraki to be tried before the council of Khals, and potentially fated to live a life with the widows. I will also be accepting the death that she gives those Khals by fire, and the new support of the entire Khalasar at her back - as their Khaleesi, she instills new values to ban their traditional sexual violence and strives to continue positive changes to the more problematic aspects of their culture, as she did as Khaleesi. I will also be accepting the season 6 canon that after securing Slaver’s Bay and renaming it the Bay of Dragons, she accepts an alliance with the Greyjoys, who escort her to Dragonstone.

SUBVERSE NOTE HERE: After the attack in the fighting pits by the Sons of the Harpy, Drogon carries a wounded Daenerys ( who took a blade to the thigh whilst mounting him ) from the arena and across the narrow sea to protect her from her enemies, finding his way north, to be found by the Lord Commander of the night’s watch. Over the duration of the time her leg heals, she remains within castle black, forging a friendship that buds on the edge of something more with the young Lord Commander, and is at the castle for both his death and resurrection. Only after his announcement to travel south does she decide it’s time to travel home, and back to Essos. upon return, and whilst Drogon stops for rest after his long fight, she is found by the Khalasar, who take her as prisoner. This default verse is based on my plots with @killthebxy and allows some prior interactions with members of the night’s watch, should any wish for it. Within this same verse, her armies travel North to fight alongside at the Battle of the Bastards, before returning to Dragonstone once he is crowned King of the North and realising she is no longer welcome there. Heavily plotted with Fil.

This verse will span upwards to her journey North, though heavy plotting can change her reasons for that. By default, it is Jon that persuades her of the real fight to the North, but happy for that to change. Also happy to keep the canon of Daenerys executing the Tarlys - controversial, I know, but it’s staying. The major changes within this arc come from a personality basis; she’s not nearly as entitled in these exchanges, nor as bloodthirsty. This verse will also include her arrival in the North, by which time she faces massive isolation amongst wary people, and even from her own advisors. It is up for discussion whether she agrees to Northern independence at this point or slightly later, in either subset of this canon - but she will agree at one point, or another. This canon will end at the Battle of Winterfell.

from here, there are two potential paths for my canon to follow. one in which the battle ends with arya killing the night king, and one in which the battle ends with winterfell’s ruin. & note that in both, after what happens at winterfell, daenerys is forced to carry a sword, and to wear armour for both larger scaled battles. whether this be a small one created for her, or whether this be dark sister, gifted by the free folk ( thanks to @arcusignis for that theory ) is up for speculation. in both, at the very least, the dragons will be forced to wear chestplates.

⋰ ⊰ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆. ┊┊ set after the battle of winterfell.

Massive credit to Fil, who also helped to write this verse. In this verse, the premise is simple to follow. The battle of Winterfell happened as per show canon to an extent - battle strategies were different than the mess that was show canon, and I’ll defer to @killthebxy and his beautiful headcanons, along with discussions with @tymptir for how Jaime would have integrated his own strategies. Instead of killing the Night King, Arya managed to kill an Other - this resulted in a large portion of the wights dying, and enough time for the Northern people to begin to scatter. Note, it is also unclear in this verse if Bran is alive or dead, and that is also up for negotiation. The casualties that take place in their attempted retreat are enormous, thus leading to more wights, and very few managing to escape. In this canon, Daenerys is harmed after her fall from Drogon, though Jorah is still very much alive.

Forced to retreat South, and find what little resources they can, the remainder of the Northern forces must reach an agreement with Cersei, who is admittedly shaken at the fall of the Northern forces. In this verse, as part of that agreement, Jon Snow is taken as prisoner until the battle, to ensure that this is not a trap for Daenerys to take power.

SUBVERSE NOTE HERE: There is also a subverse here wherein Daenerys herself offers up her own claim to the throne in exchange for support from the South. This agreement also extends to her own execution following the potential success of the battle - a deal she would agree to, given that there are more important things than the throne at this point, though her key condition would be that the North is left alone and untouched by the South.

Within this verse, the battle for the Long Night continues on to an extended battle at King’s Landing, with the dragons fighting over the Dragonpit, until the Night King is separated from Viserion once again. In most canons, unless specified otherwise, I will also have Daenerys as pregnant during this fight - and with that in mind, she fights anyway because she would never let the dragons fight a battle without her. She is their mother.

SUBVERSE NOTE HERE: There is also an alternate subverse here where Daenerys does, in fact, temper Lightbringer for Jon as Nissa Nissa once did for Azor Ahai, and once again, we can all thank Fil for this. In this verse, she willingly gives her life to temper his sword.

Following this time, we welcome a dream of spring easily, given that the people of King’s Landing have seen her saving them from the darkness, and that timeline will take place in a separate part of the overarching verse.

⋰ ⊰ 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅. ┊┊ set during season 8 timeline, post bow.

This verse follows the show theory, that the big bad is not in fact the Night King, but the purpose of the story is the fight for the Iron Throne. As a result, any deaths in 8.03 will be considered canon in this verse unless plotting dictates otherwise. In this verse, after rest and recovery of her armies, Daenerys begins the fight for the Iron Throne by travelling South once more. Firstly basing herself at Dragonstone, and then travelling closer to King’s Landing. Any events of 8.04 ( Rhaegal’s death, Missandei’s death, the Greyjoy ambush ) will not be considered canon in this verse unless we explicitly discuss otherwise.

In the actual attack on King’s Landing, the main focus for Daenerys will be eradicating the scorpions on the castle walls. In conjunction with @tymptir and her lovely Greyjoys, there is potential for Rhaegal to be used against her via Dragonbinder, or alternatively, for Euron to lose at an earlier stage of the battle ( because presumably it’s not over so shortly ) and to make an agreement in exchange for his own life, to betray Cersei. In verses where that is void, either Yara/Asha Greyjoy can lead the charge against the Iron Fleet with the remainder of her own, or alternatively, Daenerys will burn it herself. If and only if Varys betrays Daenerys, will she consider executing him - and no, Tyrion will not be betraying her in this verse. She has the support of her Hand, at the least, and she will not abandon him.

SUBVERSE NOTE HERE: Another subverse! In this one, I’m going to be controversial and embrace the madness storyline - but not done the way the show did. In this verse, upon her attack to King’s Landing, Daenerys accidentally sets off the wildfire in the city, and the guilt at finishing what her father started causes her psyche to fracture, unable to split reality from fiction. In this verse, she either loses her unborn child or Drogon, and her madness manifests in seeing visions of herself as if she was standing in the room with her. Grief and isolation cause her to want to take her own life.

Once breaking through the walls to King’s Landing, and once the armies there see what forces she brings, a surrender is quick to follow - and is one she takes gladly. Resources are distributed to the citizens of the city to ensure they don’t suffer while the transition of power happens. Cersei’s fate is up for negotiation, though I defer to the theory that either of her younger brothers will deal with her long before Daenerys has to. She takes the throne quickly after.

⋰ ⊰ 𝒂 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. ┊┊ set in the future.

This verse, finally, takes place after Daenerys is in power. In default, she will take Jon as her husband - though he will not rule as King, but instead by personal choice, takes the title of Consort. Her rule is a peaceful one, granting Northern independence - and truth be told, if any others ask for independence, so long as they prove themselves happy and functioning, she will grant it. Every year, she travels to Meereen several times to check on how progress is going there, and instills forms of welfare and many orphanages within King’s Landing, as well as basic forms of education and skills trades for all. Tyrion remains her Hand.

She knows that a perfect world isn’t created over one lifetime, and eventually if there will be a broken wheel for all, then she’s okay with the idea - but for now, it’s about building the city from the ground up so that no one knows what it’s like to not have a home, not like she did.

⋰ ⊰ 𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅. ┊┊ official season 8 ending verse.

This verse is the closest to the canon for season 8 that you’ll ever see me come, and is based on theories like this one here. In this verse, Cersei frames Daenerys by setting off the wildfire around King’s Landing ( referencing that one line about Cersei “having other plans for the Dragon Queen ) after the bells have been rung, making it look like she didn’t accept the surrender ( and making Dany herself think that she herself set it off, by the timing of it all ). Blaming herself for the thousands of deaths that have now occurred, and believing she is responsible for the deaths of so many innocents, Daenerys begins to burn the Red Keep itself as the city burns around them.

