Why did God harden the Pharaoh’s? I’m in a Bible as Lit class and someone brought up “wouldn’t that be against free will,” and why did God let the Israelites stay it in slavery for so long. Why is God different in the Old Testament to the New Testament? I hope this doesn’t bother you, with all these questions

Okay, so there are several different questions here and I'm going to try to address them all. I'm sure I'll miss something somewhere, so other more knowledgeable friends feel free to add on. Follow-ups are also very much welcome.

First off, Bible as literature class! Yikes. I took a Bible as lit class for my English minor years ago and my experience was pretty much wall-to-wall frustration. It was mostly an exercise in coming up with the most transgressive reads on Scripture possible and that really upset me.

I hope that your experience is better than mine. However, assuming that the class is at a secular university, I'd still encourage you to be intentional about talking the things you cover in class over with knowledgeable Christians in your life. I certainly benefitted a lot from doing so, both in the sense that I got to vent a whole bunch and in that I got help contextualizing the secular perspectives within Christian scholarship.

That out of the way: The God of the Bible is the same in both the Old and New Testaments.

I do understand where you’re coming from. It’s not uncommon for people to find God kind of inscrutable in the OT when they're more used to reading the NT. I actually think that's a failure on the part of the contemporary church in the West; large swaths of the OT tend to be understudied among lay-Christians.

Systematic theology can help a lot here. I'm just going to hit a few really broad highlights, but I really can't recommend Wayne Grudem highly enough if you're interested in more in-depth reading. Lots of people start with Bible Doctrine, but my family happened to have a copy of his enormous Systematic Theology tome in the basement when I was in high school and I got a lot out of just poking through that a little at a time too. A few quick bullets though:

Across all the Biblical texts, God is love. He glories in kindness to his people, whether it's in the covenant with Abraham, the Exodus, the faithful ministry of the prophets, Christ's ministry/death/resurrection, or the promised coming of his kingdom.

God is holy; he gives the Law to the Israelites so that they can approach his holiness without fearing for their lives and he sent Jesus so that we can do the same. Both Isaiah and Peter react with fear and awe in the face of God's holiness.

God is just. By virtue of his holiness, he cannot allow sin to go unpunished. As modern westerners, we often chafe against this but has any of us experienced justice that was actually pure? Justice is a form of faithfulness, and the same God who sent his people into exile poured out his wrath on his own son in our place. He has promised that one day, every evil will face his perfect justice.

God is faithful. He keeps his Covenant with Abraham even unto the cross. In the OT he is faithful husband to an adulterous people. In the NT he tells us that when we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny himself.

Lots of other characteristics but this answer is going to be long enough as it is. The only way to get a real sense for the continuity within the Bible is to read the whole Bible with an eye towards the continuity.

The reason that God is more approachable in the NT than the Old is that he became human. In the Incarnation, all of that holiness and justice and faithfulness and love that was God came to earth in our perfect likeness so that he could live beside us and die for us. God is certainly easier to approach in light of Christ's work, but he is utterly the same as he ever was. Read the Transfiguration and tell me that isn’t the God of Mount Sinai. Read John 1 and tell me it doesn’t remind you of the end of Job. Read the Gospels, Hebrews, and Revelation and play spot-the-OT-parallel. It's beautiful.

Why did God leave his people in slavery for so long? You could ask the same question about the Babylonian captivity and even about why Jesus waits to return and finally defeat Death. Why does he wait? Why let his people suffer?

Well. God is sovereign and he only permits evil to the extent that it ultimately accomplishes the very opposite of what it intends. Because the Israelites were slaves in Egypt, the Exodus was able to occur. The Exodus glorified God in extraordinary fashion, both among his own people and to the peoples of the ancient world. It was also a necessary type and precursor to Jesus's work on the cross. I don't think it's an overstatement to say that redemptive history rests on God's work in the Exodus, which is itself contingent on a period of slavery in Egypt.

“How long, O Lord” and “Come Lord Jesus” are the same sentiment in different words. We are still in exile, even now. We are chronologically exiled from the place where we belong, the New Jerusalem, and we mourn because we live in a fallen world in which sin and death can still hurt us. We can ask, just as the Prophets once asked, why God waits to vanquish the Enemy, extract suffering from the world, and restore our years that the locusts have eaten. And in each case (the slaves in Egypt, the Babylonian captivity, and the period of waiting for Jesus to return), the answer is that God does not fix it yet because He is doing something bigger!

Regarding Pharaoh's heart: this is basically a question of human nature. The easiest way that I can articulate it off the top of my head is using Augustine's fourfold state of man:

Prior to the fall, man was able either to sin or not to sin (posse peccare, posse non peccare)

The natural state of man after the fall is one in which he is unable not to sin (non posse non peccare). This was Pharaoh's state.

Following the work of Christ, regenerate man is able not to sin (posse non peccare)

In eternity, glorified man will be unable to sin (non posse peccare)

When we talk about man's will, we must acknowledge that our wills are subject to our nature. In other words, Pharaoh was a natural, fallen man. His nature was inherently sinful and his heart inherently hard.

What we've got here is sort of a "Jacob I have loved but Esau I have hated" situation. Pharaoh, in his natural state, had a hard heart and a natural enmity with God. God did not intervene to give him a heart of flesh. My people I have loved, but Pharaoh I have hated.

Not a perfect parallel, but I think it serves its purpose. The point is that God's sovereignty isn't in conflict with man's will, since our wills are a function of our natures. Man behaves however his nature inclines him to behave at any given time. We call this free will; however, God is entirely sovereign over all of it.

This is definitely a long, messy answer, but like I said, feel free to continue the conversation. I've got some biochem to work on, but I'm always happy to talk theology :)

KC as a Companion - Part One

It took forever, but THE FIRST HALF IS HERE

I need more time to write about her personal quests and romance

Name: Ekaterina Grushankaya

Race: Aasimar (Emberkin)

Class: Blight Druid

Appearance: A tall, athletic-like aasimar (circa 180cm) with bright red hair entwined in reddish wool locks and owl feathers, grayish blue eyes, and fair-skinned, with some tattoos over her wrists and forearms. She wears worn but clean Mendevian typical clothes, humble jewelry, and a fur overcoat. Also she has an ornate quarterstaff with blue stones (can’t be taken off from her inventory). 

Favored Weapon/Equipment: Simple Weapons, Light/Medium Armor (only leather and alikes), light shield

Top Skills: Lore (Nature and Religion) and Perception

Alignment: Neutral Good

General Personality: Insecure, guilt complex, reclusive, caring, brave, and wise.

What traits/values do they admire?

Righteousness, kindness, bravery, search for balance.

What traits/values do they disapprove of?

Cruelty just for the sake of being cruel, playing god, compulsive lies, tyranny.   

Are they affiliated with any deities?

She follows the Green Faith

What do they think of their role in the Crusades, and of sharing the Commander’s Mythic powers? What are their reasons for joining the commander’s party?

Katya says she was called by the earth to do her duty as a Blight purger, and then her feet led her to Drezen and the Crusades afterwards. She joins the Commander’s party as a way to fulfill her role, and also to help the soldiers with her healing skills. About the Mythic powers, she believes that they came for one reason, and like Lann, Ekaterina supposes they came with a price. But while they are useful, she has no objections about it.

Who are their friends among the other party members?

She has a soft spot for Ember, and becomes friends with Woljif, Seelah, Lann and Arueshalae through the time.

What about rivals?

She is suspicious towards Camellia’s intentions, greatly disapproves Wenduag’s methods, and thinks Daeran is just a prick rich boy — what is not a lie though. About Greybor and Regill, she tries to stay in a neutral area, but doesn’t lose the opportunity to defend her ideals when provoked. 

Are they on any councils? If so, what sort of advice do they give?

She attends the Diplomatic and Logistic Councils, mainly advising the Commander to take care of the locals and try to preserve the ancient sites around the Wound, sending druids or other arcana experts to study these places and learn something from them.

Where do they hang out in Drezen? In the Abyss?

In Drezen, she’s next to the Abandoned House (where afterwards can be her family home). After the greenhouse is grounded, she will be there too. In the Abyss, she is next to Ember.

What are their idle animations?

Checking her belt and potions; musing something with a hand on her chin; crouching and waiting for any movement. 

If they’re taken to Areelu’s lab, what is their dream?

She is an archdruid at a Circle somewhere in Mendev. Ekaterina is attending a council and there are some Crusades’ members among the crowd. Next to her, there is a girl with short red hair (if Lann is trying to flirt with her, the girl will have little horns too).

After that, if the Commander asks what that means, she will just shrug and say, ‘It’s not a secret at all, Commander. I mean, half of Kenabres knew or supposed that I wanted a place where I could really call home. And not home just for me, but… for people like me. Or us. Kindred folk, you see?’

Do they advise the commander to abandon or keep their mythic powers?

She isn’t against any good-aligned mythic powers, but when it’s about Chaotic ones, Ekaterina has mixed opinions: she believes that Trickster and Azata disturb the universe balance, despite the good intentions of the last one, for example. But still there is a chance of her stay in the campaign either way. Except for Evil paths; she will leave as soon as the KC states they won’t renounce it.

How/when do they join the Commander’s party?

At the Second Act. But you meet her at Defender’s Heart. When the KC wakes up, she is in the room taking care of them. Irabeth comes along and introduces her before asking Katya to leave them alone. After that, you can find her outside, aiding the injured survivors. She isn’t available to join the party yet, but if you ask her to come with you, she says that she will think about it (and becomes a companion when the Crusades are officially announced).

Time for Kuan Yin 3: This Time it's Personal

Have I been talking about Kuan Yin for 3 days straight? Yes I have and I don't care what you think because this is my house and I make the rules here, so shut up and listen.

Today we're going to be taking what we've learned and become a little speculative, trying to piece disparate stories and put them together in a way that makes sense. This is in no way me saying this is actually true, just a way to organize her lore for modern authors to work from.

Let's begin.

To start with, let's start with the idea that she's the daughter of the Jade Emperor. This idea can't be any older than 1005 AD for funny reasons I'll talk about some other time, so it's definitley not an origional part of her mythology. However, I like the idea of her being a goddess that was such a devout Buddhist that she gave up her divinity to incarnate in the human realm to reach greater perfection, and it'll make some cool parallels later so we'll roll with it.

For bonus points, maybe she was the SON of the Jade Emperor and his heir, but was so pious they decided to renounce their birthright to achieve true perfection. This could even tie in to my earlier post about the Jade Emperor and Queen Mother of the West's marriage history. Kuan Yin, or her original incarnation, could be the only child between JE and Tian Hou, and her/his/their decision to incarnate as a mortal could be the reason for their divorce. Such drama!

After that she went through several human lives, male and female. This can fit in several popular origins for her as different characters before she eventually is born as Miao Shan. Once again a princess whose father opposes her Buddhist faith, she goes through many trials before reclaiming her divinity on her own terms like the first-class badass she is.

I feel like this is a good arc for her. Thoughts?

Sh*tpost Masterlist

--The Pigtails are Off -- (2)

Part 2: Before 

Backstory time!

Ao3 - First - Previous - Next

“If they’re such tyrants, why not take the throne?”

“What do you mean, Chloe?” Marinette asked, tilting her head.

“If they abuse the crown, then let’s just take it.”

-

“Such a doormat,” She said, snickering at Marinette.

Marinette held the broken project in her small hands, and glared at the rest of her group of four. They had made her do all the work, then they broke the object that she had made right after the presentation. They had known that she wanted to keep it. They had known that she was proud of her first little scarf.

And yet…

“They’re just such jerks!”

“Like tyrants!”

“Ughhhh!”

Marinette ranted to Chloe, her unlikely friend.

They had met the year before; Marinette had seen a bunch of the mean kids surrounding Chloe, and had pulled the blonde away, scared for her well-being. Turns out that they had been pestering Chloe for special things since she was the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the owner of the famous hotel and the man who claimed to be planning to run for mayor in a few years.

Chloe explained this to Marinette, and Marinette called the other kids gold-diggers, and told Chloe that they could be friends instead. 

Anyway, back to Marinette ranting.

“If they’re such tyrants, why not take the throne?”

“What do you mean, Chloe?” Marinette asked, tilting her head.

“If they abuse the crown, then let’s just take it.”

-

Marinette and Chloe (and Sabrina) stood outside of their new school.

Françoise Dupont.

It was a part of a wide system of schools, known as the Dupont District, all nearby each other. It was a bit unorthodox, but the Dupont District was treated as a prototype to see if other places should follow in its footsteps, making it the first of its type of schooling. It would often do little exchanges with the other schools in it’s system, as all of them were connected. Students in the Dupont District often were close friends with students in the other schools, making it heaven for sociable people, and hell for loners.

Françoise Dupont specifically, was a high school and a middle school rolled into one, with the two connecting buildings separating the two.

It would do nicely for Marinette’s kingdom.

-

None of the students at Françoise Dupont knew exactly why Marinette, one of the two Red Queens, would play nice whenever students from the other schools in the district came to visit, or did an exchange. Or vice versa, when her class would be chosen for a mini exchange to some other school. 

Only Marinette, Chloe, and Sabrina knew why. It was because they weren’t tyrants. 

They would respect other kingdoms.

(Sure, they punished some people, but only ones who deserved it.)

-

Marinette opened the box, and out popped a red bug-looking thing.

“Huh.”

Her eyes widened, and Marinette immediately grasped the small creature in her hands to keep it from escaping.

“What the hell is this…”

“Hi Mariette! My name’s Tikki! And I am your kwami.”

-

One year later...

