#whose goal was always to gain power through those who wore it

[yet-another-heathen]

The Tale of Dharryad and Ijiax, The Song of the Prince and the Slave

2,796 words. Complete series. Original work, from the world of The Jackal of An-Nadr.

CW | slavery, war, mind possession, stabbing, betrayal, tragedy, major character death, burning alive.

Tag List | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @simplygrimly @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpvp @scrabble-rouser

This tale, the image of the crown and the collar, has been used in the stories of Nadeem's people for generations. It is a symbol of unfathomable love and loyalty, as well as a cautionary tale about the meddlesome nature of the jinn.

This is the story of Dharryad, the crown prince of Ires; the story of a single slave who saved thousands; and the story of the malevolent spirit of a jinn, trapped within an emerald ring—one that brought a kingdom to its knees.

True he may stay by his side

And into darkness pass

But at the light of the dawn;

Know, this too, need not end.

I.

Before they were legend, they, too, were only men.

The sound of their planning had been echoing through the tent walls for hours. He had long stood outside the commander's room waiting for the right lull in conversation before he entered, but the muffled arguing had yet to cease. Finally, he took a deep breath, and slipped inside regardless.

Dharryad was bent over a map with his brows deeply furrowed in thought, and he didn't even spare a glance upward. Jad and Taslim were the first to register his presence, the latter cutting off in the middle of, "...can't just divert three thousand troops—"

He bowed his head low. Without sparing a glance away from the map before him, Dharryad waved a hand, "He may stay."

Jad gave him a skeptical look, but continued nonetheless.

"...the Compass Plains simply do not have the resources needed to support a passing army, and even with a solid supply train we would find ourselves starved of fresh water within days. We need to circle around at the base of the mountains, even if it means diverting course."

He carefully approached the table, and held forth his pitcher. He filled Taslim's goblet without a word. When he reached for Dharryad's, the emir placed his hand delicately over the rim to stop him.

"That would add almost sixty leagues to our march, general. Even if the horses could take it, our men are already growing weary. And I would not send them to battle in such a state."

He moved on to Jad, who turned to him only to order, "Leave the pitcher, boy," when he had finished. He obeyed, then retreated to a nearby corner and laced his fingers behind his back to wait.

"That may be the case, mi Emir, but by taking the Plains straight through, we risk losing just as many to thirst or desertion."

"Especially with the reputation of those lands for leading men astray. The mountains offer stability, and our forces would be best protected by holding to their base..."

[...]

For nearly another hour their conversation continued, until dusk had begun to set and the flickering warmth of torches replaced that of day.

"We bid you good night, Emir."

Dharryad gave an assenting nod. He turned as the tent flap closed behind them and the sound of their footsteps retreated.

For a long time he just stood there, fingers tracing over the sand markings that zig zagged across the map. There was a high-strung tension in his shoulders, that finally he came to himself enough to try to roll out.

"Accompany me."

Ijiax unhooked his fingers and came forward, garnering permission before starting to work at the ties lacing Dharryad's throat. Still his tired grey eyes had not left the map.

"What do you think of all of this?"

His fingers froze.

"Mi emir?"

The dark gaze fell upon him, and Ijiax realized, perhaps a moment too late, just how close they were. Then Dharryad nodded back toward his work.

"The siege. You have heard the plan. What do you think?"

"Emir, it is not my place—"

"It is if I have asked you."

He tried to swallow down the tightness rising in his chest. For a moment his eyes swept out over the miniature battlements and down the steppes, where they fell upon the intricately carved white horse that stood in the place of Al Bahlunawat. He traced the lines of sand that rippled around the city with his gaze, and followed them in their sweeping arcs back to Deimmam. The pressure that had been building in his throat threatened to break, and a smoky, familiar chill caressed his spine. The emerald ring on his finger began to burn.

Ijiax dropped his gaze back to his work, and a muscle slipped back and forth in his jaw.

"I believe Al Bahlunawat is being underestimated, emir."

"The horsemen?" his eyes turned back to the map, "We have plans to avoid the city by almost twenty leagues, I doubt if they will send their warriors that far to meet us."