Between the losses of everyone she’s loved and knowing she’s being betrayed by so many people, and adding the guilt of her actions, this verse ends in her taking her own life with her last conscious thought urging Drogon to destroy the Iron Throne. ( Note that if you would rather it be Jon who kills her, then I’m not opposed to the idea, but it’ll require plotting beforehand to clarify! )

In this verse, Drogon carries her body away towards Volantis, and either Red Priestess revives her, or in burning her body, Drogon manages to revive his mother as per the fire and blood rituals that have saved her before. This verse was also written in collaboration with @killthebxy.

#verses #i. headcanons. » a dragon is not a slave. «#tag drop #v. canon. » if i look back; i am lost. «#v. canon alt. » the big house with the red door. «#v. canon alt. » at the end of the world. «#v. canon. » the long night is here. «#v. canon alt. » a dragon is not a slave. «#v. canon alt. » her strength and her courage all went into the steel. «#v. canon. » with fire and blood. «#v. canon alt. » queen of the ashes. «#v. canon. » a dream of spring. «#v. canon. » a targaryen alone in the world. «#long post #long post cw

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uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years

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“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2, Chp. 23″

Summary: Erik makes a discovery that changes the course of his family forever...

NSFW. Mature Audience. Smut.

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"Every once and awhile

I find myself going through a transition

Packing up, flying away again

Never knowing how or which way is up

Turning, Spinning high

Welcome to changes

No time to spare

Might as well get used to it

Welcome to changes

Blow with the air…"

Carleen Anderson – "Welcome to Changes"

Califia had known Dr. Barbara Davis since she was a child.

Therapy was something her grandmother insisted on after her father was arrested and sent to prison. Nana Jean understood that her granddaughter was traumatized and needed the professional help her mother couldn't give her.

Califia was grateful for the intervention and grateful to have used Dr. Davis services when she had a brutal fight with N'Jobu when they were in their twenties. It was the only time in their relationship where N'Jobu had laid hands on her. He was defending himself from her attack after he accused her of being a cheating slut. He claimed much later that he had been holding back, but she remembers him using ulwa on her without hesitation. Perhaps it was ingrained in him to protect himself with full force no matter who it was who attacked him.

Califia allowed the fingers of her left hand to fuss with the leather button on the couch she sat on in Dr. Davis's comfortable and welcoming office. Soft browns and mauves surrounded them with splashes of pink. Soothing colors in all the décor. Hanging plants with long green tendrils giving the space a safe feel.

Erik sat beside her, quiet, his hands in his lap as he waited for their session to begin.

N'Jobu had been home for months and their family had maintained a stable home life since his return. Califia had returned to work but she made sure she and Erik saw Dr. Davis twice a week.

"How are things going for you at school, Erik?"

Dr. Davis's kind eyes peered at him from her horn-rimmed glasses, a sweet smile on her lips as she looked at the boy. Erik's body shifted in his seat.

"Good," he said, "…better actually."

"How so?"

"I sleep better at home, so I'm…calmer…um, yeah…calmer at school. No more nightmares."

"That's good to hear. And you, Califia?"

Califia's eyes left Erik's face as she gazed at the therapist.

"I still get bad dreams…sometimes. Not of the attack, but just weird stuff that I can't remember when I wake up."

Dr. Davis scribbled some things down on a yellow notepad.

"What about N'Jobu? How has he been?"

"Good. He and Erik are going camping this weekend with Erik's friend Walter."

"We went to Disneyland a few weeks ago," Erik said. His face lit up at the memory.

Dr. Davis went over some new breathing techniques with them and showed them how to quickly assess their anxiety levels with each other. It hurt Califia so much that Erik suffered from some of the same problems that she grappled with as a child. Intergenerational trauma was no joke, and she worried that she had passed down so much of her pain to her son. Erik had always been a joy to raise, a sensitive little one who felt deeply, but Lia's assassination had opened a wound that accelerated anxiety in him. He was also showing signs of obsessive-compulsive behavior. She could see the stress in him as he tried in his own way to still process and live with what he witnessed.

Their fifty-minute session went by quickly and while Dr. Davis put away her notes, Califia felt her heart- rate go up.

"Erik, do me a favor, could you wait out in the next room. I want to schedule some things with your mother real quick," Dr. Davis said.

Erik nodded, hopped off the couch, and disappeared into the waiting room.

"Califia…what is it?"

Califia finally allowed her tears to flow freely. She kept them in so Erik wouldn't see them, struggling to look normal for him as he left the space.

"I'm messing him up," she said, her voice shuddering from suppressing her emotions from Erik.

"What makes you say that?"

Dr. Davis handed Califia a tissue to wipe her eyes.

"My entire life has been nothing but pain and struggle and mental health issues. I see what it's doing to him. I'm setting my baby up for failure. He's become so rigid about things and he treats me like I'm the child sometimes. He always checks to make sure I'm okay. I'm supposed to be doing that for him!"

She threw her hands over her face unable to stop herself from weeping. "I've fucked up my son—"

"No…you haven't done that—"

"You see how he is—"

Dr. Davis pulled Califia's hands from her face.

"Let me tell you about your son. Erik witnessed a horrific event. But he is resilient. He has an absolute innate sense of justice. He believes strongly in fairness. He has a protective nature about him. His heart is so big and loving that he wants to make sure his Mommy is okay too."

Califia sat back on the couch still clutching the tissue in her hand.

"Parents can pass down anxiety—"

"That can happen. Erik has been displaying symptoms of an overactive brain, but it's nothing we can't work to improve. He's a brilliant child with big thoughts and ideas going on. He's learning to focus in much calmer ways so don't get yourself so worked up. Your coming here with him is the best thing you are doing to help him and yourself. His coping behaviors are simply coping behaviors. He could outgrow them over time—"

"What if he doesn't?"

"Let's focus on right now. Stressing over the future or the past is what keeps you stuck Califia. We work on that with you, and Erik will be fine. The fact that he sees you here doing your best to get well mentally only encourages him to do the same. You have to stay focused on the present with him now. Be mindful of the progress you both have made. Think of all the support you have from your family. Especially N'Jobu."

"Erik…he's my best thing, y'know?"

"I know."

"I worry so much about him. Parents are supposed to protect their children—"

"We live in the real world, Califia. You can't shield Erik from everything that happens, but you can be a pillar of strength and unconditional love for him. He can face anything when you and N'Jobu give him that."

Dr. Davis handed her another tissue and Califia tried to fix her face before going out to Erik.

Her son's eyes sought out hers the moment she walked out and he saw that they were pink from crying.

"You okay, Mom?"

"I am. Ready to go?"

"Yes."

She was mentally drained from the session and drove herself and Erik to visit N'Jobu at the shop. He was managing two new locations and they caught him as he returned to the original Drizzy's Kuts.

N'Jobu's eyes always lit up when he saw them and the moment they stepped into the shop, his arms were around her waist in greeting and he was touching Erik's hair.

"Hey, wasn't expecting you two to pop in," he said.

Califia sat in an open booth chair as Erik greeted three of the other barbers working on customers.

"Can I leave Erik here with you while I run over to see Rolita?"

"Sure. Is everything okay?"

"I got a text from her about meeting at her place with some of the women from Rise Up. Shouldn't take that long. An hour or two."

"Dinner at Nana's still?"

"Yeah."

She kissed his cheek and waved to Erik as she left. Needing Erik to be with the stronger parent right at the moment was important. She needed time with Rolita to lift herself up away from Erik. It was almost like he had extrasensory empath powers, able to read emotions and feelings from people just by looking in their eyes and taking on their weight. It was scary sometimes.

Rolita greeted her at her home with four other women from Rise Up and two men from a local Black activist group. There were snacks laid out in the living room and Califia ate chips from a paper plate with salsa. The mood in the room was solemn.