Marinette sighed. Acting nice as Ladybug was tiring. During this past summer she had asked Tikki if she, the ruler of the school, the feared and powerful Marinette, was really suited to be some goody-goody superhero. Tikki had told her that no one was black or white, and Marinette was in more of a moral grey. Sure, Marinette may be infamous at her school, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was a bad person… She was just more of a… chaotic good then a Lawful Good, as Chloe had put it after Marinette asked the blond if Marinette was a bad person.

Anyway, it was a new year, and this year a new class would be permanently transferred here from some other school in the Dupont, due to overcrowding. Since it was a few people short, Marinette and a few others were being pushed into the class. (Chloe, Sabrina, Nathaniel, Juleka, and Nino.) 

Marinette knew these people. As the nice-Marinette, that is. She was kind of friends with them, which was strange to think.

This gave her an idea…

-

Marinette didn’t have to fake her blush as Adrien handed her his umbrella.

All the gum was supposed to be was a prank from Chloe, as she knew that Marinette had extra backups of clothing, and that Marinette had some crazy-good cleaning solution at home. It would also do well to sell their “Chloe-is-a-bully” thing.

But Adrien had messed it up. 

Marinette walked in to see him on his knees, trying to pick it up, and her anger had gotten the better of her.

It was literally the first day of her being a goody-goody again. And somehow, some-fucking-how, she was already being treated like a doormat! Luckily Tikki’s little tap at Marinette from her bag was enough to remind Marinette not to get too mad, and she had resolved it best she could.

And now here Adrien was, handing her an umbrella with the most sincere expression on his face. Marinette had almost lost faith in the fact that good people, not Chaotic-Goods like her, but real good people actually existed. (Except for Chat Noir, but that could really just be an act. It was harder to read people when they were wearing a literal mask.)

Marinette also didn’t have to fake the umbrella closing on her. Or her stuttering. (Only that first time though, she had to fake it after that to let the other students view her as harmless.)

Her laugh bubbled up from within her, and it felt good. So good.

-

But then Lila happened.

Mainette’s friends thought that she would lie about the new student just because she was jealous.

Marinette managed to not yell at Lila as Ladybug, though she did still tell Lila off, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t pissed. At the fox for manipulating her friends, and for stealing Adrien’s book and trying to manipulate her him with it.

That was the first crack.

-

Then Lila came back

Marinette’s “friends” doubted who they thought was a kindhearted doormat. A girl who would stutter just talking to her crush. The girl who would help them with the snap of a finger. The girl who was always there was such a jealous brat that she would lie about Lila and who would push said Lila down the stairs. They all knew that she had helped Adrien ask out Kagami on a date. And had suffered through it, and not tried to disrupt it once, but they thought that she would push some girl down the stairs because she was jealous. 

Alya had said that it had to have been a misunderstanding, but the noirette could see the doubt in her “best friend’s” eyes. In all of her classmate’s eyes.

She had just begun to consider them real friends too.

Not even mentioning Lila’s threat, or that she was moved to the back without a word. 

That was the second crack.

-

The final straw was when Alya renounced their friendship in front of the whole class, and when most of them agreed with her.

Screw that “nice-Marinette.”

The Red Queen was coming back.

Ao3 - First - Previous - Next

-

Tag list:

@graduatedmelon 

@crazyunlikeyou 

@athena452 

@zalladane 

@valeks-princess 

@saluteswifties 

@queen-in-a-flower-crown

@ladybug182 

@anonymously-odd 

@g-arya 

@pawsitivelymiraculous 

@fidget-eep 

@ur-average-reader 

@duckies16 

@luleck 

@pale-lady-dreamer 

@jemyie 

@alaynnah 

@miraculousandmore 

@heaven428 

@bluerosette23

To Kill A Ladybug

I couldn’t help myself but write something for Maribat March, no matter how hard I tried to stop myself. So here’s my contribution to this event. Enjoy!

Maribat March- DAY 15: Gone Wrong

Context: Marinette is Marinette Wayne, the adopted child of Bruce Wayne. She wanted to study in Paris, the Dupain-Cheng’s her host family and family that offered her to use their last name to study in Paris. While they don’t know about her secret identity, Bruce does, but Marinette made him promise to not interfere unless she says so. She didn’t want to rely on her family for help, but fate had other plans for Mari.

----

AO3

He didn’t mean it. Really he didn’t. 

“If you truly cared about me, then why don’t just accept my love for you?!” Chat Noir exclaimed, placing down his foot. Ladybug looked at him with squinted eyes

“Are you being serious right now Chat Noir?” Ladybug said, capturing the akumatized butterfly. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Are you being serious?” Chat bellowed, his hand over his heart. “I’ve told you over and over again that I love you and each time you never give me the answer I want to hear.”

“Well sorry to burst your bubble, but I already told you that I don’t feel the same.” Ladybug said, releasing the purified Akuma. “And before you say anything else. I want to clarify something. I’m not interested in looking for a partner, not platonically nor romantically. I want to do this job properly. Until Hawkmoth is defeated, I will not be investing any time into romance.”

Chat scoffed.

“Are you enjoying this Ladybug?”

“Enjoying what?” She really hoped that what she was thinking wasn’t what was going to happen.

“Playing around with me. Playing with my feelings.” Chat emphasized.

He’s going there alright. Disappointed, but not surprised.

“Chat you know that’s not why-”

“Oh I bet it is.” He accused, walking up to her, pushing her back with his finger. “Not only do you like to keep secrets from me, but you also like to play around with my heart.”

 “Chat, that’s not true-”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Chat spat, “I bet you’re enjoying all my attention because I bet that no one like the real you.” Something loomed over Marinette, pressing itself onto her being. “I bet the real you adores lying, adores manipulating those around them, not caring at how they hurt others with their words.” At the accusation, Marinette took a step back. 

Again, she was being compared to that girl. That girl that always manages to crawl under her skin. That girl that she was nothing like. Nothing like what Chat was telling her he thought she was. “You do it all for fun, don’t you?” 

“I-I-”

“And maybe I was the first person to actually love you.” He turned to face the city, the chatter and noises became mute. “But how stupid was I to actually love someone like you. Maybe we really weren’t made to be partners. Nonetheless friends.” Chat huffed. “So from now on, do me a favor and take the high road, got it?” He said as he turned to face Ladybug.

 He wasn’t expecting the scene in front of him

His eyes widened upon seeing her face pale, her eyes boring through him, dripping with tears. 

“Is-Is that what you think,” Ladybug started, startling Chat. He’s never heard her voice so wobbly, so... fragile. “Is that what you think is the reason behind me not accepting your feelings for me?” Chat gulped. 

“Ladybug, I didn’t-”

“That I should take the high road?” Ladybug hiccuped, letting out a small giggle afterwards. “That’s the second time I heard that phrase.” She looked at her hands, her tears falling into them. “Both said by people whom I adore and trusted.” She looked back at Chat, who stared back at her with wide eyes, as if he just realized some grand revelation. “Maybe… maybe I really should take that piece of advice.”

With that, she dashed away, Chat’s voice fading as she grew further away from him. 

Little did he know that that was the last time he would ever see her. 

Night turned into days, which turned into a month. A solid month without Ladybug ever appearing. 

Chat had to fight akuma after akuma without Ladybug ever by his side. Sure he had allies, but none could replace the gap Ladybug had left behind. A gap he had caused and ate at his conscience every minute of the day. 

It didn’t help when the day after the whole incident, that Marinette went missing, appearing back to class a whole week later. When Adrien approached her, wanting to confirm his suspicions, she flinched harshly against his touch. After apologizing and telling Marinette that he knew she was Ladybug, her reaction horrified him. 

Marinette went pale, her breathing becoming faster with each inhalation, her eyes quickly darting around the room before she collapsed to the ground. 

Adrien simply stood there, watching and hearing as their classmates scurried to find help, Adrien watching as the world around him moved as he remained still.

A group of paramedics were soon in the class, taking Marinette off to the nearest hospital. 

Had Adrien looked closer, he would’ve seen that she no longer wore the earrings she had once held with great honor. 

He had missed the first of many signs of his bad luck.

That night, Adrien went out on patrol, wiping his tears for what seemed like the umpteenth time. 

Stopping a tiny crime didn’t relieve him of his sorrows, Adrien wanting an akuma to appear so badly so that he can forget the pain swelling in his heart.

That’s when he was taken by surprise, his vision flipping and the air from his lungs escaping him as his back hit the tar of the roof. Preparing to fight back, he froze upon feeling a cold blade pressed against his throat. All Adrien was able to tell from this guy was that he had to have been younger than him, but obviously was more trained than him.

The male was cladded in all black attire, the only color on him were his eyes.

Green met emerald.

“Adrien Agreste.” The person growled, causing the blood on Adrien’s face to drain. How did he know who he was? The only person that knew who he was was the Guardian, but the Guardian had been missing for quite a while.

“Who are-”

“On behalf of the Guardian, I now renounce your duty as Chat Noir. I hereby strip you of your mantle as Chat Noir.” The male spoke, Ariden seeing bloodlust in his eyes. Like if that was going to prevent him from backing off without a fight.

“You can’t just-”

“Orders are orders.” The male said in a monotone voice, shudders rippling through Adrien’s body. “It’s a wonder how she still kept working with such an incompetent asshole like you. If I were Ladybug, I would’ve kicked you off the team the moment I felt you were useless to me or a hindrance to the mission.”

“You know Ladybug?” A scoff.

“Of course. She’s the reason why you haven't been killed yet.” The male pressed his blade further into Adrien’s skin, causing Adrien to whimper. “If it were up to us, you would’ve been skinned alive and then killed.” 

“Us?” Adrien croaked.

“The rest of her brothers. Do you know how much pain you made her go through? For the past week, she’s gone through breakdowns and panic attacks, suffering from depression and anxiety. None of us can touch nor talk to her without her reacting negatively, mumbling self deprecating things about herself.” 

“And that’s just touching the surface.” A new voice added, Adrien watching another male emerge from the shadows. He wore a red helmet, Adrien feeling his heart temporarily stop upon seeing the guns holstered at each side of Red’s side. Adrien didn’t want to know if they truly were real or not.

“All because you threw a tantrum like a child because she said ‘no’ like the right she’s allowed to have.” Another male said, Adrien shifting his eyes to a male sitting on the building’s fence. He got up and started to walk on the fence with no care in the world, almost childlike despite Adrien having the gut feeling that he was the eldest of the new crowd. 

“I didn’t-”

“You’re an idiot if you thought your words couldn’t hurt her.” Another voice chipped. Adrien finally noticed the new person, leaning against Red. “She’s the most kind and caring person we know and you tore her because you’re spoiled ass couldn’t take a rejection. Even I know how to take one.”  

“So you’re going to do what we say unless you want to die tonight.” The young assasin said, Adrien gulping and giving an okay.

-----

Adrien watched as news spewed their opinions and theories of what happened to Ladybug and Chat Noir grew, the media wondering where they went and what was going to happen to Paris now that they were gone. 

Adrien already knew the answer to one question, but was also looking for answers for that second question himself. Where was his Lady? Where was Marinette?

The answer was soon given in the form of Adrien arriving home one day, seeing national forces in front of his house. There he saw his father get escorted to a car. Ladybug stood in the distance, Adrien cheering up upon seeing his Lady.

Or so he thought it was his Lady. 

When he had gone up to talk with her, she simply glared at him, ignoring his pleads of wanting to speak with her. It took the new cat to stop Adrien from pestering his partner.

“She obviously doesn’t want to speak to you.” The cat said, standing between the new Ladybug and Adrien.

“But I have to speak-”

“How insensitive.” The Cat said, shaking his head. “Didn’t you know? The new Ladybug can’t verbally speak? She can only physically speak.”

“What is that-”

“Sign language.” Cat said, narrowing his eyes in an all familiar fashion. “She’s a mute.” With that simple explanation, Adrien was left alone, the police surrounding him and taking him back into his empty home, giving him a briefing of what had just happened.

His Lady was gone, so was Hawkmoth, whom he found out that day was his own father. 

He had no one left. His aunt wanted him to come to England, Adrien compromising with her to let him finish his studies in Paris before heading to England. It worked. He was to live alone, but Adrien denied this fate.

He had one last hope.

However, that faith he had started to dwindle when he later found out that Marinette was no longer in their school, no longer in Paris, nonetheless France. She had left for the States, with a new family.

He was truly alone now.

Adrien struggled to keep his grades up, his health depleting thanks to his lack of self care. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days nor had a proper night’s rest. 

He was a wreck and he knew. 

It didn’t help when Damian Wayne came to the school and barged into the class, grabbing Adrien by his shirt collar and punching him square in the face and wanting to give him a few more.

A man with a white streak on his hair had to rip Damian away from Adrien while another male talked with Bustier. 

Under other circumstances, Adrien would’ve been more alert and willing to fight back, but now he didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore and for some reason, he felt like he deserved it.

Nino had helped him get back to his seat, giving him a few napkins to deal with the blood seeping from his nose. Alya then helped him go to the nurse’s office, which then led to him having to be sent to a hospital thanks to having a fracture.

As he sat on the hospital cot, he decided to ring his aunt when he found an envelope with the initials MDC and a ladybug sticker sealing the envelope. 

Adrien opened the letter, the first words caused him to tear up, covering his mouth in attempts to suppress a wail. 

He watched as tears dropped onto the letter in his hand, the paper soaking it, earning a stain. 

He didn’t want their reveal to be this way, to be done in this matter. He had imagined their reveal to be done properly, to be done face to face, not through writing.