"What if we needn't skirt the city?"

"What do you mean?"

"What mother Aaisha has said is true. I saw as much in Caneuit. Their people grow ever more restless for freedom. And...you have the one thing they might weigh more than the backing of Diemmam."

Dharryad turned to him in surprise. There was something profound in the steadiness of his gaze, and it rooted Ijiax on the spot.

"...el-Odeh."

For a long moment neither of them moved. Then when Ijiax finally met his eyes there was something swimming in the prince's gaze that was gone in the time it took him to blink. Dharryad's fingers flitted to his own bracers and began working at the knots.

"Thank you, that will be all I require from you tonight."

It took him a moment for the meaning of the words to catch up to him, and a moment more for his stunned silence to break.

Ijiax stepped back and touched his fingertips to his temple, then gathered the empty pitcher and the two used goblets from the war table under his arm. He offered another short bow to the emir's turned back, then slipped out through the heavy curtain and into the chill of the night.

II.

He was not called back into service until the next day, though he had waited outside the emir's tent for nearly an hour before his silhouette ducked out into the predawn light.

He followed him carefully through the lines of tents, beginning to believe he had gone unnoticed right up until the prince hesitated outside Al-Muwat's quarters and his steely gaze flicked to him. He gestured with his fingers, and ducked beneath the tent flap before Ijiax had made it to his side.

He followed him loyally, then immediately froze. There was wealth within the general's tent such as he had never seen, shelves overspilling with brass and gold tucked along the nearest walls. Pendants of ivory and jade hung from the ceiling, twirling in the rosy morning light. Even a single one of them would have been enough to buy him his freedom.

Dharryad ignored all of it, striding toward the back room in a way only the firstborn son of Isde al-Mohiuddin had any right to do. He looked every inch the war commander he was, down to the diadem twined round his throat and the khanjar in his fist.

Suddenly Ijiax's heart was racing. Surely he was not about to witness the murder of the Qaid by the hand of his own kin— but he needn't have worried, for when Dharryad finally made it to the end of his commander's bed it was his foot rather than his blade which shoved him out of it.

Al-Muwat awoke in a frenzy of sputtering curses and an ache behind his eyes that could only have been from wine. Above him his emir glowered, tilting the coppery blade toward his throat.

"Tell me of Al Bahlunawat."

III.

The stars glittered above, frightening and cold, watching him until he had the good sense to slip inside.

His master's quarters were a mess. The contents of his war table were spilled halfway across the floor, sand and all, while three young female slaves scrambled to clean up the mess.

He stared at the destruction before him, then quickly crossed the room and ducked into the next.

What had happened in the marhaq was but a child's tantrum compared to this. Furniture layed toppled and broken, textiles torn from one end to the next and strewn about the wreckage. Ijiax stared at the mess in horror, then his eyes fell to the side of the half-collapsed bed.

"Mi emir?"

He approached the prince slowly, hands out before him as though he were settling some great beast. He knelt next to the man who looked more a shadow of himself than he'd ever seen him.

His eyes fixed, unmoving, at the collapsed crate across from him. He followed his gaze and gasped, feeling his stomach plummet through his spine.

The princess Umah d'Nakheel's necklace, the one he had seen her wear to her own coronation all those months ago, lie amongst three dozen other artifacts spilled across the floor toward the emir's feet. Ijiax felt the horrible, crippling implications of such a gift rip through him like a poisoned blade, and had crossed the room to slam the crate shut in a heartbeat.

He turned slowly back to the prince, who's eyes were still fixed unmoving on the spot where Nakheel's jewelry had been, and felt his throat tighten.

His emir looked as though a rage he had never before encountered had ripped through him. As though he were defenseless under the pointed blade of Diemmam's new Qaid. As though he were broken.

Forgetting all quarter, all reason, Ijiax crossed the room to him and gathered one of his fisted hands in his own. He stared at his emir as steel grey eyes, colder than he had ever seen them in his life, refused to move.