One of the men pulled out a laptop and showed the women a web page with a list of photos and names. Rolita sat next to Califia and took a deep breath.

"Activists are being murdered," Rolita said.

Califia felt the tension in the room rise.

"Misha Browning was found two hours ago," Rolita said and there was a gasp in the room from everyone.

Califia closed her eyes and steeled her nerves. Misha was a woman Califia had only known and interacted with online in cyber activist spaces. They had coordinated national action plans on police brutality and domestic terrorist attacks on immigrants and mutant humans. She had gone missing a few days previous and word spread by the police was that she had a domestic dispute with a boyfriend and disappeared soon after. But her boyfriend, a man Califia had met in person at a climate change conference in Fresno after she graduated university, was staying on a Scottish Island for a fellowship prior to Misha's disappearance.

There was a pattern.

Up until that moment, ten activists that Califia interacted with personally or knew of through online spaces nationally were dead. Seven of the dead were reported to have committed suicide. Four Black men and two Black women, and two Native women from the Pine Ridge Nation active with pipeline and environmental protests and civil disobedience. Three of them were said to have been murdered under suspicious circumstances. Their mental health was scrutinized and most of the newsfeed on them was swept away. Prominent and vocal activists. Killing themselves?

And now Misha. Found face down under Ohio river debris fifty miles away from her home.

Califia could only think of Lia and then her own self. Rolita too. They were mothers with young children. They were mothers trying to make the world safe for their babies. Could they be targeted next? Could they show up dead and the world told that they committed suicide? It wasn't unthinkable that an activist could kill themselves. Mental health was something they all grappled with and sometimes the world beat them down until killing oneself seemed like a good option. But ten people? Now eleven? Within two years?

Califia sat back in her seat. The rest of her time there long. And painful.

###

N'Jobu sat with Erik at his great-grandmother's kitchen table as he watched his son disassemble yet another one of his robotic toys. Erik had figured out a way to hack into the software of the original robotic programming and rebuild a new larger robot combining four different toys and the pieces of scrap metal his grandfather found for him. He placed the final pieces of the disassembled robot onto the final product.

Erik routed power to his new creation with a handheld and tried to get the strange-looking franken-robot to pick up a mug filled with tea and raise it up to N'Jobu's mouth. A set of spoons and a fork sat on the dining table waiting to be used by the robot to lift up a scoop of fruit loops and pick up sliced mango pieces.

"Be still, Baba." Erik said moving the levers in his hand.

N'Jobu sat still, but the tea mug didn't seem secure in the robot hand as small drops of the liquid spilled from the cup.

"I'm still, Son," he said trying not to laugh as the robot hand grew more unsteady.

"Stop laughing at it, you'll hurt the Daka 3000's feelings," Erik said.

"Oh, you changed its name again. Won't your mother be upset? The Cali 3000 was a nice-sounding name."

"Inventors name things after themselves."

"Why not JaJa 3000?"

"Too soft-sounding. The Daka in my middle name sounds hardcore…Baba, c'mon, be still!"

N'Jobu was leaning back in his seat, his hands up to catch the mug if it dropped.

"I have to perfect this by next week to be ready."

"Is Walter entering the science fair?"

"Yeah, he's working on something."

"You're not going to tell me about it?"

"It's boring."

"Don't say that about your friend."

"It is!"

"Tell me about it."

The robotic arm made it up to the front of N'Jobu's face with the mug. Erik did his best to ease it closer, but it was too jerky. He took a pause and stared at N'Jobu.

"He's making a display of fabrics that can be used to make flak jackets. Bulletproof—"

"So military science—"

"No, clothes for kids. So they won't be shot dead in school."

Whoa.

N'Jobu stared at Erik.

"He's really doing that?"

"Yeah. Lame."

"I don't think it's lame…just…that's pretty hardcore, Son."

"Compared to this? I'm creating a robot that can help the elderly in their homes. Open their pill bottles when they can't, feed them, and help put things away…but Walter's anti-kill clothes is hardcore. Serious Baba?"

"You both have created hardcore things."

"Kids shouldn't have to make clothes like that."

"I agree—"

"Like, make clothes that can let you fly or something…"

Frustrated, Erik snatched the mug from the robot's hand.

"I can't get this to move smoother. I'll have to take it apart. Wish I could get some nanobots for this…"

"Do you want to try the spoon or fork again? That did really well."

"Nah. Thanks for being my experimental human."

"Glad to be of help. Do me a favor though."

"Yeah?"

"Be supportive of Walter. He's trying to make something to help other children. Grown-ups are the blame for that, and it's a shame that a child his age wants to make something like that because we suck, but he is doing something he thinks is a good thing. Support that."

Erik stared at him and nodded his head.

"Who knows, maybe you both will make it to the Stark Expo. That would be exciting."

Erik grinned.

He was so determined to make his robot work. Not just for the Expo.

For Nana Jean.

His son's great-grandmother was ailing. Today she was having a good day and strong enough to make a Friday night fish fry. Relatives were coming over, and everyone was determined to make it a joyous evening of good food and family fun.

N'Jobu could see that the older woman was having a hard time with her health. Her once vibrant face was appearing a bit dull the last few months, and her already thin frame was looking gaunter. She was experiencing bouts of anger when she couldn't do a lot of things by herself like she used to. Like driving. She was having trouble with her hands, periodic shakiness and pain making it difficult for her on some days. But not today. Today she was cooking with the assistance of Erik and N'Jobu.

Erik picked up the tools he used to tweak the wires on his robot when he suddenly reached out and tapped on N'Jobu's kimoyo beads.

"It's lighting up, Baba!"

N'Jobu saw the emergency silver lighting on his beads. They warmed up his wrist.

"I've never seen that color before," Erik said, his eyes glued to his wrist.

The past three years he had told his son his beads were like mood rings and could change colors at will. But he was right. Silver was a new color. Silver was a signal from his fellow rogue War Dogs. Something was wrong.

"Clean this up, and we'll start making the batter for the fish and shrimp," he said.

Pushing back from the table, N'Jobu headed to a guest bedroom, Junie's old room, and locked the door.

"D'Beke," N'Jobu said, watching the man's shape hover over his wrist.

"We have found Klaue. He is ready to move into Wakanda. The time has come your Highness."

N'Jobu shut his eyes and sat on the guest bed.

"Send out a code three, and make sure all cells are on code. No more communications until you all hear from me. Understand? Send me Klaue's contact. We have to be…we have to be…D'Beke if anyone acts suspicious…end them."

"Yes, Prince N'Jobu."

D'Beke winked out and N'Jobu felt his body tremble with excitement and nervous energy.

The time had come to act. No more planning. Action.

"Wakanda Forever," he whispered.

###

Califia felt beyond stuffed. She rubbed her belly from all the shrimp she consumed. Hot, juicy, greasy, salty-sweet delicious shellfish fresh from the skillet. N'Jobu rubbed his belly and Califia watched Erik help Nana Jean fry up more shrimp in cornmeal batter this round.

"Nana. I can't eat anymore," she said.

Nana dropped shrimp into a fry strainer and Erik lowered it and stood back when the grease popped. Nana dropped more shrimp into the bowl filled with the batter.

"Someone will," Nana said, her frame so much smaller from how Califia always saw her as a little girl. She felt it deep down. No one else in the family wanted to say it outright, and Nana Jean was not forthcoming with her health, but Califia knew. Her great-grandmother was battling something and trying so hard to stay on the earth for Erik. That was her child. He may have come out of Califia's body, but Erik was her baby

Erik's mind was set on going to the Stark Expo in New York. He had come so close last year, making it to a semi-final status and receiving a signed certificate from Tony Stark himself. She and N'Jobu had to nurse him through a mini-temper tantrum when he didn't get to be a finalist. He pouted for weeks and wouldn't even hang up his certificate in his room that Nana Jean had framed for him. N'Jobu had to have a sit down with him and remind him of how many people, children, and adults had submitted projects and didn't even make it to the quarter-finals. She remembered the title of his abstract too, "Novel Subtle Acoustic Communication: Successful Elucidation of the Cryptic Ecology of Runner Plant Bugs with Emphasis on Their Stridulatory Mechanisms". He spent three months capturing the faint sound of bugs. Bugs that he had crawling all over his bedroom when a few escaped by accident. She shivered at the memory.