Guilt gnawed at his body, causing him to vomit, a nearby nurse seeing this and attempted to help him before calling out for a doctor.

Soon after Adrien recovered, Gabriel  was losing to its opponent MW, Adrien having to shut it down and simply live with whatever his good-for-nothing father had left behind. 

He didn’t have anything to fall back into, having to use his aunt’s connections to get into the acting field, seeing as he had no dream to pursue and acting being the only thing he was decent at.

Another year at the Wayne Gala, Adrien sulking in a corner as this aunt and cousin enjoyed the event to their heart's content. He was only here because his company asked him to represent them. If not… there went his career...

“-introduce my lovely daughter and her fiancé, Marinette Wayne and Garfield Logan.”

Adrien’s eye ghosted over the couple that had gotten onto the stage to join Bruce when they sharply landed on Marinette Wayne, or should he say Marrinette Dupain-Cheng.

He watched as she dazzled everyone with her presence, her midnight hair done wonderfully into a side braid, covered in all different types of flowers. Her simple black sweetheart dress with golden trims matched Garfield own all black suit with golden cuffs and trims. 

That could’ve been him up there. That could’ve been him but he just had to have acted like a child instead of a professional all those years ago. 

What a fool he had been. 

Everything went wrong when he decided to kill a ladybug. 

He had killed their everyday ladybug and then Ladybug herself, although in reality, he had killed the same person twice.

They said killing a Ladybug was bad luck… seems like that was true. 

I don't know if you've already answered a similar question, if you have I apologize and will look better for it. But do you think Sandor and Sansa would still love each with how much they've both changed? They've almost become new people, but still the same beings.

It’s no problem. I’ve written about that here and probably touched on this in many other posts. 

I wouldn’t frame the question as would they “still love each other with how much they’ve both changed.” It implies that their feelings were already understood as love by them when they were together. What they had was a confusing mess of conflicting emotions that neither were fully capable of understanding or accepting at the time. Each had their reasons for why that was so, which goes to some of the issues that stood between them. While there is chemistry, intimacy, and empathy shown, IMO, it’s better to think of them as possessing the building blocks that can lead to love in the future.  

On the other hand, there was also:

The fact that she’s too young, immature, and unready for a consummated romance with anyone. She needs space and time to grow up and figure out what she wants. Until AFFC, she’s still only comfortable consciously fantasizing about Loras Tyrell, who is non-threatening, conventionally attractive, and uncomplicated. They are still relatively chaste/borderline erotic fantasies. The unkiss takes time for her to consciously accept and embrace as reciprocated erotic desire.  

The fact that he has no idea how to express himself without resorting to the language of violence that he understands best.

The fact that he copes with the unresolved childhood trauma and PTSD in unhealthy ways like his abrasive Hound persona, his overly-cynical worldview, and sometimes abusing alcohol when he’s under stress.

His immaturity and inability to simply ask for and accept the emotional support he wants (which she was perfectly willing to give) without freaking out over being vulnerable with someone. 

The fact that they are on opposite sides of a war where Sansa’s family is in open rebellion against her captors who Sandor owes fealty to. 

The fact that she’s the king’s betrothed. She’s his property. To explicitly act upon any romantic attraction would be considered treason, punishable by torture and death.  

The fact that there is a massive class disparity between them that overshadows the age difference in their world. That’s one reason why neither can put a name to this thing between them. A future queen / high lord’s daughter from an ancient house should not be fraternizing with a non-knight from a house only three generations old. That’s why they struggle even knowing what to call each other because using first names shows too much familiarity and intimacy. This would be true even without any of the other conflicts. Class controls everything in Westeros. 

And yes, he still owes her a big heartfelt apology for his abhorrent behavior during the Blackwater, and he should beg her forgiveness.  

Most of these points I elaborate on in more detail in the links above. If you notice, though, most of these things have either been resolved or are in the process of being resolved. None of these issues were ever insurmountable obstacles. 

The ways in which Sansa and Sandor have evolved even in their separation has been largely positive and complementary of each other. They haven’t grown apart or become incompatibly different at all. If anything, it’s pushed their feelings further along, and it’s clear they are very much on each other’s minds. Since we can see Sansa’s perspective firsthand, she’s only thought about Sandor more since he left.  

Sansa has grown and matured a lot more when we see her in the TWOW sample chapter. Had the five-year gap panned out, she would be legally an adult in Westeros; however, dropping it doesn’t seem to have affected GRRM’s intentions for any of his POVs. She’s in the company of unconventional, sexually mature women in their early twenties who can be role models in navigating adult relationships. The sassy way she takes no shit from a brutally honest Harrold Hardyng shows she has confidence and the ability to go toe-to-toe with Sandor’s gruff personality without getting flustered and running away. After she wipes the floor with him with her wit, she ends up winning Harry over to the point he’s begging for her favor. There is no point in the sample chapter where she voices any anxieties about not feeling ready for marriage, sex, or children. This no longer seems to be an issue for her, so we can assume she feels okay with having an adult relationship at this point.   

Her time as a bastard girl has made her warmer and friendlier. She was always kind, but proprieties and courtesies can also read as aloof and re-enforcing strict class boundaries. Can you imagine Kings Landing!Sansa hugging someone like Lothor Brune, a landless knight, as she does in TWOW? Or preferring the company of a sex-positive widow who enjoys taking lovers or a bastard girl over the “perfect sister” she saw in Margaery Tyrell and her cousins? Hell no. That would never happen. This new Sansa lacks those prejudices and is openly affectionate towards people she was raised to keep at arm’s length. Once she loosened up and stopped reciting courtesies, people actually got to know her and like her for who she is. That’s what Sandor always wanted from her, right? To drop the courtesies and flattering bullshit and just be a real person with him, not a talking parrot. While that criticism was harsh and rudely put, it had a lot of truth to it. It seems to have made Sansa into a happier person and more in touch with her authentic self. Now that she has accepted in Feast that she wanted Sandor like that, what is there to stop her from acting on it later?

The Quiet Isle didn’t exist before Feast. It was written for Sandor to recover and rehabilitate. Not just physically, but he’s getting what constitutes psychological counseling and a treatment plan that deals directly with his worst traits. He appears to meet with the Elder Brother often enough because the latter seems to know quite a bit about Sandor’s backstory, what his issues are, and exactly who Sansa Stark is. The rest of the time, he must observe the no talking rule and do meaningful work as a novice. This man, who once flaunted his contempt for those who couldn’t defend themselves as weak and deserving of death, is put to work digging graves for the innocent victims of violence. All day long, he has to look at the faces of men, women, and children killed by evil men with that philosophy. One brother even yells at him for carelessly tossing dirt around with the shovel, and he silently takes it. No smart ass backtalk. In the evening, he has to serve food and clear plates for men he would have once mocked. They’re men of faith, they’ve renounced violence, and Sandor sits lower in status than them. To Sandor’s credit, he humbly submits to all this in a show of respect and humility. It’s like he wants to learn these lessons they are offering and is allowing himself to be schooled. Now Sandor may always be Sandor on some level (if Stranger kicking down the stable doors and refusing to be gelded is any indication). Still, it does look like he’s become a gentler, healthier, and sober version of himself. The only part of Sandor that Sansa rejected was the Hound, and it’s both stated in the text and by George himself that the Hound is dead. Period. And yeah, it seems like Sandor is in a place where he is unlikely to backslide into old behavior, and he can make that heartfelt and necessary apology to Sansa. I don't think Sandor could ever be okay with moving their relationship forward without making amends first. It wouldn't sit right with his sense of remorse and personal responsibility, which is a good thing. 

All these changes are for the better for them as individuals and as a possible future couple. Contrary to your ask, I would say a positive, fully-fledged romance with "HEA" potential wouldn’t be possible or believable without all the growth and changes they've undergone. When they reunite, they can do so on more equal footing. 

Not that there aren’t more conflicts to overcome. They both are currently wanted fugitives for murders they didn’t commit, so they both need to clear their names and reclaim their true identities. There is still the matter of Sansa’s marital status as Tyrion isn’t dead but their marriage was also unconsummated. She could try to have her marriage officially annulled by the Faith somehow, but to do that, she’ll have to take the risk of revealing her true identity. Again, these don’t seem like plots that won’t be resolved anyway at some point. What about that class divide though? Well, the Starks aren’t like Tywin or Cersei, and they actually value things like faithful service. No reason why Sandor couldn’t be awarded a lordship and lands in gratitude for saving the lives of both Arya and Sansa. I’m just sayin’.  

I love your writing! Could you maybe write a fic where Nathaniel doesn’t buy any if Lila’s lies, she accuses Marinette of something and everyone in the class believes her except Nathaniel and Adrien? If possible, could you add some Marcaniel to the story? Only if you want that is! Again, love your writing!

Know thy deskmate

I’m making this a short fic

At first Nathaniel thought Lila was awesome. He didn’t mind sharing a desk with an amazing storyteller.

The problem was, Nathaniel already knew an amazing storyteller: Marc. As such, after a while; he began to realize that Lila was like his BF; the difference was that she liked to brag while Marc just wrote.

Lila’s tales were too unbelievable. Yes; she has travelled the world, but her Mother is not that influential as a diplomat, not like an ambassador. More importantly, celebrities don’t usually hang out with diplomats or give them special favors.

As such, he doubted Lila knew this famous manga artist or that painter. The chances of meeting them were really low.

Lila just knew too many celebrities. Even Adrien wasn’t on close terms with Jagged.

It wasn’t until Lila started insinuating that Marinette was unreliable that Nathaniel knew he had to renounce their friendship.

Marinette had been nothing but kind to him, albeit she lacked foresight. And she had tried to call out on Lila’s deceit, but the class had been too dazzled by Lila’s tales.

Since Marinette was always late, and class elections were coming up, Lila decided to try out for the position and take over for Marinette before the bell rang. (She just wanted the title on her college credit and give all the work to Alya)

Feigning hesitance and timidity, Lila admits she has doubts Marinette can pull off the workload. Hasn’t she seemed really busy lately?

A list of reasons of why Marinette should not be class president

1. She is always tardy

2. She is too busy to help Alya with babysitting

3. Seems kind of distracted (around Adrien)

4. Keeps deciding to let Chloe off the hook (blame that on Bustier)

5. Doesn’t treat them all the same

At that, Adrien stands up and points out that Marinette has been an amazing class president. She came up with amazing field trip ideas and even when busy, she came up with enough time to design Kitty Section’s costumes and keep straight As.

Nathaniel joins in, pointing out that Lila wouldn’t make a good class president since she is always away on sudden trips with her ‘celebrity friends’.

Lila loses her case and Marinette arrives unaware that the class had almost lost their faith in her.

(For the record, in case you haven’t seen Marinette’s Instagram yet, she won the election and got a cake for it.)

Nathaniel is glad he stood up for Marinette but is getting kind of freaked out because Lila keeps bothering him. First she tries to promise to introduce him to famous artists, next she brags about her time cosplaying at a comic con, and finally she pretends to have had a passion for drawing when she was younger but gave it up. None of her attempts to cosy up to Nathaniel work because he’s just like “um, ok” before focusing on his drawing again.

It drives Nathaniel crazy that Lila keeps pestering him but he doesn’t confront her outright. He saw what happened when Marinette tried.

Instead he confides to Marc. Thankfully, his Boyfriend knows a solution to vent it all out. They can write a story about Lila the liar in their comic.

It is an instant hit, and btw, since the fans know the characters in the story are based on real people, they actually disprove Lila’s claims on fan posts. For example:

Fan 1: Wait, does Volpina actually know Jagged?

Fan 2: of course not! Jagged has had allergies to kittens since before she was born!

Fan 3: who would be dumb enough to believe all this garbage?

Anyway, Alix realizes the truth since she is a good Friend of Nath’s and spreads the word. Lila is exposed and punished. Marinette bakes Marc and Nath a cake for their reward.

Void

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13786191/1/Void

Title: Void

Summary: Adrien Agreste was the perfect son. He had perfect grades, perfect looks, a perfect personality. Perfection however, has its price.  

Post NY Special.

Can be read as a sequel to Aeon but also is a standalone.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

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Adrien Agreste was the perfect son. He had perfect grades, perfect looks, a perfect personality.  (Or, so everyone but his father thought. Ironic given that he was the very reason Adrien even strived for perfection.) What nobody ever talked about however, was that perfection had its price. 

And Adrien was a perfect client. He paid his dues in full.

Who even was Adrien Agreste? 

Model…

Son…

Classmate... 

Or, simply a doll...made to be seen and not heard.

Perfection was a sham after all. Nobody was perfect. He knew that better than most. 

(Father would disagree, but then again, Father didn’t agree with him about anything.)

For ages he had tried to please everyone, and in doing so, he ended up losing himself. 

When his mother had disappeared (ran away, people whispered when they thought he couldn’t hear, ran away from her cold husband and their cold home) he’d thought if only he had been a better son maybe she would have stayed (or would have taken him with her...a thought he’d never dared to utter, even to himself.) He still had Father and so unable to do anything about his mother, he tried to be the best he could be so that Father wouldn’t leave him too. 

What a waste, he scoffed internally. Father couldn’t even be bothered to see him in person, preferring to communicate via Nathalie. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a meal with him. And the only time Father bothered to talk to him in person and without an appointment was to let him know what else he was disappointed about. What else he thought his son lacked. How much of a disgrace Adrien was to the Agreste name.

He reclined his incredibly comfortable seat and just lay there staring at the ceiling of the plane.  

The private plane.