"She is not dead," he said firmly, squeezing the scarred knuckles within his hands, "They would never harm her when her objects alone were enough a message. She lives, Dharryad," he swore, "She lives now and she will live to see her city again. We will bring her home."

Ijiax shook him, desperate for him to look up.

But Dharryad's eyes stayed away from him so evenly he didn't know if his words had been heard. Then, voice shuddering, "I caused this. My sister, my baby Naki, rests in the hands of those monsters because of what I've done."

There was nothing but anger in his face, but a tear slid silently down the curve of his cheek. Something hardened in Ijiax, and it was unflinchingly that he clasped his emir's jaw in his hand and pulled his face up toward his own.

"No."

The word carried the weight of not only his rage, but the bitterness of the entire Iresian people behind it.

"No, mi emir. You will not give yourself over to this grief. Your Uhkti needs you," he insisted, "And I have never known my prince a man to turn away from his family."

Dharryad's eyes swam between his, until finally something in them softened.

And then Dharryad al-Mohiuddin, Prince of the Nine Rivers, Freer of the Twin Mountains. His emir...kissed him.

It was so terrifying and unexpected that he flinched away. Against his resistance the kiss broke and their eyes met.

Dharryad's eyes flashed up at him, shock at his own actions playing across his face. He looked so taken aback, and his mouth parted.

By the Most Merciful, they would kill him for this.

Ijiax silenced him. Their lips pressed together, tense and uncomfortable at first, then shifting closer as Dharryad melted into the touch. His hand curled behind his neck and every single other thought in the world softened away.

They parted only for a moment, the emir's half-lidded eyes locked on his own. There was something in them he'd never seen before. Some locked-away desire, smoldering beneath the surface of that incredible gypsum grey.

Then a wince of regret flashed across his handsome face.

Before Ijiax could apologize, explain himself somehow...calloused fingertips settled against his lips, cutting off any protest.

"I have a war map to draw."

Then Dharryad was on his feet, snagging the fabric of his turban off the floor and wrapping it about his own head. He started toward the door and then hesitated, turning back to cast a regretful look toward Ijiax.

"I am not done with this, little jackal."

Then he was gone, and Ijiax was left struggling for breath in an overturned tent, the ghost of a touch still warm against his lips.

---

And so from one hand to the next

The fell ring did pass;

And with it too,

The threads of madness sought their mark.

IV.

He let his relief show openly in his eyes, weight falling into his chains. The Qaid whipped around toward his prince in open shock.

Dharryad leaned back into the throne, every bit the emotionless conqueror he was claiming to be.

"I said no, Al Muwat. Need I repeat myself?"

At the challenge in his eyes the old man shied away, bowing his hand behind his palms.

"No need, mi Emir. It is the judgement of the Most High."

His eyes flickered to Ijiax's for one last moment, a bitterness turned toward him that the emir would not be able to see.

"Please excuse me, your eminence. I have urgent matters to attend to."

Dharryad waved his fingers in dismissal, and in a moment the Qaid was gone behind the clang and shudder of the immense brass doors.

The emir watched after him for a long, solemn moment, then seemed to realize that Ijiax was still in the room. His eyes softened as he turned toward him, taking all of him in with a flash of something behind his eyes. Then he settled further into the throne, visibly relaxing against the marble.

"Why, my little jackal, I think I might just enjoy you like this."

The implication was not lost on him. He had to repress a small shudder, especially as his prince lifted himself from the throne.

He walked down the steps toward him like a predator circling in on its prey. His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty throne room, and with each one of them Ijiax felt something inside himself curl deeper and deeper into the hidden recesses of his mind. On the prince's finger, the emerald ring caught the light.

He offered a smooth smile, behind which his heart was pounding irregularly in his throat.

V.

He drove the knife into his emir's stomach, leaning his weight into it until the blade crushed through his body and into the stone behind him.

Dharryad let out a wet gasp, stumbling slightly as he stared down at the blade. Then to Ijiax's hand. Then, finally, to the face of the man that had betrayed him.