Califia had to chime in and show him the certificate.

"Tony Stark really signed this. A busy man like him took the time to sign something acknowledging your hard work. You should be proud of yourself."

It wasn't until Erik went online to see how many people had entered projects did his own parent's words kick in. There were only twenty-five semi-finalists for his category and his face beamed when he announced, "Just over half a million people entered globally."

For the new year, he switched from acoustics to robotics hoping to be a finalist. And he focused on something more personal, and close to home: Nana Jean.

That big ole heart of his wanted to make his Nana as self-sufficient for as long as possible with a personal elder care robot.

N'Jobu watched her closely after she rubbed her belly and caught his eye. Her mood hadn't been the best when she arrived at the house. The meeting at Rolita's was tough on her psyche and she almost opted to go home and sleep until her grandmother called Rolita reminding her to bring her daughter Neveah.

Erik's cousins and Neveah ran around the front room while Erik cooked at the stove.

"JaJa, go be with the other kids, I'll help Nana."

Erik nodded and she watched her grandmother pat his head.

"Nana, for reals, I don't think anyone else can eat more. Take a break and spend time out front too."

"Dayclean is still eating," she said.

"I am done, Nana. Go relax, we'll take care of all of this."

N'Jobu stood up and cleared the dishes left on the table as a few of Califia's Uncles cleaned up after themselves before heading to the den to watch TV.

"You good?" N'Jobu asked.

"Better."

"Erik told me you looked upset leaving your session today. Want to talk about it?"

"It was nothing serious…really. I was just feeling a way. Venting."

"Did it help?"

"I think so."

He rinsed dishes and stacked them in the new dishwasher they bought for Nana three years ago once they saw she had trouble with her hands.

She finished putting leftovers in the fridge and when she looked at N'Jobu again, his gentle eyes broke her down.

"Let's go in the back," he said when he saw her eyes well up with water.

The house was busy and no one paid them any mind going to the back guestroom. It was quiet back there. N'Jobu locked the door and they both sat on the bed.

Califia wiped her eyes.

"He is too much like me. And I am afraid for him."

"Califia—"

She touched his hand.

"His quick temper. His anxiety. His need to be in control…this compulsion to make things perfect…it's not healthy…and living here, and seeing Lia…I have damaged him."

N'Jobu stayed quiet and she was grateful. Over the years he had to learn how to let her talk things out and not try to offer immediate solutions as he was want to do all the time. She just needed to be heard. Just wanted to let her words linger openly so she could work through her pain.

"I worry about how he will deal with the trauma later in life. Kids bounce back. I know this. Better than adults. But he…you know this about him…he feels too deeply. This world will break his heart N'Jobu. People like that suffer more than most."

N'Jobu continued to listen as he held her hand.

"I worry about him. I told Dr. Davis this. I worry that he has inherited my pain. I pray and pray that he can be more like you, like…if I could take the worst aspects of myself and remove that from his DNA—"

"Stop."

N'Jobu's eyes were watery. He stroked her face.

"I don't want you thinking like this. I don't want you to carry this in your heart. Take parts of you out of him? He wouldn't be who he is without those parts of you. I know I'm supposed to let you feel what you feel, but my son…our son? He is perfect. He is his own person. That is an Udaku Prince out there and you make him perfect. Understand?"

"I want to believe you, I might believe you if…."

"If what?"

"If you would take us to Wakanda. It has to be safer and better there. You heard what Rolita told you at dinner. It's bad out here. You heard about Walter's science project. Fuck is that? Fuck kind of world are we living in. How can we protect Erik? What if something happens to him? What if something happens to us? Who would take care of him? Who would be capable of caring for a child like ours? Huh? Tell me."

"Babe—"

"Why won't you take us away from here? My baby is a Prince. He deserves to live in a world without fear, or where his best friend doesn't make bulletproof t-shirts for his peers. Don't you want him to have the life you had growing up?"

N'Jobu pulled her in with a tight hug when the tears really started flowing down her face. She was so tired.

"My love, don't cry, please…don't cry…"

It was the same quiet fight they had over the years. His refusal to take them home.

They weren't welcome. She knew this. Deep down they were not wanted in his world, and yet it was the only one that could save them. And she didn't understand why he prevented them from contact. Not even a visit. Their son was learning Wakandan. Memorized their alphabet. Practiced writing his name, even practiced a little speech he wanted to give in front of his royal grandparents when they would meet. Even had a gift he made for his cousin Prince T'Challa, a little necklace that would hold secret-coded messages between them.

And yet…

Here they sat with her crying about it once more.

They left the bedroom and joined the rest of the family to eat pound cake and watch Wheel of Fortune, everyone shouting at the tv their guess's at the puzzles. Neveah and Erik giggled like crazy whenever her father Dante guessed words that clearly were made up to make them laugh.

Once they returned home, Erik put away his robot, and she and N'Jobu dressed for bed. They allowed Erik to lounge in bed with them until it became way past his bedtime. She caught that mood from N'Jobu that he wanted to make love, but Erik kept prolonging his stay in their bed by negotiating for extra time with them. They allowed him to watch another half hour of the SyFy channel until he was knocked out and snoring with his head resting on Califia's stomach.

"Hey, buddy, time to wake up," N'Jobu said nudging Eric gently on the shoulder.

"Thirty more minutes," Erik whispered, his eyes wide as if he hadn't been snoring a minute ago.

"So you can sleep again? Go to sleep in your room. I need some Mommy time," N'Jobu said. He started pushing Erik away from Califia.

"Mom!" Erik whined pushing N'Jobu's hands away and trying to stay on her stomach.

"It's two in the morning, JaJa," Califia said stroking his braids.

"Then I should be able to stay since the sun will be up in five hours."

"If you don't get," N'Jobu said pulling on one of Erik's braids.

"Ow, Baba! I know why you really want me gone…you wanna kiss Mom and do the nasty!"

"Boy!" Califia said, a shocked expression on her face as she play slapped his arm.

"Yes, now get," N'Jobu said.

"I can't believe that came out of your mouth," Califia said.

"Why are you being embarrassed?" Erik teased.

"Time for you to get out of grown folks business," Califia said lifting him off of her stomach.

Erik finally rolled over and stood from their bed.

"Y'all some haters, man, for real," he said.

His dimples melted her.

"Who is this child? Where is my sweet JaJa?" she said.

Erik leaned back over the bed and kissed her cheek.

"Night Mom," he said.

"Night, Baby. Sleep well," she answered.

Erik gave his father a sly look as he sauntered out of their room backward.

"I'll just close this so I can get some rest," he said as he grabbed their doorknob and shut it behind him.

"Okay, maybe we should take some of your DNA out of him," N'Jobu said as he wiggled out of his pajama bottoms.

"That was all you, nigga," she said staring as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

He tugged on her nightgown and she brushed his hands away.

"We can't do it now," she said glancing at the bedroom door.

"Why not?'

"Because he knows that's what we're doing—"

"I don't care, just put the pillow over your mouth," he said pulling the bed covers back and raising up her gown to her hips. She widened her legs and allowed him to lick her vulva slowly, but then she felt self-conscious. Kept glancing at their bedroom door making her stomach tense.

"I can't, not yet," she whispered.

"Babe, stop being silly. I want to make you feel good after a tough day…shit…pussy wet already."

His tongue rested just under her clit as her ring poked out from the engorgement of the slick bud. He gave light pulses there and her legs shot up, her thighs falling open.

"Get the lube," he said stroking his dick.

Reaching into her drawer she pulled out cherry flavored lube. She coated her vulva and opened her wet inner lips for him.

Tongue darting in and out and smearing his lips with her arousal, Califia held N'Jobu's head.

"Let's just do a quickie," she said.

"Quickie, longie, I just need to be in my pussy," he said shifting his body to line up with hers. He inserted his erection and she gasped out loud.