The private plane that he was on because once again Father couldn’t just let him have a single moment of normalcy. One moment to be a regular boy on a class trip with his friends. 

Although this time maybe it was a blessing in disguise. He didn’t know how he would have been able to hold up if he had to be around his classmates and pretend that everything was okay. Because it was not okay.

He was not okay.

And he wouldn’t even be able to explain to them why. 

He was grateful to be alone on the plane. No Father, no Nathalie, no Gorilla. (No Plagg either, whispered the voice in his head.) With nobody around Adrien was finally able to let the facade of perfection drop. 

For the first time since he had been granted the honour of being Chat Noir, he was well and truly alone.

His eyes burned but the tears wouldn’t come. The hurt felt deeper than that. He was almost numb. It was as if his brain told his body ‘not right now’. His mind knew he wouldn’t be able to handle all the emotions brought on by the past few hours. It was too soon. The wounds too fresh. Too deep.

There was a void within him, and all feeling got sucked into the blackness of it. There was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been (and coincidentally where Plagg’s camembert had always been hidden). If he had remembered it, he would have given it to Plagg as one last gift before parting ways. 

But as it was, at the moment of renouncing him all Adrien was thinking about was how he had let Paris down, almost seriously injured his partner and had all but killed someone. It didn’t matter that the only reason Aeon had been destroyed was that she was in fact not actually alive. She was alive in all the ways it counted. She was more alive it seemed, than Adrien Agreste. More loved too. 

“I am here to take captive those who are loved by no one!” Solitude had said. And by that he had most certainly meant Adrien. Between him and Marinette, well Adrien knew which one was loved. Adrien had fans and he had friends. But at the end of the day his fans and his friends only knew so much about him. (In no small part thanks to his father, his friends would always have to be subjected to Perfect Agreste rather than Just Adrien.) And after all how could you love someone you didn’t know? 

Ladybug would argue that he didn’t know her but loved her anyway. But that was different. He may not have known her name or her face but he did know her. Conversely, everyone knew his name and his face, yet nobody knew him. 

Solitude was aptly named wasn’t he? Adrien was already in solitude’s grasp long before he ever came to New York.

Especially since there was no more Plagg, who had served to be Adrien’s one sliver of freedom, and also the only being who had known him, truly known him... in and out of the mask. His most cherished companion. He was gone and Adrien was the one who threw him away. 

He hoped Plagg could forgive him one day, and that whoever Ladybug chose to replace him as Chat Noir would treat him well and be able to afford the camembert he so loved. Losing Plagg, even if it was by his own doing, would take him a while to get over. He’d never said it but he loved the kwami fiercely. Not just for the powers and freedom he granted him but for the way Plagg knew how to cheer him up when he got too down and how Plagg would curl up next to him at night and purr until he fell asleep. Plagg was sarcastic and blunt but he was genuine and cared about Adrien a whole lot more than literally everybody else in his life. He encouraged him to come out of his shell and live a little. And he knew if Plagg had his way he wouldn’t be kept in the dark about anything. Plagg looked out for him in his own way. Adrien didn’t have anyone else like Plagg. 

Sure sometimes Plagg’s advice could get him into trouble, but it was Adrien who chose to accept that advice. He should have told Ladybug he was going to be away on a class trip. He was just so scared that she’d lose trust in him because he had given her his word. In the end it didn’t matter, he’d lost her trust anyway. The way he saw it, he wouldn’t have won no matter what he’d chosen to do. It’s not as if he could explain to Ladybug why he had agreed to protect Paris only to turn around and say he couldn’t. She didn’t want to know. Identities and all that. (And clearly, Plagg didn’t disagree because he wouldn’t have encouraged Adrien to stay quiet if he had thought she’d be fine with him going… Given that Plagg knew who Ladybug was, Adrien chose to trust his advice. Not like he could have said no to his father when he made up his mind anyway. Adrien would not have won in this situation.)

Plagg had ranted and raved about how much easier things would be for both of them if they didn’t have these secrets in the way. Adrien agreed but it wasn’t his call to make. She was the guardian. And if even after all that she didn’t want him to know who she was...she didn’t want to know who he was, well there was nothing he or Plagg could do about it. 

He didn’t forget that though he’d given up his miraculous, she hadn’t cared to look at him. She still didn’t want to know. He hadn’t expected her to stop him or beg him to stay. He knew he’d screwed up and that she’d lost faith in him. But even at the end she hadn’t wanted to know him. To know who had stood by her side all this time... or who had failed her. 

But anyway, Adrien mused, it was inevitable. He was bound to screw up and lose his miraculous one way or another. As a result of Adrien Agreste being perfection incarnate, Chat Noir was carefree and subsequently, careless, as Ladybug would attest. 

It was his carelessness that led to Paris being severely damaged. It was his carelessness that lost him his lady’s trust. His carelessness that would have injured her. His carelessness that erased the lights from Aeon’s eyes, permanently if not for the Miracle Cure.

Ladybug would be better off without him, he knew. She needed someone who was careful and responsible, like she was. 

And that couldn’t be Adrien. Adrien loved her too much to be careful when it came to her. As Chat he would often throw himself in front of blows meant for her. And while he would never stop protecting her, he also knew it made her job harder having to fight him alongside the akuma. Another Chat Noir with less feelings invested might be able to find a better solution. But that Chat was not him. Try as he might he could not stop how he felt about her, even when he had other girls around him who he was sure he could come to love if she wasn’t in the picture. 

Marinette’s face came to mind unbiddenly and his sorrow intensified. He’d been so grateful to her. She’d managed against all odds to convince his father to let him come and it was for nothing really. All he’d ended up doing was causing damage as Chat and leaving anyway as Adrien. He meant what he said to her. He would have loved to have spent more time with her (and their friends).

 For once he felt like he truly belonged and could be with them as just another kid. She’d made that possible. He’d wanted nothing more for so long than to be able to be a better friend to her. He always felt like he made her uncomfortable which was the last thing he wanted, so for her to want him there meant the world to him. She was such a good friend. 

She’d looked devastated when his father’s car pulled up at the hotel. Sans Father of course...Adrien didn’t count the tablet with his head as him. Though the result was the same regardless of his physical presence or lack thereof. Adrien had to leave. It seemed he was always leaving behind the people he cared about. Though it was no sweat off his father’s back. Adrien shouldn’t care about people he didn’t approve of and so had no right to miss them. 

He knew Marinette wouldn’t be able to sway his father a second time, but he could admit, even if only to himself, that he was a little sad she hadn’t said anything to him before he left. He’d sort of wished she would tell him to stay or that she would miss him. But that was unfair to Marinette. It was thanks to her he could even come to begin with.

And he knew what he really wished was for Ladybug to have said she would miss him, even if she didn’t want him to stay. He knew she didn’t love him, but he hoped he was at least her friend. One who at the very least could understand some of the burden of a double life. (Or in his case, triple really.)

He chuckled darkly. ‘How naive of me’, he thought. He was merely a work colleague and a poor one at that. Former work colleague that is. 

His heart clenched painfully. It would be unbearable to see her working with another. It would devastate him to go back to being a random civilian to her, when she inevitably saved him from future attacks. He wouldn’t be able to help her or to even show that she could come to him for anything, because he shouldn’t know her, not really. 

She’d know Adrien Agreste, whose perfect face was displayed across Paris on billboards. Adrien Agreste would know Ladybug as Paris’s superheroine. Ladybug and Adrien Agreste knew each other as celebrities did and nothing more. The one perk to his face on billboards may just be that at the very least, he was someone she would recognise and remember even if only as a celebrity. If she couldn’t remember him at all...if he was invisible to her...Adrien didn’t know what would become of him. 

God, he would miss her so, so much. Before she became the guardian they had had a lot of moments where she would banter with him and even playfully tease him. They talked about insignificant things but it gave him joy. Nino was great and he was more himself with Nino than anyone else as Adrien, but it was with Ladybug that he felt safe and happy enough to let go of all of his inhibitions. She was one of his dearest friends, he had meant what he said to her the day she rejected his dinner. He truly valued her friendship. But as he was coming to realise, Adrien Agreste may not know so much about relationships. She had never called him her friend after all. She seemed to be a well adjusted person beyond the mask. And she was so amazing, she probably had an active social life. Who wouldn’t want to be her friend? She wouldn’t need his friendship like he needed hers. And she certainly didn’t crave it the way he did.

He didn’t know a lot of things that people his age should know about the world and people. Nino did his best to guide him but again, Father hated Nino so there was only so much he could do. Plagg tried too but Plagg wasn’t exactly human and didn’t understand things himself sometimes. 

He felt like his thoughts were all jumbled and going around in circles. His emotions were too heavy. It made him glad he wasn’t in Paris. He didn’t want to know what kind of akuma he could become with the amount of hurt he was currently nursing.

Thinking of her sobs when she saw the destruction done to Paris that she couldn’t reverse… because of him...well it solidified that he had made the right decision. It may have been the most painful thing he had ever had to do, but he loved her and he never wanted to put her in that kind of position again. He would put her, put Paris, before himself. He was accustomed to doing that anyway. He hid away his needs and desires to be what the ones he loved needed him to be. 

And if what they needed..what they wanted, was perfect then by George he would give them perfection....

Or stand aside for someone who could.

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okay so, oswald’s stupid aliases meta? oswald’s stupid aliases meta. 

after returning to gotham in 1x3, oswald fairly quickly takes on a few false titles, first when confronted by a fish mooney lackey in an alley who recognizes him as the ex umbrella boy (in a panic, he tells the man that he must be confused, his name is dmitri... yeah, no), then when trying to endear himself to don maroni (trying to claim italian heritage, he calls himself paolo), and finally, in 1x4, when introducing himself to barbara (”i’m peter. peter... humboldt.”). 

so.

of these, and i’m separating the last one into two parts, i pretty much have the least to say about dmitri. while oswald has some time off screen to think about the other names, the confrontation with the mook forces him to come up with that one on the spot, so imo it’s the least likely to have heavy significance; likely he just chose it because it’s a very slavic name to fit the very slavic accent he’s not fooling anyone with. if i were really pressed about it, i might point out that dmitri is derived from demeter, the greek goddess of the harvest (among other things). demeter is responsible for the growth of the crops, but also presides over the cycle of life and death and the sacred law; one of her titles is “law-bringer,” referring to the idea that idea that law and order formed in agricultural society. the interaction oswald has here with this mook is notable in that--before he kills the guy--oswald insists that “gotham needs him! [he is] its future!” oswald aligning himself, consciously or not, with being responsible for gotham’s fertility, its health, and most of all its structure, would not be out of character for him, and is in fact directly supported by his interactions with the man to whom he gives the fake name. 

but that’s all pretty tenuous. 

next up, paolo! this one, i had fun with. see, i had a somewhat classical education. i read the inferno. that being so, my immediate connection with the name paolo (and, indeed, the only major literary connection i could find) was to the story of paolo malatesta and francesca da rimini. they’re condemned to the second circle of hell for their lust, yadda yadda, whatever. i’m mostly just concerned with the man himself; one source (from the owlcation page on paolo and francesca) describes him as “a romantic sort, a man not really interested in the world around him.” (emphasis mine.) which is fun, because guess what oswald’s doing at the time that he gives this name? he’s almost just been hired as a dishwasher at bamonte’s, maroni’s favorite restaurant. given the job, he’s warned that he hears nothing, sees nothing, says nothing. in all likelihood, oswald gives maroni this name mainly for its obvious italian origin, attempting (successfully) to endear himself to the obviously italian don by claiming “his mother’s” italian ancestry. however, there are a lot of italian names he could have chosen from. i don’t see why his choice of this one couldn’t also be a subtle way of reaffirming that he’s following the rules set out for him. paolo malatesta’s wikipedia page (and like, wikipedia as a source, i know, i know, but) takes this a little further, recounting that paolo is traditionally portrayed as a man “not very inclined to aspirations for power.” very NOT oswald, obviously. at the same time, very appropriate for his meek act as he slowly endears himself to maroni. even spicier, though, is this: “recent investigations, however, reveal [paolo] as a young man very attentive to politics and immersed in the political intrigue of the time.” so, could this mean that his fake name is not only a reaffirmation of his lowly position, but also a very, very veiled hint that he’s more than he seems? it would feel appropriate, in this case, that the traditional interpretation of malatesta is the one that oswald is banking on to facilitate his squirm into maroni’s inner circle, while the contemporary reading is the one he actually identifies with. that’s oswald all over; in touch with the old ways, yet in a class all his own.

a little less dramatically, paolo, like the anglicized “paul,” has roots meaning “small” or “humble.” so, in more ways than one, the name can be seen as oswald bending at the knee to maroni’s apparent superiority... and beginning to bide his time.

now, peter humboldt. 

you know, i really never did like this name? i’ve watched 1x4 at least six or seven times, and it always kind of made me go :/ when he offered it, because it’s just kind of... ugly, i guess. i have to say though (while i still think it’s ugly on sound alone), i’m fully obsessed with it now. 

like i said, i’m breaking this down into two parts. my analysis of the “peter” half, as with my analysis of “dmitri,” is a little more tenuous, just because it’s a fairly plain, common name. however, the low hanging fruit is the apostle peter, and never let it be said that i don’t take the low hanging fruit. so... peter. on the surface, oswald doesn’t have a whole lot in common with the story of peter the apostle, and that kind of threw a wrench in my analysis for a while. being inclined to fit that particular square block into this particular round hole, though, i got there. don’t worry, y’all. my penchant for bullshit knows no bounds.

first thing’s first, it bears note that “peter” was an alias of sorts for the apostle, too, since his given name was simon/simeon. he was jesus’s first disciple, and went from that to eventually heading up the church after the crucifixion and all following, becoming the “first pope.” such an ascension is a little reminiscent of oswald’s from umbrella boy to the head of the gotham underworld, i guess. and that’s cool. But We Can Go Deeper. i think it’s always kind of useful to keep in mind who the alias is for at the time; who oswald is trying to fool. in this case, the recipient of his bullshit is barbara kean, with an audience of an already in-the-know jim gordon. before his ascension, and furthermore, before either of them joined with christ, peter was already affiliated with a few other disciples: andrew (his brother), john, and james. (neither here nor there, but st. james was the first of the disciples to be martyred. jim...) peter and james--and the others, but i’m talking about peter and james--worked together; they were fishermen. in light of his audience, i think that it’s not entirely inconceivable that oswald is affirming his pre-ascent connection to james gordon (who he does exclusively refer to as james for the duration of the scene, rather than the ‘jim’ we get a lot more later on). not to mention, you know, the whole nautical theme. it’s not a particularly inspired link, but it does kind of work for him. additionally, while i still admit this is not the strongest meta i’ve ever written, oz choosing this name for these reasons would pair nicely with a running theme later in the season (that gets more or less dropped off by season 2, disappointingly), wherein oswald is repeatedly implied to have at least a tenuous christian background and some possible lingering expression of faith... think about the season finale, when falcone tells him he’ll burn in hell and oswald is momentarily taken aback, admitting, “i do worry about that.” 