He sobbed as he saw the realization dawn across his prince's eyes, green and dark and lost.

Then they slumped to the floor together, and Dharryad let out a groan.

"Aman...I'm so sorry," he wept, "I'm so sorry..."

He could hardly see past his tears as he bowed his forehead against his prince's, hands still knuckle-white on the khanjar. Blood, hot and thick, poured across his fingers and strained the white of his waist sash black.

Dharryad's fingers curled over his, then shakingly wrenched the blade free. He stared at it for a moment, his own blood coating his hands, then it fell to the tiled floor beside them with a clang.

Ijiax couldn't stop weeping as he saw the light behind his eyes begin to falter, and he finally realized he had not struck high enough.

The blade had pierced his lungs, not his heart. With a long, rattling breath, Dharryad sunk into his arms.

"Ija--Ij..."

VI.

He had eyes for no one and nothing but his emir, even as the hiss of coals rose beneath his feet. He only made it a few steps into the wreckage before the pain overwhelmed him, and he collapsed his knees with Dharryad's body still cradled in his arms.

Ijiax bit down until his teeth threatened to crack, holding back the screams he felt trying to rip from him as the flames licked up his sides.

He leaned into Dharryad, his forehead collapsing his leather armor beneath its weight. Tears simmered before they'd even made it down his cheeks.

But in the end, the screams ripped through him nonetheless. He writhed and crumbled, clasping to his form with bloody knuckles, and he held to the man he loved until the very last breath from his lungs cut short.

His last thoughts were of his prince's smile. Of a sunny afternoon on the Purratu. Of peach wine.

The flames hissed and crackled, embers floating up through the air, and then everything but the fire went out.

#The Tale of Dharryad and Ijiax #The Jackal of An-Nadr #as promised: a six-part mini series that will utterly crush your heart #❤️ #Dharryad and Ijiax both lived about 350yrs before Nadeem was born #while he does not know this (and in his lifetime never will) #Ijiax was Nadeem's ancestor #and it is only a little twist of fate that they both shared the name 'the jackal' #I realize that the story is unclear in places #in part because this was written before I knew I would ever be publishing The Jackal of An-Nadr #the emerald ring in question was the shell of a jinn #whose goal was always to gain power through those who wore it #it was passed to Ijiax #and then to Dharryad—while Ijiax himself was so bound by the jinn that he could not warn his emir of its nature #and once the jinn was in possession of the prince #it slowly wormed deeper and deeper into his mind until he began to go mad #Ijiax was the only one who knew why #and- unable to tell another soul- he was faced with the impossible choice #his emir or the kingdom? #when Dharryad's possession had driven him so far that there would soon be no turning back #Ijiax drove in the knife...and missed #and Ijiax- as a final act of love that emblazoned itself across history- destroyed that which he loved above all #and carried him into the flames that destroyed them and the ring both #to save their people #as his prince had once saved him

[phoenixtakaramono]

THE UNTOLD TALE - CH3 PREVIEW

There was an important takeaway to be had from tonight’s interaction: Shen Yuan had asserted his place as the lord of this residence and as Luo Binghe’s future ally.

Several thoughts had, however, been plaguing him ever since Shen Yuan gifted Luo Binghe the handscrolls, leaving like the composed gentleman he was while the half-demon pondered over the newfound revelations for the night. Those thoughts filled Shen Yuan’s brain with a renewed vigor that his exhausted body did not feel, roiling through his brain as he changed into his night clothes. Even now, lying down with his hands folded over his stomach, they consumed his mind as he stared up at the azure, gauzy canopy that looked eerily similar to the one in the guest bedchamber that Luo Binghe now slept in.

Wisps of hazy white rose from the lotus-shaped censer he’d brought to his bed. The coals within were still fresh in the copper, keeping him warm in the night, with the fragrance of sandalwood circulating within the room.

His unyielding companion, the blue text box, hovered above. Shen Yuan kept his gaze averted from it; he had read and reread the Chinese characters countless times that if he closed his eyes, he could still see the most recent notification engraved in his mind’s eye.