"I'm about to fuck you real good," he hissed in her ear.

Califia stuffed her left hand over her mouth as her right arm held his shoulder in a death grip.

"God, baybee—"

"Mmmmm—"

"Wait, not so hard, the headboard is banging against the wall—"

"Fuck that wall—"

"The noise—"

N'Jobu lifted up and watched his dick slide into her.

They had been working and caring for Nana Jean and Erik so much that it had been a couple of weeks since they had last had sex. And this quickie was just what they needed. If N'Jobu didn't waste any time kissing her, she knew he was desperate to get in her stuff. He couldn't go very long without some sexual contact with her.

"Look at your dick, Jobu," she encouraged, his face so intent on watching her pussy grip his length. His dick was shiny, his dark coloring magnificent. She felt sorry for people who couldn't have Black dick like this filling them up. He was ready to split her in two. She needed this. Needed him. Needed to get her mind off of her troubles.

He pulled out and positioned himself on his side behind her. His hands gripped her breasts but her gown kept slipping down.

"Take it off," he said and she removed it over her head and tossed it on the side.

White light under the door.

Erik was still up.

Califia dropped her head to one of her pillows and bit into it. She could hear how gushy her pussy was, could hear N'Jobu trying his best to keep his voice down but to no avail.

"Damn…damn…," N'Jobu grunted, his hands tightening around her breasts.

"Yes, baby."

"I missed this pussy, girl. We gotta stop playing and make time for us…oh shit…"

"Jobu—"

"Where you want it, baby? I'm ready to cum…oh…Califia…where you want this nut?"

"In my mouth," she said.

"Okay…okay….," he panted.

He kept stroking his dick in her pussy, hitting the side of her walls hard.

His pace picked up, and for a second she thought he would cum inside her because he didn't seem willing to leave her hot folds.

"Turn around!" he shouted.

Yanking out of her, he stroked his thickness as she turned around and lowered her face to his cock.

"Open your mouth…oh shit…baby open your mouth!"

Mouth Open. Tongue out.

N'Jobu slapped his dick on her tongue, his eyes swimming with an all-consuming carnality. Her own fingers plucked at her clit and when his release splashed all in her mouth, she gulped his cum down as her sugar walls clenched from an intense orgasm.

She swallowed everything he gave her, and he spent some time licking between her legs again and giving her another orgasm.

She was about to enjoy the third orgasm from his mouth when a brilliant blue light spilled under their bedroom door.

"N'Jobu!" she cried out.

He turned his head and saw the brilliant fluorescent blue. His eyes shifted in a way she had never seen before.

He leaped up and put on his pajama bottoms. She threw her gown back on and followed him out of their bedroom.

Erik's bedroom door was open, the dazzling blue array coming from there.

"Erik!" N'Jobu shouted.

Their son stood in the middle of his bedroom. N'Jobu's Wakandan beads were on his wrist, the blue light bleeding out from it.

"Baba!"

Erik tried pressing down on a bead.

"Don't do anything else!" N'Jobu said.

But it was too late.

Erik twisted one of the beads and the brilliant blue light filled the entire room and a large holographic image floated above Erik's wrist.

A street scene.

People walking on elevated sidewalks.

Space ships flying in the air.

Black people dressed in ways they had never seen before.

"N'Jobu, what is this? What is that?" she whispered with awe in her voice.

Erik's eyes studied the images and he took his free hand and stuck it inside the field of blue light. It expanded and different color-rich scenes played like a series of split screens spinning in a circle.

A cityscape.

And a futuristic structure that looked like a double palace…

"It's Wakanda," Erik said.

His fingers flicked an image up over his head. It looked like a billboard advertising a car they had never seen before in the world. The lettering was all Wakandan.

Erik's bright eyes stared at her.

"It's Baba's home!"

###

Chapter 24

Tag List”

@fd-writes @soufcakmistress @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514 @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling @chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry @honeytoffee

#black boys bloom thorns first volume 2 #n'jobu #n'jadaka #erik stevens #black panther fanfiction #black panther smut #killmonger #when killmonger was a boy

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 5 years

Text

June 29 devotional: human rejection, divine invitation

[ Today’s devotional comes from Chris Glaser’s The Word Is Out: The Bible Reclaimed for Lesbians and Gay Men (1994). It’s his entry for June 29.

Se puede leer el pasaje en español aquí, p. 182. ]

_______

The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. This is [God’s] doing; it is marvelous in our eyes.

- Psalm 118: 22-23

The Gospel of Mark quotes this passage in relation to Jesus (Mark 12:10). The Psalmist seeks entrance to the temple, and is told by the gatekeeper that only those who are fit may enter. The Psalmist replies that God has confirmed her worth by liberating her when others rejected her.

Two lesbians stand at the gate of my own church. Janie Spahr was told by a higher church court [in 1980] that, though ordained, she was unfit to serve as a pastor because she is in a covenant relationship with a woman. The same court told Lisa Larges that her declaration of her sexuality disqualifies her from ordination. Both have incredible stories of liberation to tell. Yet will the gatekeepers hear it, and affirm them with the choral blessing of this Psalm? “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the [Sovereign]!” (118:26).

Carl Jung’s saying is proving true again: “Religion is a defense against the experience of God.”

“Save us, we beseech you, O [Sovereign]! O [God], we beseech you, give us success!” (118:25).

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[ In this devotional, Glaser mentions two women denied their vocation within the Presbyterian Church (USA) -- my own denomination.

It was only in 2011 that the PC(USA) relaxed its constitutional prohibition of the ordination of “practicing” and “self-affirmed homosexuals”; and only in 2014 that same-sex marriage was approved. That is not that long ago at all! And of course, there are so many denominations today that continue to persecute and deny the gifts of their LGBTQ+ members.

I looked into Lisa Larges and Janie Spahr -- both are still alive and serving God faithfully.

According to these tweets, it appears that Larges was finally ordained in 2016, after 30 long years of being denied. While waiting, Larges was not sitting quietly -- in 1992 she helped found That All May Freely Serve, a group working to achieve the ordination of LGBTQ+ candidates in the PC(USA) and that continues its activism today. She also works as an outreach and training coordinator for the blind community, being blind herself.

[image description: a photo of Lisa Larges at her ordination service. She is a white person with short grayish-brownish hair and is wearing black robes; she is smiling with her eyes shut and may be crying; her expression is emotional. Smiling people gather around her in a circle with their hands on her shoulders; they’re praying over her.]

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Moving on to Janie Spahr: when the PCUSA tried to censure her in 2012 because she kept holding marriages for same-sex couples, I’m proud to say that her presbytery “voted 74 to 18 to defy the determination of the highest Presbyterian court. The presbytery would not censure the Rev. Dr. Jane Adams Spahr and instead voted to support her. It would be the most extreme act of ecclesiastical disobedience in the entire history of the PC(USA). Never before had a presbytery openly defied a ruling of the highest court.”

Spahr inspired many people to challenge the injustices present in their churches, speaking to her powerful gift of presence. Another example of how she has transformed countless hearts and minds comes from Rev. Helen DeLeon recounting her first encounter with Spahr in 2012:

“Janie came as a guest speaker to McCormick Theological Seminary, where I was an M.Div student from 1998 to 2002. At the time I didn't know where I stood on the matter of ordination of people who are homosexual. After meeting her, I knew exactly where I stood. She was the most pastoral human being I had ever met. That night, in my reflection time, I could only wonder at why the church would want to deny its members the ministries of this amazing woman. Since then, I have had more opportunities to know Janie. She continues to serve as one called by God to love and care for us all. ...Janie exudes pastoral care in the way she conducts herself, in the words she speaks, and in the manner she speaks. She is kind, thoughtful, and compassionate, and cares deeply about EVERYONE -- even and especially those who have attacked her. She is my role model for ministry.”

What an incredible love, to be show compassion towards those who attack you and deny your legitimacy! That’s no easy love, and it’s not a kind of love we’re all cut out for -- it’s the love of Jesus. It is clear that it opened the mind of Rev. DeLeon, causing her to question her denomination’s bigotry towards LGBT persons.