(while i’m on this particular bullshit, one other thing that peter is known for is denying jesus three times after his death, but ultimately being forgiven and heading jesus’s church anyway. because i am a lover of Increasingly Tenuous Connections, i kind of see this as foreshadowing of the twist in 1x7. oswald’s protests to fish in the pilot that he would never betray her are reminiscent of peter’s insistence that even if every other disciple renounced jesus, he would not. naturally, he did betray her, and implicitly falcone through her. he continues renouncing his falcone ties, first by secretly joining maroni and then by openly joining maroni and threatening to spark a gang war... but at the end of it all, we learn that his “loyalties” (such as they are) never actually changed--he’s still falcone’s man. just. idk. idk. i’m Thinking About It.) 

aaaaand, finally, humboldt. 

so :) 

this is the part that i honestly wrote this whole thing to explore. because the thing is? i looooooove that he chose the name humboldt, now that i feel like i know why he chose it. i still think it sounds like a stupid name, but the subtext? the implications? UGH! 

right off the bat, my first impression was just that it sounds like the word “humble,” which goes back to the thing with paolo. neat enough. but, this name isn’t given to don maroni--it’s given to barbara. and remember, that’s important. so, what does humboldt mean, other than that? well, the one person with that name famous enough to bear mentioning is apparently alexander von humboldt. i’m certain that the name is, one way or another, a reference to him... and i’ll get to why in a second. he was a prussian (so, eastern european--check) polymath, as well as a naturalist, romantic philosopher, explorer, etc, and raised mainly by a single mother to boot. not all of his hats are directly related to oswald’s interests and skillsets, i’ll grant you, but the fact that he was a naturalist does have direct implications for why i think oswald choosing this name was a deliberate reference to this person by the writers of the show, because see, the thing is, there were quite a few animals named after him... including Spheniscus humboldti.

the humboldt penguin.

given that it’s gotham, i do have to acknowledge the possibility (probability) that that’s as deep as it goes. the writers were looking for a clever way to slip another penguin reference in there (they’re not. exactly. subtle, especially in season one, with the way that the characters are going to turn out), they looked up breeds of penguins, found this one, that’s it. but, on the other hand, there are other breeds of penguins that they could have chosen, and they chose this one. whether it was deliberate or only an accident, the decision was made, and i am running with it. 

because, like, another fun thing about humboldt: he was gay. 

(side note 2: you know tfw you’re on someone’s wikipedia page and there’s a ton of information about them and their life and their contributions to science but you’re like outta my way i ONLY want to know this man’s sexuality? ah, the personal life tab. where would we be without you.)

well, it’s one of those situations where you have to decide if you’re going to try to ascribe modern sexuality labels to historical figures, and at the end of the day, i won’t really get into it. however, though there is some scholarly discourse that cites him as a largely asexual figure (and while i’m definitely not getting into it and do not intend this as an attack on the asexual community in any way, i have to say an obviously gay man being desexualized to make him more palatable feels... familiar), the facts seem undeniable that he experienced same-sex attraction, whether or not you want to define this as exclusive. it is speculated that he had notable affairs with or at least vehement attraction toward wilhelm gabriel wegener, reinhardt von haeften, françois arago, and possibly his valet seifret, among others. maybe gotham writers didn’t intend for this little throwaway alias to be read as an announcement of oswald’s sexuality (although, even if “humboldt” wasn’t, the exchange he has with barbara--“i never get to meet any of jim’s friends, because he doesn’t tell me anything” “men.” “don’t i know!”--sure was... something), but as i am not a coward, i am perfectly content to read it as one anyway. and don’t forget what i said--this is the alias he gives to barbara. barbara, about whom he knows a possibly suspicious amount, given that she’s almost irrelevant to his political schemes. barbara, whose apartment he went to for jim gordon. barbara, who is, perhaps, his perceived romantic rival. 

look, it’s probably just a name and a penguin joke. but what’s the point of metatextual analysis if you can’t be like “he showed up and told barb his name was peter humboldt because he wanted to affirm that his origins are tied to saint jim’s and let it be known that the two of them are in competition for jim’s attention all in the most dramatic way possible and while smugly congratulating himself on being so clever and subtle”?? this isn’t really a threat--in contrast to how creepy he is with women he is threatening, namely fish and liza, oswald is downright courteous to barbara--so much as it is an indulgent expression of petty jealousy. i think he wants jim but perhaps doesn’t even realize the extent or in which way yet; he just wants barbara to know, on some level, that she’s sharing, and jim to know (because jim is just as much an audience to his performance here, and he knows that the alias is fake, might be driven to consider, with that detective brain of his, why he chose what he chose...), on some level, that they’re tied. 

oof. ok. that was a lot, but one last thing. since i’m already indulging in gratuitous oswald parallels with humboldt anyway, i might as well point out this line from a letter he wrote to reinhardt von haeften, after von haeften’s engagement to a woman: “Even if you must refuse me, treat me coldly with disdain, I should still want to be with you... the love I have for you is not just friendship or brotherly love, it is veneration.”

i’m on my bullshit, but... you can hear it in his voice, right?

Lucas Cranach the Younger -  Portrait of the artist's father, Lucas Cranach the Elder - 1550

Lucas Cranach the Younger (Lucas Cranach der Jüngere; October 4, 1515 – January 25, 1586) was a German Renaissance painter and portraitist, the son of Lucas Cranach the Elder.

Lucas Cranach the Elder (German: Lucas Cranach der Ältere German, c. 1472 – 16 October 1553) was a German Renaissance painter and printmaker in woodcut and engraving. He was court painter to the Electors of Saxony for most of his career, and is known for his portraits, both of German princes and those of the leaders of the Protestant Reformation, whose cause he embraced with enthusiasm. He was a close friend of Martin Luther. Cranach also painted religious subjects, first in the Catholic tradition, and later trying to find new ways of conveying Lutheran religious concerns in art. He continued throughout his career to paint nude subjects drawn from mythology and religion.

Cranach had a large workshop and many of his works exist in different versions; his son Lucas Cranach the Younger and others continued to create versions of his father's works for decades after his death. He has been considered the most successful German artist of his time.

He was born at Kronach in upper Franconia (now central Germany), probably in 1472. His exact date of birth is unknown. He learned the art of drawing from his father Hans Maler (his surname meaning "painter" and denoting his profession, not his ancestry, after the manner of the time and class). His mother, with surname Hübner, died in 1491. Later, the name of his birthplace was used for his surname, another custom of the times. How Cranach was trained is not known, but it was probably with local south German masters, as with his contemporary Matthias Grünewald, who worked at Bamberg and Aschaffenburg (Bamberg is the capital of the diocese in which Kronach lies). There are also suggestions that Cranach spent some time in Vienna around 1500.

From 1504 to 1520 he lived in a house on the south west corner of the marketplace in Wittenberg.

According to Gunderam (the tutor of Cranach's children), Cranach demonstrated his talents as a painter before the close of the 15th century. His work then drew the attention of Duke Frederick III, Elector of Saxony, known as Frederick the Wise, who attached Cranach to his court in 1504. The records of Wittenberg confirm Gunderam's statement to this extent: that Cranach's name appears for the first time in the public accounts on the 24 June 1504, when he drew 50 gulden for the salary of half a year, as pictor ducalis ("the duke's painter"). Cranach was to remain in the service of the Elector and his successors for the rest of his life, although he was able to undertake other work.

Cranach married Barbara Brengbier, the daughter of a burgher of Gotha and also born there; she died at Wittenberg on 26 December 1540. Cranach later owned a house at Gotha, but most likely he got to know Barbara near Wittenberg, where her family also owned a house, which later also belonged to Cranach.

The first evidence of Cranach's skill as an artist comes in a picture dated 1504. Early in his career he was active in several branches of his profession: sometimes a decorative painter, more frequently producing portraits and altarpieces, woodcuts, engravings, and designing the coins for the electorate.

Early in the days of his official employment he startled his master's courtiers by the realism with which he painted still life, game and antlers on the walls of the country palaces at Coburg and Locha; his pictures of deer and wild boar were considered striking, and the duke fostered his passion for this form of art by taking him out to the hunting field, where he sketched "his grace" running the stag, or Duke John sticking a boar.

Before 1508 he had painted several altar-pieces for the Castle Church at Wittenberg in competition with Albrecht Dürer, Hans Burgkmair and others; the duke and his brother John were portrayed in various attitudes and a number of his best woodcuts and copper-plates were published.

In 1509 Cranach went to the Netherlands, and painted the Emperor Maximilian and the boy who afterwards became Emperor Charles V. Until 1508 Cranach signed his works with his initials. In that year the elector gave him the winged snake as an emblem, or Kleinod, which superseded the initials on his pictures after that date.

Cranach was the court painter to the electors of Saxony in Wittenberg, an area in the heart of the emerging Protestant faith. His patrons were powerful supporters of Martin Luther, and Cranach used his art as a symbol of the new faith. Cranach made numerous portraits of Luther, and provided woodcut illustrations for Luther's German translation of the Bible. Somewhat later the duke conferred on him the monopoly of the sale of medicines at Wittenberg, and a printer's patent with exclusive privileges as to copyright in Bibles. Cranach's presses were used by Martin Luther. His apothecary shop was open for centuries, and was only lost by fire in 1871.

Cranach, like his patron, was friendly with the Protestant Reformers at a very early stage; yet it is difficult to fix the time of his first meeting with Martin Luther. The oldest reference to Cranach in Luther's correspondence dates from 1520. In a letter written from Worms in 1521, Luther calls him his "gossip", warmly alluding to his "Gevatterin", the artist's wife. Cranach first made an engraving of Luther in 1520, when Luther was an Augustinian friar; five years later, Luther renounced his religious vows, and Cranach was present as a witness at the betrothal festival of Luther and Katharina von Bora. He was also godfather to their first child, Johannes "Hans" Luther, born 1526. In 1530 Luther lived at the citadel of Veste Coburg under the protection of the Duke of Saxe-Coburg and his room is preserved there along with a painting of him. The Dukes became noted collectors of Cranach's work, some of which remains in the family collection at Callenberg Castle.

The death in 1525 of the Elector Frederick the Wise and Elector John's in 1532 brought no change in Cranach's position; he remained a favourite with John Frederick I, under whom he twice (1531 and 1540) filled the office of burgomaster of Wittenberg. In 1547, John Frederick was taken prisoner at the Battle of Mühlberg, and Wittenberg was besieged. As Cranach wrote from his house to the grand-master Albert, Duke of Prussia at Königsberg to tell him of John Frederick's capture, he showed his attachment by saying,

I cannot conceal from your Grace that we have been robbed of our dear prince, who from his youth upwards has been a true prince to us, but God will help him out of prison, for the Kaiser is bold enough to revive the Papacy, which God will certainly not allow.

During the siege Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor, remembered Cranach from his childhood and summoned him to his camp at Pistritz. Cranach came, and begged on his knees for kind treatment for Elector John Frederick.

Three years afterward, when all the dignitaries of the Empire met at Augsburg to receive commands from the emperor, and Titian came at Charles's bidding to paint King Philip II of Spain, John Frederick asked Cranach to visit the city; and here for a few months he stayed in the household of the captive elector, whom he afterward accompanied home in 1552.

He died at age 81 on October 16, 1553, at Weimar, where the house in which he lived still stands in the marketplace. He was buried in the Jacobsfriedhof in Weimar.

Cranach had two sons, both artists: Hans Cranach, whose life is obscure and who died at Bologna in 1537; and Lucas Cranach the Younger, born in 1515, who died in 1586. He also had three daughters. One of them was Barbara Cranach, who died in 1569, married Christian Brück (Pontanus), and was an ancestor of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

His granddaughter married Polykarp Leyser the Elder, thus making him an ancestor of the Polykarp Leyser family of theologians.