【Prediction! Future Event <<A NIGHT OF PASSION>> has been changed into <<LOADING CHEKHOV'S GUN>>. You have reached the conditions to clear the scenario. Countdown commencing. Reward: B-Points +50.】

The planes of his face were bathed in a soft blue glow as he ruminated. Shen Yuan couldn’t find it within him to feel any guilt or to throw blame at anyone other than himself. He’d unlocked the <<TRUE END>> main scenario and, judging by how the <<SYSTEM>> was not giving him a choice, he had to build that rapport between themselves and see that friendship through.

These are the seeds you’ve sown, Shen Yuan, he reminded himself. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. He could only dig his hands into the soil and watch the seeds slowly bear fruit.

Bing gē—or, rather, Luo Binghe—was not a 2D character on paper; he was now a real person who breathed and talked and had a will of his own. Even so, Shen Yuan didn’t know the extent of the ramifications if an extraordinary “prodigy” gained self-awareness that he was the male protagonist of a fictional erotica series.

It’d be interesting. If someone found out one day that they were a precious existence in a world which catered to them, they’d naturally become arrogant. All the attractive people belonged to them, hearts were won over for no real reason, and enemies would be seen as less of a threat and more as an annoyance. Shen Yuan could envision it; Luo Binghe would probably behave more recklessly, confident in the fact that he was protected by plot armor. He’d be a spoilt menace in a male power fantasy world—until the novelty wore off, and then the boredom set in.

The corners of Shen Yuan’s mouth curved. He didn’t know how likeminded Luo Binghe was, but if he thought like he did, he’d exploit his advantages.

A protagonist’s existence was akin to a cockroach, dragged from door’s death each time without fail.

This was not merely a case of schadenfreude—another difficult foreign term he’d learned during his pursuit as a novelist—where he reveled in another person’s misfortunes. It was a well-established trope in all forms of literature that when a person was casually dropped into a life-or-death situation, they would resurface as calamities. Since Luo Binghe was an important main character, he would naturally benefit.

...Sorry, youngster. Shen Yuan raised a white flag in commiseration for him in his heart. I didn’t mean to conscript you, but you must continue to work hard. Nationalistic pride exists among many Chinese writers.

Even pre-enlightened Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had not been exempt from that.

In most narratives, the protagonist’s role was to rise above the rest and “smash the system.” Shen Yuan squinted up at the UI, his eyes beginning to water from its bright glow. He blinked rapidly, but the strain in his eyes refused to ease.

He swore in his head. This better not be the sort of tale where he and Luo Binghe had to compete to establish who was the one true protagonist, having to assert narrative dominance. Shen Yuan had no intention of pulling aggro to himself.

Raising a forearm up to shadow his vision, he groaned. He declared to no one, “Airplane brother, you’ve done your first son a great disservice.”

(He’d done a disservice to the original Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan as well as among many others.)

The events that had played out tonight strengthened Shen Yuan’s conviction. He could now see how people easily fell for his act; the charisma of a stallion protagonist was potent. Even so, he had capitalized on goodwill—and Luo Binghe’s strange fixation—hoping continuous acts of kindness being demonstrated toward him would soften him toward Shen Yuan and prove his intentions were sincere.

Should he prove himself to be of use, surely even somebody like Bing gē would not discard him during his rise to power or see him as a threat?

The only method he could foresee showing his fellow protagonist that his services were indispensable was by lending him his wisdom—and his predictions on the account of Shen Yuan being a <<FORTUNETELLER>>. His goal to leave a favorable impression with the other protagonist was already well underway, with the aim of establishing how it would be in Luo Binghe’s best interests to remember Shen Yuan’s acts of compassion and to return them tenfold in the future unless he wished to owe the celestial favors.

He recalled the last question he’d asked of him before Shen Yuan left, regarding the compatibility of his fated one.

Would it be strange if I wrote a predestined romance, for once? As much as Shen Yuan favored subverting expectations, he was aware of what sold commercially. There was a structure that made their literature different from those in the Western market whose shocking narratives could not only arouse pity in their audience, but also a sense of awe, excitement, fear, and suffering.