[ image description: a photo of both Lisa Larges (left) and Janie Spahr (right) at Larges’ ordination service. Larges is a white person with short grayish-brownish hair and black robes. Spahr is a white person with short whitish-grayish hair smiling at Larges and wearing light purple robes with a rainbow stole. ]

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How the Church has treated Spahr and Larges and so many others is a vast injustice -- but even in the face of human rejection, these two women knew that God embraced them. They have both been working hard to bring liberation and justice wherever they could over the decades, whether their ministry was recognized by their home tradition or not.

When we are rejected by churches so that we can’t share our gifts, the whole Body of Christ suffers for it. But in the midst of rejection, God makes us the cornerstone in Her redemptive plan.

We are deeply, deeply loved, and no human institution can change that. ]

#devotional #chris glaser #lisa larges #janie spahr #lgbt christians #lgbt christian history #homophobia #religious homophobia #gatekeeping #rejection #why we stay #pcusa #pcusa history #essays

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beneaththetangles · 5 years

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Guest Post: When a Shield Hero Becomes a Slave Owner

Welcome back JeskaiAngel, one of our regular guest contributors here on Beneath the Tangles. Today, he takes a deep dive into a troubling aspect of a show we here at on the website are absolutely loving.

As I watched the first five episodes of The Rising of the Shield Hero, I was unexpectedly impressed by its portrayal of slavery. The show explores the issue in a surprisingly realistic, nuanced way: slavery in The Rising of the Shield Hero should trouble us, but the problem is with slavery itself, not with the show’s depiction of it. It’s no apologetic for slavery, casting the institution in unequivocally negative light and making the slave character the most noble and sympathetic person in the whole story, but neither does it shy away from the complex, uncomfortable reality that a person can do bad things (like enslave another) without being a wholly bad person (at least at first). American abolitionists of the nineteenth century argued slavery is inherently corrupting, inevitably bringing out the worst in even the best masters. We might say the show asks whether Naofumi can remain both a good person and a slaveholder, or if one or the other of those must necessarily triumph (cf. “You cannot serve God and Mammon”).

From the outset, the show implies that slavery should be viewed negatively. When Naofumi goes slave shopping at the close of the first episode, it serves as the culmination of his journey to the dark side. We’ve already watched him grow cynical, bitter, violent, selfish. We’ve seen him use threats to get his way. He deliberately cultivates a nefarious reputation. And finally, to top it all off, he countenances slavery. The show also gives a number of visual cues that slavery is not good. The slave trader himself is about blatantly sinister looking as a character could be. His meeting with Naofumi takes place at night, in the darkness. His “shop” full of cages barely illumined by occasional bits of firelight seems genuinely worthy of the adjective “hellish”—a place of imprisonment, flame, and literal and metaphorical darkness. All the imagery in the slave-shopping part of the story proclaims that slavery is bad.

The conversation between the dealer and Naofumi should only deepen our sense of wrongness. The slaver trader’s mention of “human supremacy” as the basis for enslaving so-called “demi-humans” immediately brings to mind real-world “supremacy” ideologies. The term “demi-human” itself resembles real-life efforts to defend the exploitation of others. In the show, the self-proclaimed pure humans enslave those they judge as less or only partially human—that’s what the “demi” part of “demi-human” means! The same sort of idea has appeared many times in real life when people wish to justify their abuse of others. For example, once upon a time people argued that Africans were a less evolved, more primitive type of human, closer to animals than light-skinned humans. As if this weren’t enough, Naofumi denies slaves’ personhood and reduces them to mere tools no different than his shield.

As the show introduces Raphtalia, the slave trader casually reveals that her previous owner tortured her. He has no qualms about torture, just mild annoyance when it damages his goods. Physical abuse is an inseparable reality of slavery. When human beings are reduced to property, to objects possessed by others, when some humans’ have minimal or no rights and others possess absolute or near-absolute power, the temptation of abuse is incredibly strong. The famous aphorism says, “Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” The history of slavery seems to validate Lord Acton’s claim. In the antebellum American south, masters could and did beat, maim, kill, chain up, starve, rape, and otherwise physically abuse their “property” without facing social or legal consequences. In the finale of the slave acquisition portion of the story, we watch as the process of purchasing a slave and applying the disobedience curse is physically painful to Raphtalia. Observing her physical pain as she’s sold to a new master, I couldn’t help but think of the psychological trauma inflicted on countless slaves in real life as their owners traded them away, separating spouses, siblings, and parents and children.

Naofumi next goes to purchase a weapon for his new combat slave. While visiting weapons shop, Naofumi invokes the disobedience curse—effectively trying to use magical torture to compel a child to kill for him. The shopkeeper finds Naofumi’s behavior disturbing and warns that it will have negative consequences. As Naofumi and Raphtalia depart, the shopkeeper wonders what forces are responsible for corrupting Naofumi to act in that way. In other words, even this native of a slaveholding, “human supremacy” culture, who should be expected to share its values, explicitly comments that Naofumi is acting wrongly.

I found it striking that throughout the second episode, almost from the first moment we encounter Raphtalia, the camera gives repeated shots from her point of view or at her level. Along with her, we look up through the bars of the cage at Naofumi and the slave trader. When she’s writhing in pain on the floor of the weapons shop as Naofumi activates the curse, the camera gets down on the floor on alongside her. This seems to me like a directorial decision to use the show’s camerawork to encourage viewers to identify with Raphtalia, to literally see the situation from her perspective. Her tragic backstory (seen through a dream featuring more first-person Raph-cam), the traumatic loss of her loving parents and everyone else she’d ever known, further encourages viewer compassion.

The central conflict of the second episode is whether Raphtalia will fight for Naofumi, and the loser is slavery. Three times Naofumi invokes the disobedience curse to try to make Raphtalia fight, yet the curse’s pain proves insufficient to make her obey. In the end, Raphtalia doesn’t fight for Naofumi because he forced her: she demonstrates agency by choosing to fight for him because she independently supports his cause. As Naofumi monologues while Raphtalia suffers under the torturous curse, she comes to understand his mission:

“You’re going to fight the catastrophe?”

“That’s my job.”

Because Raphtalia understands and approves of Naofumi’s goal, she promptly takes up her sword. Slavery and the disobedience curse failed to break her will.

Choice prevails over duress again during the fight in the mine. When Naofumi wants Raphtalia to fight the dog-beast, she is paralyzed by traumatic flashbacks to her parents’ deaths. Instead of just activating the curse, Naofumi employs persuasion, reminding her how they can fight the Waves of Catastrophe together and prevent other children from suffering her fate. This is a dramatic change—instead of just punishing his property until she obeys like he did earlier, Naofumi’s first move is to appeal to her with reason. This represents at least partial acknowledgement of Raphtalia’s personhood: one does not try to persuade an object, like the shield to which Naofumi previously compared slaves. When persuasion seems to fail, Naofumi briefly triggers the disobedience curse, but quickly rescinds it and gives Raphtalia the choice to fight or flee. In a battle of wills, the slave wins and the master gives in. Raphtalia proves stronger than both her fear and slave crest’s punishment, fighting for Naofumi only because she chooses to do so. (Raphtalia also has abandonment issues that play a part in her decision to fight, but even this is her own intrinsic motivation, something predating and independent of becoming a slave. She’s no infantilized simpleton who clings to a master because she’s helplessly dependent.)

Slavery takes a backseat to action scenes in the third episode. However, we discover that Raphtalia is a Pokemon and has evolved to her adult form after leveling up. Others see this, but somehow Naofumi doesn’t. In continuing to treat Raphtalia like a child, Naofumi provides a striking parallel to the paternalistic pretensions of real-life slaveholders. In addition to slavery’s dehumanizing and objectifying tendencies, each of which help masters justify themselves, slaveholders of the past have cast slaves as helpless and childlike. Pro-slavery logic argues that just as children need parents to discipline and care for them, so also slaves need masters. Naofumi’s inability (unwillingness?) to accept Raphtalia as a mature adult is solidly in line with how a real slaveholder might regard his slave. Even long after the United States abolished slavery, “boy” was still used pejoratively to demean African-American men.

lavery takes center stage again in episode 4. With sickening irony, the people pretending to want to free Raphtalia ignore her words and proceed to bind and gag her—things Naofumi has never done! Naofumi’s treatment of Raphtalia is plainly flawed, but Raphtalia’s purported rescuers objectify her to a greater degree than he ever did. She isn’t a person to them, just a chess piece, a pawn in a game of moral superiority. Happily once Raphtalia is freed of both slavery and her restraints, she unleashes a glorious verbal beatdown on the antagonists.