Excerpts from Rachel Cusk’s Outline

“It was this eccentricity that had made me answer him. The unexpected sometimes looks like a prompting of fate.” “He began to ask me questions, as though he had learned to remind himself to do so, and I wondered what or who had taught him that lesson, which many people never learn.” “They were both still young enough to believe that this principle of growth was exponential; that life was only expansive, and broke the successive vessels in which you tried to contain it in its need to expand more.” “For a few weeks he lived in a state of pure illusion which was really numbness, like the numbness that follows an injury, before pain starts to make its way through it.” “Life had responded willingly to them, had treated them abundantly, and this -- he now saw -- was what had given him the confidence to break it all, break it with what now seemed to him to be an extraordinary casualness, because he thought there would be more.” “The memory of suffering had no effect whatever on what they elected to do: on the contrary, it compelled them to repeat it, for the suffering was the magic that caused the object to come back and allowed the deligh in dropping it to become possible again.” “What I knew personally to be true had come to seem unrelated to the process of persuading others. I did not, any longer, want to persuade anyone of anything.” “It was with her, after all, that his identity had been forged: if she no longer recognised him, then who was he?” “And all the time he sees at a distance his home - his wife - standing there, essentially unchanged, but belonging to other people now.” “Love restored almost everything, and where it can’t restore, it takes away the pain.” “It’s a case of home is where when you have to go there they have to take you in.” “What Ryan had learned from this is that your failures keep returning to you, while your successes are something you always have to convince yourself of.” “You build a whole structure on a period of intensity that’s never repeated. It’s the basis of your faith and sometimes you doubt it, but you never renounce it because too much of your life stands on that ground.” “No matter how busy you are, no matter how many kids and commitments you have, if there’s a passion you find the time.” “I said I didn’t believe people could change so completely, could evolve an unrecognizable morality; it was merely that that part of themselves had lain dormant, waiting to be evoked by circumstance.” “But what other people thought was no longer of any help to me. Those thoughts only existed within certain structures, and I had definitively left those structures.” “He didn’t once glance back at me, for people are at their least aware of others when demonstrating their own power over them.” “Those people were living in their moment, and though I could see it I could no more return to that moment than I could walk across the water that separated us. And of those two ways of living - living in the moment and living outside it - which was the more real?” “Sometimes it has seemed to me that life is a series of punishments for such moments of unawareness, that one forges one’s own destiny by what one doesn’t notice or feel compassion for; that what you don’t know and don’t make the effort to understand will become the very thing you are forced into knowledge of.” “... but this sense of life as a progression is something I want no more of. In his marriage, he now realized, the principle of progress was always at work, in the acquiring of houses, possessions, cars, the drive towards higher social status, more travel, a wider circle of friends, even the production of children felt lik an obligatory calling-point on the mad journey...” “...because it made me see my books not as just entertainments for the middle classes but as something vital, a lifeline in many cases, for people - largely women, it has to be admitted - who feel very much alone in their daily lives.” “I replied that I wasn’t sure it was possible, in marriage, to know what you actually were, or indeed to separate what you were from what you had become through the other person.” “For some women, she said, it would be the realization of their greatest fear, to discover that they were not needed, but for her it had the opposite effect.” “... such a woman is nothing but a parasite, a parasite on her husband, a parasite on her child.” “Perhaps it was because I had begun to see the virtues of standing still.” “... her daughter had said that she didn’t see why it was necessary that men exist... but the plain truth was that she would never have left the children the way their father had... she herself simply wouldn’t have been capable of it, and whether that difference was a biological fact or merely a consequence of conditioning, it still had to be accounted for.” “At that I had to laugh: the idea of me, of all people, nurturing an undue respect for male authority!” “All she wishes is for her life to be integrated, to be one thing, rather than an eternal series of oppositions that confound her whichever way she looks.” “... she recognized the piece as the D minor fugue from Bach’s French Suites, a piece she had always loved and that caused her, hearing it so unexpectedly, to feel there on the pavement the most extraordinary sense of loss. It was as though the music had once belonged to her and now no longer did; as though she had been excluded from its beauty, was being forced to see it in the possession of someone else, and to revisit in its entirety of her own sadness at her inability, for a number of reasons, to remain in that world.” “Music is a betrayer of secrets; it is more treacherous even than dreams, which at least have the virtue of being private.” “If anything, he saw such outwards extremes as the symbols of a correspondingly great inner emptiness, a futility that he believed came from the lack of engagement with any meaningful system of belief.” “It is interesting how keen people are for you to do something they would never dream of doing themselves, how enthusiastically they drive you to your own destruction: even the kindest ones, the ones that are more loving, can rarely have your interests truly at heart, because usually they are advising you from within lives of greater security and greater confinement...” “.... on the contrary, I had come to believe more and more in the virtues of passivity, and of living a life as unmarked by self-will as possible.” “If a man had a nasty side to his character, she wanted to get to it immedkately and confront it. She didn’t want it roaming unseen in the hinterland of the relationship: she wanted to provoke it, to draw it forth, lest it strike her when her back was turned.” “I want to know the content without living through the time span.” “... why bother to speak at all? Why say anything, if you can just take it back the next minute?” “... the disgust taht exists indelibly between man and women...” “Looking back, those were some of the best times of her life, though at the time they had had the feeling of a prelude, a period of waiting, as though for the real drama of living to being.” “... the barrier of language was, ultimately, impassable.” “Her links to the life before him had been completely severed - that person no longer existed, and so when the incident occurred it had been two kinds of crisis, one of which was a crisis of identity... she was like someone who had forgotten their native language, an idea that likewise has always fascinated her. She found, after the incident, that she lacked what might be called a vocabulary, a native language of self.” “... the point was this, that he lived a life ruled by discipline, where hers was governed by emotion.”

When Lilith invited me to bite the fruit

This is my personal story with Lilith, not intended as gospel

I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian household in Texas, a state in the Bible belt, in a town of 2,000 people.  My family consisted of my mother and little sister.  We were all very tight knit.  So tight knit, in fact, that my sister and I would walk around the house naked if we felt like it because it was just women in the house and we were all family.  We always went to our Assemblies of God church every Sunday (here is a link to Assemblies of God beliefs to give you an idea of the kind of church it was https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assemblies_of_God_USA), read the Bible, and prayed often.  My mother would get up at 5am every day just to pray for a couple hours.  She made sure we were sheltered from the secular world.  We only listened to the Christian radio stations and our media consumption was monitored.  She even looked through our phones.  Even though I felt naturally drawn to the spiritual, I felt a disconnect from Christianity.

When people would speak in tongues at church I would feel weirded out, then feel guilty about being freaked out because it meant I doubted God’s power.  Even though I was genuinely pious I would never “hear God’s voice” or “felt him” or anything like that.  I have read nearly 90% of the Bible and the verses felt hollow.  I could never become friends with the other kids at church, not because I was snobby, but because I couldn’t relate to them.  When I went to church I would try my hardest to “be in God’s presence” but in the end I would just go through the motions.  I had plenty of biblical knowledge and faith, but it always felt like God just didn’t want to get involved in my life. 

The first truly spiritual moment I ever went through was when I was deer hunting with my dad when I was eleven.  We were in the hunting stand on a clear, crisp fall morning when I saw sun rays breaking through the pine trees and landing on the Earth.  It was like someone hit the on switch for the woods and colors and details revealed themselves. I involuntarily let out a small gasp and instead of chastising me for making noise (he has a short temper), my dad whispered, “That is the sunlight reaching the Earth.”  The emotion that swept over me as a stared at the forest was ineffable.  I remember thinking that this was nothing like I had ever experienced in church.  I had, for the first time, felt connected to a divine force.  Ever since this experience church felt like a parody.  I knew, in my soul, that there was something in nature that was sacred.

When I was a teenager I would question and air my grievances on rules I deemed unfair.  I was labeled sassy and rebellious.  To be clear, I never smoked, drank, partied, or had sex.  Hell, I never even dated or sneaked out.  I just wanted privacy and more freedom.  I wanted to hang out with friends after school.  To be allowed to attend different events without my mom hovering.  My mom and her friend concluded that I had the demon of witchcraft and rebellion inside me and I needed “deliverance,” which is our church’s term for an exorcism.  I had not practiced witchcraft (yet) but according to a demonology class (it was more like a cult) that was sponsored by the preacher’s wife, the demon of rebellion also ruled over witchcraft. The friend came over, grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted for Satan to leave my body.  I was a little confused because I thought it was just a demon possessing me, not the big man himself.  Anyway, she started to shake my shoulders rather hard so I just decided to go along with it and thanked her for getting rid of the demon. At no point did I ever believe I was possessed by a demon, but I was freaked out none the less. 

When I was 18 I was kicked out because of my “rebellious nature” and refusal to take medicine that was forced upon me for a mental illness I was never diagnosed with.  I could either take the mystery medicine and be allowed to stay home, or refuse and get kicked out.  I made my choice and finally bit the forbidden fruit.  For the first time I felt true freedom.  I started to think for myself and form my own opinion on issues.  I became a feminist, pro BLM, pro LGB and a socialist.  When I was living by myself I officially renounced my Christian faith but still felt the spiritual spark I felt that morning in the woods. 

I had always loved to read and since I was no longer chained by Christianity I could check out whatever book I wanted at the local library, which was a regular haunt of mine.  One giant book caught my attention titled, “The Mists of Avalon.”  I want to be clear that this was before I knew of the horrible things that the author did.  At least I was supporting a local library and no profit went to the author by my doing this.  Anyway, I became fascinated by the goddess worship mentioned in the book.  I wasn’t even familiar with goddess worship and knew nothing, but I felt drawn too it.  I started doing research and the first thing I came upon was Wicca.  Wicca seems to be the first thing that many newbie spiritualists come across.  I started practicing witchcraft but nothing ever felt right for me.  I practiced the craft on and off but I eventually let go of Wicca entirely because it just wasn’t for me.  I felt the most connected to goddess worship but the mother goddess and triple goddess archetypes just never felt right for me.  I do not want kids but it seemed like every goddess out there was either about fertility or being a mother figure.  I knew there was a divine female force out there, but I could not find one calling to me.

One night I had a dream.  It was vivid and purple.  I could hear a woman’s voice talking to me, strong, low, firm, and partly terrifying.  I forgot most of what she said except for the last part.  She called herself The Abortion. This was the most clear dream I have had in my life.  A quick Google search lead me to Lilith, who is called the Patron of Abortion.  I saw in her story parallels to my life; she abandoned God and an easy life in the garden for liberation.  She refused to be submissive to Adam like I refused to be submissive to my mother’s boyfriend.  She appeared as a snake to liberate Eve, and I always loved snakes since I was little, even though I was told snakes were the devil’s animal.  In a tarot reading the animal card I drew was snake.  Lilith was not seen as a mother goddess or part of the triple goddess archetype.  She is a goddess of liberated women, of child free women, of birth control and abortion.  Of course, many people worship different sides of her and my word is no gospel, just my personal experience. 

When I was raped, Lilith kept me from conceiving.  Lilith blessed me with a rebellious and inquisitive nature that desires freedom and independence.  She extended her hand out to offer me the forbidden fruit, and I took it and bit it.  It tasted bittersweet.  It tasted like freedom.  I had to leave my Garden of Eden, which was my family and Christian faith.  But once I tasted the fruit of knowledge of good and evil, my eyes are open and I can never go back.  I do not want to go back.           

Can I please have a (platonic) Balthazar and Castiel in the prompt “-some dude with a megaphone is spewing homophopic crap outside the cafeteria and we’re both protesting him because the college is adamnant about his freedom of speech rights, make out with me to piss him off?”

Can I Get an Amen

Relationship: Balthazar & Cas (platonic)

Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Naomi (unnamed, but it’s her)

Rating: T

Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Balthazar POV, Bi-/Pansexual Balthazar, Slightly Hippie!Cas (like, a mixture of Endverse!Cas + Crazy!Cas), Bees, Homophobic Language (which gets shut the fuck down), Very Exaggerated Make-Out Session Between Friends (to piss off a homophobe, so it’s for a good cause)

(Ao3)

*****

When Sam’s alarm went off at seven a.m., Balthazar’s first thought upon jarring awake was that he was going to throw the bloody phone out the window. (He didn’t, because doing so would have required him to get up, but it was a near thing.) Balthazar had no idea what sort of cosmic fuck-up he’d committed in a previous life to get landed with a roommate for whom going for an early morning run beat out having a lie-in, but as he grumbled under his breath while Sam rose and dressed, he felt fairly certain that fate was having a laugh at his expense.

Sam, the bastard, found this all very amusing.

“You know,” Sam said mildly as he sat on the edge of his bed and did up his shoelaces, seemingly impervious to the death-glare Balthazar was giving him, “it wouldn’t kill you to get up a few hours before your first class. You don’t even have to exercise: you could just, like, read or get some extra studying in or something.”

Balthazar snorted. “I could, yes, but why on earth would I,” he said, stretching luxuriously beneath his sheets, “when I could just as easily stay in bed and dream of having a ménage à-whatever-French-for-twelve is?”

“Okay, one, it’s douze, and two, ew. Also, don’t even pretend like you could keep up with that many women.”

“Mm, bold of you to assume they were all women.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Anyway,” he said, standing, “I’m gonna go. Have fun dreaming about naked people.”

He left, and Balthazar promptly buried his head under his pillow, determined to fall back asleep. He gave up after half an hour of angry tossing and turning, rising in a huff and stomping over to his dresser. If he was doomed to be awake this early, then he might as well go down to the quad and fetch himself something caffeinated to drink.

Ten minutes later, he was trudging down the steps outside the dorm building and mulling over various forms of revenge—his current favorite consisted of tossing out one of Sam’s beloved running shoes, then watching with glee as Sam searched for it in vain—when he heard a voice from the lawn to his left:

“You’re up early.”

Balthazar turned and spotted his friend Cas, who was currently dressed in a loose-fitting shirt and sweats; he was barefoot, balancing on one leg with the other tucked up under him, palms pressed together, and was peering at Balthazar with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “I didn’t know you even existed before noon.”

Balthazar sighed. “Yes, well, annoying roommates with early alarms are annoying.”

“Ah.” Cas shifted into a different pose, placing both feet flat on the grass and raising his arms above his head. “And here I thought I’d finally convinced you to try yoga with me.”

“Cassie, the day I willingly twist myself into a pretzel while both clothed and sober is the day I forgive you for making me sit through three hours of that god-awful Titanic movie.”

“You’re just mad because you hate Celine Dion.”

“It’s not her I hate, it’s that bloody song! And furthermore,” Balthazar added, pointedly ignoring Cas’s snicker, “our dear Rose’s heart wouldn’t have had to go on if she’d just done a better job of making room for Jack on that piece of fucking debris.”

“It was a door.”

“It was a travesty, is what it was, and I’ll thank you to quit bringing it up. Now then,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the quad, “I’m going for a latte. Care to join me? Or have you still got to do your downward doggy-style or what have you?”

Cas rolled his eyes and reached for his sandals. “It’s downward dog, and no, I’m done.”

“Brilliant, you’re buying.”

They headed toward the quad, Cas talking animatedly about some new Save the Bees project he and a few others in the Environmental Club were hoping to kick off soon. Balthazar, who was busy trying to decide if he wanted a muffin or a scone with his latte, was only half listening, a decision he regretted when he heard Cas say, with a hint of smugness, “I knew I could count on you,” and, after a quick mental replay, realized that he’d just agreed to attend an all-day event that coming weekend. Fuck. He opened his mouth to give an excuse when a commotion ahead caught his attention.

A small crowd had gathered at the edge of the quad; as Balthazar and Cas neared, Balthazar saw that at its center was a middle-aged brunette woman dressed in formal clothing who was speaking into a megaphone:

“…TIME HAS COME TO RENOUNCE YOUR SINFUL LIFESTYLE AND REMEMBER THAT ONLY THROUGH GOD’S GRACE CAN YOU ENTER THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN, FOR THE BIBLE TELLS US THAT MAN SHALL NOT LIE WITH MEN AS HE DOES WITH WOMEN, THAT IT IS AN AB—”

“—SOLUTELY DELIGHTFUL WAY TO SPEND A FRIDAY NIGHT!” interjected Balthazar, causing the woman to pause and several heads to turn in their direction.

The woman lowered her megaphone. She looked from Balthazar to Cas and back again. “I am here to spread the Lord’s teachings to you and others like you, those who have been led astray by immoral temptations of the flesh. You should thank me.”

Balthazar let out a bitter laugh. “Thank you? What on earth for?”

The woman frowned. “I told you, I’m here to spread the Lord’s teachings—”

Balthazar cut her off. “You did, twice. Good for you.” He crossed his arms. “But, you see, we’re a litter-free campus, so it’d be lovely if you took your rubbish elsewhere.”

Several of the surrounding students cheered. The woman glanced around, seemingly unsure. “I have a permit. I’m allowed to be here.”

“We’re students,” said Cas. “We pay money to be here.” Even more people cheered. “And incidentally, the line you’re referring to, Leviticus 18:22, condemns pedophilia, not homosexuality.”

Balthazar turned to Cas. “What, really?”

“Yes. The original wording translates to ‘man shall not lie with young boys’.” Cas regarded the woman coolly. “Also, since you claim to concern yourself with the word of God, I’d check the tag on that suit. Leviticus 19:19 prohibits wearing garments that mix linen and wool.”

The woman pressed her lips together in a thin line. “I will not be lectured on my faith by a young man who has clearly lost his way.”

“I’m not lecturing you,” responded Cas. “I’m simply telling you what the Bible says.”

“You mock me.”

“You do that to yourself.”

The woman scowled, eyes boring into Cas. “There are places that can help you, programs that can teach you to make more Godly choices.”

“You’re referring to so-called conversion therapy,” said Cas, and though he was still speaking calmly, there was an edge to his voice that Balthazar rarely heard, “a practice that has been discredited by every leading expert on human sexuality for over two decades.”

“Despite what you think, it can be effective if you’re willing, if you want to be fixed—”

“We’re not broken,” said Cas. “Your beliefs are.”

“Now wait just a minute—”

“Oh, piss off!” snapped Balthazar. Cas might have had the patience to deal with this sort of thing uncaffeinated, but he most certainly did not. “Aren’t there more important things you could spend your energy bitching about? Take bees, for example: they’re dropping dead at an alarming rate, which could have frankly catastrophic effects on our food supply, but no, you’re right, let’s get all dressed up and tell gay people they’re going to hell because they have the audacity to be themselves, that’s clearly the bigger priority.”

Cas gave him a surprised smile. “You were listening about the bees.”

“Of course I was listening, I’m a wonderful friend like that. Speaking of,” said Balthazar, turning to Cas with a raised eyebrow, “fancy a friendly snog to piss off this hag?”

Cas thought a moment, then shrugged. “Why not?”

“That’s the spirit,” said Balthazar bracingly, grabbing a fistful of Cas’s shirt and pulling him in for a kiss.

There was no real heat to it—at the end of the day, Balthazar knew Cas was about as romantically interested in him as he was in Cas; that is to say, not at all—but in for a penny, in for a pound. Balthazar closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Cas’s shoulders, letting out an exaggerated moan; he could feel Cas practically shaking with suppressed laughter and gave him a very subtle pinch. Cas let out a muffled snort before gasping, “Oh, Balthazar!” in mock passion and pressing their lips more firmly together; he even groaned a bit, which at which point it was Balthazar’s turn to bite back a chuckle.

Thankfully, their tactic worked: the students around them erupted into applause, and scarcely five seconds had passed before the woman let out an affronted huff and stormed off. Once the sound of her heels had sufficiently faded, Balthazar cracked an eye open and, with the visual confirmation that she was gone, gave Cas a tap on the shoulder, stepping back with a grin. “Well, that went swimmingly, wouldn’t you say?”

Cas looked off in the direction the woman had gone. “It did seem to have the desired effect, although,” he added, lips twitching in a poorly concealed smirk as he reached into his pocket and produced a tube of organic lip balm, “you probably need this more than I do.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Oh, we’re giving post-snogging critiques, are we? Here, then.” He took the lip balm and, in exchange, held out a small tin of mints. “You absolutely need this more than I do.”

Cas snorted, accepting the mints and making a show of popping one into his mouth; Balthazar, for his part, applied a liberal amount of lip balm. “Right, then,” he said, smacking his lips together and pocketing the tube, “coffee?”

Invader Zim: The Pigshit Troll, Part One

Dib didn't like Zim's creative writing stories, and he made that clear to everyone. Now everyone is sure he's the troll going around blasting other people's work and writing horrible, awful things. With his reputation cratered and people despising him...what's to be done? 

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Creative writing! One of the best, easiest ways to express yourself in the school setting. It would be a nice and simple way to boost one's grade point average, too.

But it also told people a lot about the sort of person you were, and that was as clear as could be when it came to the "student" called Zim. Dib was very well aware of that. He scowled a bit as he looked through some of the stories Zim had written, all of them were made available on the school's website just like his was or Zita or Sara or his own sister Gaz's, and there were distinct personalities shining through. Dib had spent a long time reading them in his room, his black, scythe-like hair slicked back a little, adjusting his glasses, wearing his usual black jacket as he looked the stories over.

Gretchen had a lot in common with him. She too liked to write mysteries or science fiction tales. Stories of the fantastic. One particular story had a distinct "Carrie" esque influence, a rather homely-looking girl finding out she had psychic powers and was trying to learn "how to blow shit up with my MIND" as she kept saying to her friends and family around her. It actually ended up working, a Poop cola can shaking about on the table to a pineapple and a watermelon getting blown apart to, at long last, the principal's car going up in a glorious bang right before his eyes, thereby ensuring that she would never, ever again get sent to detention or his office for anything.

Sara's stories showed her strict Catholic upbringing, there was much emphasis on guilt, forgiveness, redemption and religion. She had, however, also shown a clear talent in action schlock, FUN action schlock. Dib was surprised to find himself enjoying her tales of the Saints that she'd adapted into stories for others to read, Saint Sebastian taking more arrows than Boromir in Lord of the Rings, Peter racing for his life to escape a hostile city that wanted to kill him, ducking down every grimy alley he could find, and, of course, her magnum opus was on Saint George, the famous "dragon slayer". Not only did she detail a fantastic fight, but George's refusal to renounce his faith, terrible torture sessions, being sliced and diced on a wheel of swords that STILL didn't kill him before finally being decapitated on a city wall. Sara had clear talent for gripping your attention.

Gaz however, loooooved to write horror stories. One particular story stood out. He was in it. Investigating a haunted house, Gaz had written that Dib had heard a grandfather clock chime when the house had been abandoned for over a hundred years, and the clock couldn't still be working. All of the parts were long since rusted and broken down. Then, he was chased by an axe wielding ghost, cracking through the floor, down into a big dungeon…where even more axe wielding ghosts laid in wait! The ending was a horrible twist one too. He woke up in his bed, all of it had clearly been a dream…until you saw the "OR HAD IT?" at the end, with a special illustration she'd made of Dib holding his own severed head up above his body.

But then it came time to Zim's stories. And were he not wearing that black fake hair and fake contacts, Dib knew the little alien invader would be grinning his zipper-toothed grin with a dark, smug light in his ruby/maroon eyes. That little green-skinned piece of crap.

Zim's stories had serious grammatical errors. Zim's stories had him winning all the time. Zim's stories had him doing disgusting, horrible things to humans and especially to Dib, and to his family. Zim seemed to relish in getting to write all of this down and he LOOOOVED seeing the look on Dib's face when Dib was looking at his smartphone, because he knew, he could tell when Dib was reading one of HIS tales. Dib had a unique mixture of disgust, anger, irritation and revulsion that blended together like a bad smoothie, and Zim was drinking it aaaaaaall in…and loving every second of it.

"This doesn't even begin to make sense!" Dib proclaimed, reading the latest story Zim had written. "Why would I ever, EVER help you…YOU…conquer the galaxy? I've spent my whole life trying to keep you from conquering Earth! Literally, years of my life! You expect me to just do a personality 180 and be like "Irken tyranny is fine"!?" He remarked aloud at Zim, giving him a dark glower. "Oh, and then there's this one, this one here…" He pointed at his smartphone screen. "This one just comes off like a torture porn. How did the teacher let you get away with it? It's just you torturing me for no good reason and rubbing your face in winning. And THIS one expects me to be HAPPY that you're conquering the universe using demonic artifacts so the Irken empire reigns supreme! And then you...kidnap my sister? And you murder people in front of her yet expect us to overlook all that awful stuff because you had a sad past? My childhood has sucked, I didn't grow up to be a megalomaniacal sociopath like you!"

"Bully for you." Gaz remarked with a grunt. "Dib, it's just some fanfics and stories, it ain't a big deal."

"Yeah well maybe not, but it's still gross to me, okay? And if he wants to write about it, I get to complain about it. That's my freedom of speech." He grunted back as Zim smirked and stuck his tongue out at Dib. He had a nice, easy way to get under the human's skin and there wasn't anything he could do.

Nobody had any idea how bad it was going to get.

The next day, their English teacher Nick called the students to pay attention at the front of his class as he walked in, his expression solemn, quiet and disturbed. "I found some…very insulting, horrible reviews put up on the school website, reviewing the stories. I would like whoever wrote them to come forward." He intoned, the rather hairy-armed and hairy-chested young man sighing as he folded his arms over his green t-shirt, Dib looking from him to Zim, then to the rest of the class as they immediately took out their phones to check.

Sure enough, the reviews were astoundingly cruel. They weren't even competently put together.

"THIS STORY IS PIG SHIT! THIS STORY IS PIGSHIT!"

"PIGSHIT FUCK YOUR PIGSHIT NARDS YOU DERPIN PAN!"

"THIS STORY IS PIGSHIT!"

"REVIEW MY STORIEZ! u/3211346 REVIEW MY STORIES OR I WILL FIND YOU IN REAL LIFE AND FORCE YOU!"

"Sheesh." Dib frowned. What the heck was all this? It was all in caps. And it had been left not only on stories done by his classmates, but on other classes too. It was odd…nothing linked them at all. After all, the classmates in the grade older than him were super focused on that silly show "Moon Sailor". And Gaz's class, except for her, had all written tales about "Nakuro the Ninja", they were reeeeaaally into anime and manga lately.

"I don't want to believe anyone in my class wrote these reviews but all of the English teachers are asking their students. So…whomever may be behind these? Step forward."

And that's when some of the kids looked right at Dib, murmuring and muttering amongst themselves as Dib glanced back.

"Why are you all looking at me?" He wanted to know, frowning.

"Your stories didn't get that many bad reviews." Sara remarked.

"I still got some, though!" Dib protested. "Besides, that's not a good enough reason to think I did it!"

"But you're always complaining about ZIM'S stories really furiously and being all pissy." Said Zita.

"Why would I leave an anonymous review complaining about his stories when I've always been open about the fact I hate him?" Dib inquired. "I'm gonna all of a sudden decide after years of complaining about him to hide my complaining behind a mask because…why?" He wanted to know. "Furthermore, all of the "pig shit" reviews are advertising someone ELSE'S stories, not mine! That's not my account he linked! And I'm not even interested at all in those ninja stories or those silly Moon Sailor tales, look at the ones I favorited or left signed reviews on, none of them are in those fandoms. I'm not interested in them, so why would I leave any kind of review, even a raging, hateful one on them? Wouldn't I leave one on something I actually care about enough to get angry or furious over?"