While this scene ultimately affirms Raphtalia’s agency, it also offers perhaps the best basis (at least in the first five episodes) for accusing the show of favoring slavery: one could construe it as saying slavery isn’t so bad, that Raphtalia was happy being a slave, and that Naofumi’s kind deeds made slavery okay or even good. But that’s not at all Raphtalia’s point. She doesn’t defend slavery the institution—she defends Naofumi the person. She enumerates Naofumi’s kindnesses—shielding her, feeding her, treating her illness—and delivers an armor-piercing (spear-breaking?) question to Motoyasu:

When the Spear Hero stutters out a claim that he is, Raphtalia’s counter is brilliant: “If that were true, you would have a slave by your side, too!” She has just demonstrated that, at least in some respects, Naofumi is a better, more compassionate man than the Spear Hero. All through the confrontation, Raphtalia’s focus is on defending Naofumi’s good character, not on affirming slavery per se. If we consider the solidly negative way in which the show introduced slavery and rightly understand Raphtalia’s own words, we have no reason to conflate Raphtalia’s defense of Naofumi with a pro-slavery apologetic.

Morally, Raphtalia rises above Shield Hero and Spear Hero alike, and the scene in which Raphtalia defends Naofumi also explores his faults. Raphtalia emphasizes that his use of the disobedience curse was limited—but that means she still points out that he did indeed use it. Naofumi apologetically confesses to her that “I saw you as nothing but a tool at first.” After his previous blindness to her personhood and adulthood, Naofumi is forced to recognize that she’s neither an object nor a child. Naofumi also unfairly misjudges Raphtalia, immediately assuming that she’ll turn against him now that she’s free. But she proves him wrong and forces him to admit how he’s failed to respect her. She is faithful to Naofumi because she chooses to be.

Early in the fifth episode, Raphtalia gets a new slave crest, at her own request. Naofumi says it’s unnecessary, but Raphtalia calls it “a symbol of your faith in me.” Engagement or wedding rings spring to mind as examples from our world of symbols for relationships; I suspect there’s a bit of similarity to how Raphtalia views her crest. I wasn’t a fan of this turn of events, but I found it easier to swallow when I realized that, like it or not, it at least makes a lot of sense that Raphtalia would want this. The show previously established that she has attachment issues stemming from the loss of her parents, she spoke in episode 2 about her fear of being discarded, and part of what helped her overcome her fear of the dog-beast in the mine was the thought of losing Naofumi and being left alone. It’s quite logical for her character to still be dealing with this insecurity and obtain a new slave crest as a way of assuaging that anxiety. Getting a magical tattoo is hardly an ideal coping technique, but logically it fits with Raphtalia’s character.

As a Christian, I believe slavery is evil. Period. End of story. Case closed. However, The Rising of the Shield Hero reminds me that there’s a sad history of Christians—or at least people who identified as such—defending slavery. Antebellum Americans repeatedly twisted the Bible to justify slavery. Such writings bring together many of the issues—slavery, racism, self-righteousness—that we see in the show. (Warning: snark ahead; boojum status unknown.) In 1840, one Rev. Leander Kerr declared, “Abolitionism then is as foolish as it is wicked, lawless and reckless: and the time will come when it will be regarded as wicked and absurd as ‘witch burning’ is now.” Moreover, “Abolitionism is anti-scriptural and anti-Christian…there is nothing morally wrong in holding slaves.” Like many slavery apologists, Kerr appealed to the curse leveled by Noah upon Canaan son of Ham in Genesis 9.25-27. By some exegetical alchemy, this passage is transmuted into proof that God consigned blacks for all time to be the slaves of whites.

In “A Dialogue Between an Abolition Croaker, a Citizen of Boston, and the Prince of Darkness,” a Socratic dialogue from 1851, the character of the ordinary, Bible-believing, slavery-defending citizen trounces a strawman abolitionist, with intermittent contributions from the devil himself explaining how abolitionism’s satanic nature. At one point, the Prince of Darkness reveals his desire to promote interracial marriage and offers a remarkable interpretation of Genesis 24:

Abolitionists and freesoilers…are some of my best friends, and have been so for many years. They have rendered me very important service in several particular cases; such as trying to make null and void some of God’s decrees and ordinances concerning slavery… I lead those bewildered and blinded men into all manner of iniquity connected with the emancipation of the slaves, and also to amalgamation with them by marriage; but it was not so with Abraham; I could not so easily control him; for he would not allow his son Isaac to take a black wife from the Canaanites; but I have got some friends among you abolitionists, who approve of their own children intermarrying with the negroes, and thus becoming part and parcel of that unhappy and degraded people.

This exegesis, clearly the product of truly dizzying intellect, is rivaled by a later contribution from the citizen. He recounts the story of the Syro-Phoenician woman from Mt. 15 & Mk. 7 (she was black, he claims) and says Jesus refused to help her until she proved “her faith and humility” by “taking her place where she belonged, in accordance with the curse pronounced upon her progenitors.” In other words, the lesson is that Jesus refused to do a miracle for an uppity black woman until she stopped putting on airs.

I’ve seen memes joking about Renaissance paintings for depicting Jesus as a northern European, but hadn’t realized that real people who claimed to be followers of Jesus seriously argued that he was white. Sadly, one Rev. Josiah Priest, writing in 1852, disillusioned me:

The Saviour of mankind, though born of a Jewish copper colored woman, was nevertheless a white man. This complexion, which characterized the body of God incarnate, was such as pleased him, or he would not thus have appeared. The proof that he was a white man, is derived from a letter, written by a Roman Senator from Judea, in the time of Augustus Caesar, to Rome. In that letter, which is now extant, the man Jesus Christ is said to have been a man of surpassing beauty, having a bright fair complexion, with hair the color of a ripe filbert, which is inclining to the yellow or golden color. His eyes were of the hazel or blue cast; his forehead high, smooth, and broad… This being true, it adds another proof that, in the estimation of the Creator, the white complexion, such as is possessed by the race of Japheth, is more valuable than black or red.

Priest is emphatic that Rahab, one-time prostitute of Jericho who became an ancestress of Jesus, couldn’t possibly have been black like he believes Canaanites were, and must have been a Semitic woman who merely happened to be residing in Jericho. “It was abhorrent to God…that the immaculate blood of his Son, which was to be offered as an atonement, should be contaminated by that of negro extraction,” wrote this Titanic of theology. Priest also discovered that the Tower of Babel was constructed entirely by and on the initiative of black people, that the wicked queen Jezebel was black, and that “Had Onessimus been a white man, or an individual of the race of Abraham, St. Paul never would have arrested him as a slave, to return to his master.”

Priest’s efforts to “refute” scriptural arguments raised by opponents of slavery are likewise revealing. Since abolitionists appealed to passages like Rom. 13.8 and Gal. 5.14 and claimed that loving one’s neighbor was incompatible with enslaving him, Priest unleashed this marvelous counterassault:

God having judicially appointed that race to servitude, the law of love cannot abrogate it, any more than the law of love can abrogate several other particulars of judicial appointment. Such as, it is appointed unto men that they should die; the woman was condemned to be ruled over by her husband; the earth was cursed, in relation to its fruitfulness; the wicked dead are sent to hell; the earth is doomed to be burnt up; and many more things which might be adduced as being determined judicially; all of which the law of love cannot reach nor abrogate… God’s determinations and decrees are not frustrated by his benevolence.