"Yeaaaah, but there's a LOT of hatred in these reviews, and you're the only one in class who gets THAT mad about Zim stories." Gretchen confessed. "It does look kinda bad."

"But whenever I complained about Zim's stories, it was because they were so mean and cruel and misanthropic and Zim was just getting away with being a jerk! I laid out all my points well. And I sure didn't just write in all caps and with bad grammar!" Dib added. "You can't just assume I did it!"

But the kids murmured and muttered amongst themselves as Dib frowned, turning away, Zim sniggering at his misfortune. "Yeah, real funny, Zim. Real funny."

The rumor spread through the school. Poor Dib kept getting really insulting messages left for him on all of his work. Even when none of it even MENTIONED Zim, he got the horrible reviews, accusing him of being a troll, of being "Pig Shit".

"Look at this!" He told the guidance counselor, Mr. Thildari….before he remembered the man with soft white hair and a soft yet dark voice was literally blind and couldn't see it. He wore a white long-sleeve shirt and white pants and sat next to Dib on bean bag chairs in the nice "safe space" he'd set up in his office.

"Could you read it aloud?" The man softly inquired.

"Yeah…sure." Dib sighed. "Heh-hem. "you bash stories all time about Zim, tbh and you bully authors here. you are just as bad as any villain you're bitching about so get the fuck over yoself you preachy hypocrite. if i see more writers quit their storys because you a sneaky, evil person karma will come for you. i hope you believe in Jesus because yo gnna need him and the good Lord to save your sorry ass from going to hell".

"My, my, how very rude of them."

"It gets worse. Some garbled nonsense here too. "nvkdfjsl:Derpin pig shittin h*** humpin nards suckin pan!" And THEN there's " You big fat white nasty smelling fat b*** why you took me off the m*** schedule with your trifling dirty white racist a** you big fat b*** oompa loompa body a** b*** I'm coming outside and I'm going to beat the f*** out of you b***". I mean really?! Oompa Loompa body?! Racist?! Where's all this coming from? And then this guy calls me the q word! What is WRONG with these people?!"

"There has to be some way to stop it." Mr. Thildari remarked softly.

"I don't know HOW. How am I supposed to convince them it isn't me?" Dib groaned, burying his face in his hands as Mr. Thildari gently stroked over his back, and quietly sighed. "What could possibly be good enough for them?"

"I wish I could tell you." The guidance counselor told him. "All I can do is promise you, I'll be here to talk to you. To be as a shoulder to cry on."

"I'm glad you're so good at it." Dib confessed softly as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, sniffling a bit, trying to fight back tears. "People don't realize how…how fuckin' SHITTY it is. It's this daily grind, waking up every day to see nothing but shit flung at you just for having an opinion they don't like, for trying to make the world a better place, for trying to hold people accountable for the awful things they say and do."

"Well Dib, remember, Zim has the right to write stories, even if you think they're awful or dark or cruel."

"Yeah…sure. Doesn't mean I don't get to complain about them!" Dib muttered. "Everyone forgets that. They just want to be free to post anything up with no critique. But this? This isn't critique I'm getting, this isn't like me pointing out character inconsistencies or how meanspirited a story feels, this is just bashing, this is just trolling, this is just swears and vulgar crap and yelling. That's not free speech, that's like…HATE speech. So what am I gonna do…" He murmured, burying his face in his hands. "…what am I gonna do…"

…what indeed.

Author's Note: Every single review you see from "Pig Shit" and quoted by Dib is literally word for word either what I've received, or what I've been accused of writing. And Dib's views are my own. And that's all I will say for now.

Entwined

Prompt: A long time ago, long before modern civilization, there were eight souls bound together. Seven of these eight were born immortal, and they passed along their gift to their loved one. Not long after she was hunted by both mortal and immortal for being a living atrocity. Her current body perished, and they could only hope to one day meet her reincarnation.

Pairing: OT7 x reader (eventually) 

Word count: 744

Warnings: Death, swearing, cliche’s 

Intro 1 

She awoke with a start and it was warm. Too warm.

Her hair was stuck to her forehead because of the layer of sweat slick on her body. 

She turned toward her window and realized how bright it was outside, too bright for the middle of the night. The abnormal orange glow made her stomach turn. 

Realization hit her like truck when she discovered the light was coming from the flames licking against her window. 

Panic arose in her chest in an instant, causing her to spring out of bed and toward her front door. 

Fear struck again when she went to open her door but only ended up retreating her hand because of the heated metal. 

The bathroom window is my last chance, she thought to herself. 

Dashing into her bathroom her heart plummeted in her chest when she saw flames have already enveloped the window and the fire was beginning to burn through the wood and catch.

She quickly realized she must accept her fate. She knew that this day could always be on the horizon - and now it was here. 

She glanced up as if to look at the sky, and spoke a prayer out loud,”Take me, universe. But please, leave them. I know it will hurt them for a time when they find that I have perished, but it will be a small time compared to how long they will thrive on this earth. I am forsaken because I chose this path, they did not.” 

A beat of silence endured and the fire crackled, the heat intensifying as the flames began to close in on her. 

“Just know, universe . . .  when I come back in another life . . . We will find each other. Again and again. That is one thing I have faith in.”

She glanced to her kitchen, which had not yet been engulfed. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the drawers and pulled one out to reveal an array of wooden stakes. 

I’ll be damned if I let human cultivated flames be the thing that ends my time on this planet, she renounced to herself. I will be my own undoing. 

She lifted up the stake with her hands wrapped around it, the sharpened tip pointed at her chest.

She felt flames licking at her calves and more shouts coming from outside. Her heart hurt as she recognized the voices of her lovers, returned too late to bring her salvation. 

Her eyes closed as she tried to ignore the sounds of death being brought upon her persecutors and muttered her last words. 

“I’ve loved you all in this life, and will love you all in my next reincarnations.”

Then the stake went through her chest. 

Y/n awakes with a start, sweat making her hair cling to her forehead in uncanny similarity to her vivid dream. 

She sits up slowly, still in the midst of processing what exactly she just dreamt about. 

“What the fuck,” y/n mumbles as her internal body temperature finally begins to cool down after throwing the comforter to the floor. 

She reaches over to her nightstand for her phone, seeing that it’s already early afternoon. Thankfully, it’s Saturday, her only task-less day of the week. 

Although, she ponders, it wouldn’t hurt to catch up on some cleaning and laundry. 

The rest of her Saturday afternoon leads as normal, finally getting caught up on some random chores that have been on hold due to keeping up with college classes and working to afford said college classes.

Her Saturday evening probably could have panned out normal as well, watching some random flick on Netflix with popcorn as a snack and maybe a friend or two. 

But it just so happens that one of her couple of friends felt like going out for drinks at a notorious club in Seoul - Y/n didn’t know anything about that quite yet - using the very persuasive reason of hun, I’m aware you’re an introvert. Very. But you need to treat yourself! All you do is work and study. I know it’s not your style, but just this once. 

Y/n is aware of how painfully cliche this sounds but, miraculously, to both their surprise, she says yes. 

She says yes to unknowingly attending one of the most highly populated clubs - most of that population being various gangs in Seoul. 

They didn’t know it, but y/n and y/f/n were in for one hell of a night.

Life of St. Jean Baptiste de La Salle

Who is St. Jean Baptiste de La Salle?

St. Jean Baptiste de La Salle is widely known as the Patron Saint of Christian Teachers because of his mission to provide education to the needy during his time where few people could live a luxurious life while most are living the life of peasants. Being a Patron Saint of Christian Teachers is one of his well-known names, but what really made him achieve his mission are the characteristics he possessed. The following accounts are based on a movie about the Life of St. Jean Baptiste de La Salle.

St. La Salle was a risk taker. In the movie, although he knew that his methods of teaching were unorthodox and will be opposing the traditional ways of teaching, which would later on became evident as burdensome to the point that even some aristocrats, school masters, and clergies are doubting his movement, his mind was set into helping the poor and the needy a better access to education. He even renounced his nobility, wealth, and Canonship to pursue the greater cause he envisions. Even his family sees him as someone “out of his mind” for doing a considerably unusual act. He does seem aware of the consequences of his actions, since he has been reflecting on giving up everything in exchange of serving those in need, and asked the Lord for His guidance on his mission. He knew that the Lord would not let Him suffer, for he has faith that his mission is aligned with God’s purpose.

He was an innovator. The innovative character of St. de La Salle manifested all throughout his mission. From the beginning, what he pictured is a world where children are broad-minded and knows no class distinction in treating others. Having this mission in mind and in heart, with the guidance of the Lord, he put his mission into action by looking for members as school masters, which he addressed as brothers, for his mission is for a greater cause and is attuned with God’s teachings. The traditional way of teaching children is on a one-to-one teacher to student session. This has been the employed teaching approach for decades, and has only been accessible to children of noble and wealthy origin. This was the mind-set of all schools and school masters in Europe and it was the norm at the time. St. La Salle thought of something different; he want education to be accessible not only to the children of wealthy and noble background, but also to the poor and marginalized who need it the most, employing it on a wider scope. To do this, he tasked the school master from Reims, France to identify members who would later on become his brothers, and train them to teach children various principles of different fields of which they are adept to. What is different with St. La Salle’s school setup is a single teacher gathers a flock of students and teach simultaneously; far different from the traditional methods of European schools. These made practicing school masters, wealthy classes, and even some clergies sceptical and doubtful of his methods, even thinking it as absurd to deviate from what has been done for the past centuries. Agents of change are always subject to criticism; even if their end goal is to help the mass in need. St. La Salle was no different from this situation. But his goal, his vision came to fruition with the establishment of Brothers of the Christian Schools all over the world.

A servant-leader to both God and humanity. St. La Salle has always been a servant; a servant of God even at a very young age. He then continued serving God until his last breath; carrying his mission in his mind and heart. St. La Salle was serving God with his actions and decisions, and through these acts he became the servant of the poor and the needy, as well. He served God by ultimately being a servant for the poor children. He was at the same time the leader of the Brothers of the Christian Schools who teach the poor children around Europe. It was notably apparent when the Catholic ministry in Paris tried to replace St. La Salle as the supervisor of the Brothers of the Christian Schools he established. This move by the ministry was greatly opposed by the Christian brothers to the extent that they would renounce their vows just to keep St. La Salle as their superior. St. La Salle, being a person of peace, tried to subdue his men by agreeing with the sudden change. It was obvious in that moment that St. La Salle was regarded as a leader in such a way that his disciples would go to certain lengths to be of assistance to his, and eventually, their mission as Brothers of the Christian Schools.

A reliable and life-changing mentor. A mentor not only for the poor children, not just for his brotherhood, but leading by example, St. La Salle has exhibited characteristics that changes peoples’ lives. One of his disciples, Andre, a former bandit who stole St. La Salle’s crucifix necklace and other religious items, has turned himself away from his previous ways to become a Christian brother teaching the poor children. St. La Salle never showed Andre indifference even if he was placed at a disadvantaged position. He considered Andre as a person in need, and offered him his friendship if he returns the crucifix he stole. During the course of St. La Salle’s mission, he and his brotherhood experienced hardships since they were not receiving enough sponsorship from the Church, and all their finances are slowly being depleted because of their charitable acts of feeding the underprivileged using their own funds. His brothers have altogether given up the mission since they themselves could not feed their own if they continue the charity work. Just when all hope is lost for St. La Salle’s noble mission, in the turn of fortunate events, Andre openly accepts St. La Salle’s offer of friendship by returning the stolen crucifix and becoming one of his teaching brothers. This event has sparked the beginning of the expansion of St. La Salle’s mission throughout Europe.

How I believe in St. La Salle’s mission

I know it is not humbling to state such thoughts, but even before I knew of St. La Salle, I had this idea of extending my hand to the poor and needy whenever there are possible instances. I always dreamed of teaching poor children and out-of-school youth, to maximize their potentials and to share the blessings that I have always been receiving. After graduating high school, I aimed to take National Service Training Program (NSTP) – Literacy Training Services (LTS) with focus on teaching underprivileged youths during my college days in UP Los Banos. It was my first time to teach children on a volunteer work. It was in Brgy. Dayap, Calauan, Laguna, where ABS-CBN Foundation’s Kapit Bisig Para sa Ilog Pasig project resettlement sites are located.

Although the children in the area were already given access to education, the NSTP-LTS program provides additional educational assistance in the form of tutorials for children having difficulties in understanding elementary subjects, or any student who is interested in additional knowledge for that matter. During the first few sessions of the tutorials, a handful of students appeared to participate, but as time passed by and sessions have been conducted; I noticed that only few students have stayed, three to be exact. I then asked these students where their peers are; they said they were playing basketball, helping in household chores or helping with their parents’ livelihood. I guess even if you provide free access to education to poor children, it can still be hindered by different factors, especially if learning is not their priority. I then interviewed why these three are still staying despite their peers not being with them. One said that he was an honor student in his class and he must maintain his grades because he dreams of getting his family out of the situation they are currently in. Another one dreams of becoming a school teacher, that aside from learning the elementary subjects I was teaching her, she plans on learning teaching skills in the tutorial sessions. The other is just eager to learn the subject matters I was teaching. I then realized that if there are children like them out there that believe in education as their way to uplift their current state, then there is hope for the next generation. Having known this hope the children possess, it somehow is inviting to continue what St. La Salle has started.