Checkmate, abolitionist fools: God’s judgment triumphs over his love. Shush, don’t bring up James 2.13 (“Mercy triumphs over judgment”)! For the common abolitionist talking point regarding the horror of separating families by selling off members, Reverend Priest has a comeback that can only be described as literally diabolical:

On this subject, the abolitionists argue the same as they would were the case their own, imagining that negro parents feel such a circumstance as acutely, and as sentimentally as white families would under similar circumstances. But this is a mistake, as we believe, and does not apply to the negro’s case, as it would to that of the whites, on account of a want of the higher intellectual faculties of the mind of the blacks. On occasions of severe bereavement, the feelings of negro parents seem to be of shorter duration; as it is well known that the bond of marriage and family obligation with that race, is of but secondary considerations, or of slight influence, as a knowledge of, and a participation in, high intellectual love and elevated affections, is not reached by the black man’s soul…when separated from each other by being sold, it is not so grievous a thing as it would be to the mind and feelings of a white man or woman.

Your eyes do not deceive you: this demonic excuse for a “Christian” minister really did argue that breaking up slave families was fine because black people didn’t really love their spouses or kids all that much. Priest has another objection to looking at the treatment of blacks in terms of how white people would want to be treated: the “doom of the negro race” established by the cursing of Canaan in Gen. 9 “raises a barrier which is impassible and insurmountable to all earthly power,” such that “Even the famous words of our Lord called the Golden Rule, cannot apply here.” In other words, why bother with empathy when they’re just demi-humans?

An 1861 pamphlet titled “The Governing Race; or, Is Slavery Sanctioned by the Bible?” explained that Jesus’ mention of slavery in his parables demonstrates his endorsement of it as righteous. I suppose that if Jesus’ use of servitude imagery in his teaching proves he endorsed slavery, then the parable of the unrighteous steward means Jesus endorsed embezzling from one’s employer, right? Also, the true meaning of “Love your neighbor as yourself” and the parable of the good Samaritan Jesus told to explain the command is we should aid the needy, but without “the relinquishment of our just rights, or the giving up what belongs to us.” (Forget about the fact that Jesus emptied himself and gave up incomprehensible privilege and glory in order to serve us, as Paul said in Phil. 2.5-8.) In fact, the good Samaritan “had the right to expect that the wounded man would exert himself to the utmost not to be chargeable to his benefactor. That was the neighborly duty of the man who had been helped.” What a blessing to receive such illumination and find out that Jesus was teaching that I only need love others insofar as it doesn’t cost me anything! Motoyasu jumps to mind—happy to “help” a slave if all it requires is bullying a guy he despises anyway, but who did nothing substantive to better the lot of even one slave.

As far as I can tell, this is a representative sample of the moronic, vile, perverted nature of biblical justifications for slavery. I focused above chiefly on scriptures interpreted to validate slavery, but that risks overlooking one other major argument these authors (and others like them) used. It boils down to variations of “The Bible never says it’s wrong.” I still hear this one today, unfortunately. According to this line of thinking, since the Law of Moses permitted slavery and Jesus and his apostles never explicitly condemned it, I would be wrong to insist slavery is inherently sinful. Amusingly, this logic validates quite a few practices that I don’t know any Christians would support—after all, the Law permitted and Jesus / his apostles never explicitly condemned polygamy. Unfortunately for this line of reasoning, Jesus plainly says the Law sometimes permitted things that went against God’s true will (cf. divorce in Mt. 19 / Mk. 10), so a practice being regulated by Moses doesn’t automatically mean God approved it. Moreover, Christians totally do believe some things are wrong—based on the Bible!—despite those things not explicitly being called sins. I’ve never heard of a Christian who argued on that since no scripture calls abortion a sin, we cannot condemn it.

The “God didn’t say it’s a sin” argument for slavery reminds me of how people used to talk about communism. Once upon a time, you’d hear people say that communism was a really wonderful system in theory, and that although it had caused immense misery everywhere it was tried, that was just a matter of bungled or unfaithful implementation of the theory. Communism’s redoubtable string of genocidal failures was not evidence that there was anything wrong with communism itself. Let’s concede for the sake of argument that communism is good in theory. But if we have abundant evidence to conclude inductively that humans invariably mess up this (hypothetically) good system, then should we really keep trying it, thinking that this time will be different? That this time, we’ll get it right and it’ll be great? We could make a similar point about moral perfection: it’s hypothetically possible for a human to live without ever sinning. But how “possible” is it really, in practical terms? Well, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 Jn. 1.8). Out of all the countless humans who have ever lived, only one can boast of a sinless life: the Lord Jesus. Knowing this, it makes no sense to approach life expecting moral perfection from ourselves or others (though we can and should strive for it).

Much could be said (and has been said) analyzing various scriptures and exploring their implications for slavery. But set aside for a moment whether slavery is *inherently* sinful: can you find me even one example anywhere in human history, out of the countless times and places in which slavery existed, where a society practiced slavery in a consistently just, moral fashion? An instance where the institution of slavery was not implemented in a blatantly sinful way? No, you can’t. It’s never happened, and it never will. Slavery has always served, and will always serve, as a means of exploitation. Slavery has never failed to be a way for the powerful to indulge their greed, selfishness, and pride. Slavery has been tried, and it always proves to be dehumanizing and objectifying. I freely concede that Jesus could do slavery in a morally pure, righteous way, but based on history, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to be capable of that feat. I don’t care whether that’s a problem metaphysically inherent in the institution of slavery or merely the result of humans unfailingly abusing absolute power over other humans. Either way, I contend that human history proves that slavery is inseparably bound up in a host of sins, and thus it’s perfectly valid to declare slavery immoral. Be honest: how confident are you that you, personally, could fulfill Jesus’ teaching (e.g., “Love your neighbor as yourself,” “Whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them”) toward a human regarded by yourself, the law, and society, as your personal property? Slavery has been done sinfully literally every time mankind has ever tried it: are you morally superior to countless slaveholders of the past?

All this is worth considering in the context of The Rising of the Shield Hero because it’s so tempting for us to be Motoyasu—to set ourselves up on the moral high ground looking down with smug superiority at that other guy who’s doing something so obviously wrong. In the show, Motoyasu thinks himself a paragon of righteousness, a far better man than Naofumi. Ironically, if any person is a tool in the story, it’s not Raphtalia the slave but Motoyasu, the useful idiot in the evil schemes of the king and princess. Once upon a time, people who were trying (at least nominally) to serve Jesus twisted the Bible in outrageous ways in order to support great evil. What of us? It’s easy to huff and puff about the evils of slavery today, but are we, like the Spear Hero, blindly aiding some other form of evil? Hopefully not, but we certainly possess the potential to do so.

The Bible and Raphtalia alike make an important distinction between hearts and appearances. “Do not judge according to appearance, but judge with righteous judgment,” Jesus taught us (Jn. 7.24). Throughout the Bible, we see God calls upon us to judge evil actions, but he also affirms that only he can judge a person’s heart. In the case of slavery, for example, while I am confident that objectifying another human as property sinful, I can’t speak with that same certainty about the heart or eternal salvation of any particular slaveholder. I can condemn the action (slaveholding) while accepting limits on my ability to judge hearts. Raphtalia gets this. Others in the show judge Naofumi based on outward appearances, but Raphtalia’s opinion is based on what she’s seen of Naofumi’s heart. She sees, for example, that although Naofumi owns a slave, he doesn’t partake of the arrogance and racism on which the kingdom’s slavery is based. Naofumi has misjudged others (e.g., Meanie, err, Myne) and been gravely misjudged by others, but despite his own failings and the fact that others treat him wrongly, Raphtalia is there to loyally support him. I imagine we all can relate to Naofumi’s struggles—we’ve all made regrettable errors of judgment regarding other people or what’s right, and we’ve been unfairly judged by others. Thankfully, through all our trials we can count on the God who, though faintly reflected by Raphtalia’s character, knows us better and is more faithful to us than even the greatest of cartoon raccoon-girls.

#anime #christianity #tate no yuusha no nariagari #the rising of the shield hero #slavery #naofumi iwatani #raphtalia #articles #Author: Jeskai Angel

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