Their protagonists were not always someone of high society; they often hailed from humble origins as a device for the writer to underscore the merits of working hard and to criticize the system—a fictional one though, to avoid absolute censorship by the Chinese government. Their heroes began as nothing more than a windblown leaf in the social structure and years of ethical traditions set in place. They started on the bottom rungs of society to draw people’s attention to their lives, to the injustice and unfairness, which made their struggles all the more impactful to the reader.

The fates of the leading characters were tied to the juxtaposition of the harmonious ideal of society and the reality of a flawed system. Chinese tales were inherently romantic oftentimes, with tragic conflicts written to emphasize the beauty of a bond and rousing sympathy and pity for their plight. The archetype of a tragic hero was meant to be presented so profoundly that great reverence would well up spontaneously in one’s heart.

In his opinion, Luo Binghe had suffered plenty.

Under normal circumstances, as Peerless Cucumber, Shen Yuan was the sort of novelist where it would not be considered strange for him to challenge the romantic notion of soulmates by making his leading characters comrades or adversaries instead of lovers.

It was like the overseas Inception movie; he’d satirized enough old and tired clichés, it almost became expected of him to subvert expectations for all of his publications.

Guilt weighed on his mind. While he understood the implicit reality of his situation, he still felt like he was, in some way, disappointing his audience. The shame he felt was bizarre.

He swallowed. “My cherished readers...,” Shen Yuan murmured to the void as though they could hear him, “forgive this writer if I don’t subvert your expectations in this aspect just this once.”

The harem was the closest Luo Binghe had to a family. After the parental kindness of the washerwoman was torn away from him early in his life, after having endured the unhealthy environment that followed, the only love and tenderness he received in his life came in the arms of beautiful women. Tokens of affection were given in the form of intimate acts. It was no wonder Bing gē’s character had ended up twisted. He collected lovers with a greed not unlike a hedonistic minister who accepted bribes.

What a complicated man. Shen Yuan’s heart ached for the “blackened hero.”

There were so many women in the harem. In the presence of Luo Binghe, each one was gentle, kind, respectful, and submissive. But it was unrealistic for one husband, who had undergone the traumas that he had, to share his heart equally amongst them and not expect any misgivings.

What this Luo Binghe needed was a foil to his temperament, somebody patient, charismatic, and well-educated. Since Luo Binghe would be uniting the Three Realms, they needed to be proactive keeping him in check from becoming a self-indulgent, fatuous ruler. They cannot be sensitive to criticisms and speculation. A sensible head was needed on their shoulders to guide their merciless husband in understanding right from wrong and from any sycophants looking to lead him astray. It was integral to help the protagonist maintain a harmonious empire so that, together, they could lead a golden age of reform.

Shen Yuan wondered if there even existed such an extraordinary person.

Luo Binghe’s reputation was already in tatters in the Mortal Realm on the account of having a demonic heritage and having razed down the great righteous sects. Whatever goodwill he’d originally cultivated with his deceptive “nice guy” act had to be regained. Winning the war against the son of heaven and finding a good match would be integral in swaying public opinion to his favor. In public, they must present a united front, ruthless against their adversaries but dependable towards their subjects. It was only over time that the Sacred Rulers would prove themselves worthy of being idolized and beloved by the masses.

The <<SYSTEM>> had said that he and Luo Binghe should work together and in the end, they would unlock the epilogue that blessed them with their star-crossed lovers.

Until such a person was found, he supposed he could step into the role as his counsel whenever Luo Binghe needed advice. It was like tossing a peach and getting a plum back. Celestial or not, Shen Yuan used to be the son of a family of manufacturing executives. His profession might have been as an author, but he was educated in the principles of economics. Aside from sharing the <<PROTAGONIST’S HALO>>, his modern knowledge and his knowledge of both novel series were his cheats.

Like the spring breeze that thawed the frozen soil, he would be someone who reached into the abyss and grabbed that bloodstained hand. He could set a standard for Luo Binghe to emulate as the type of wise leader he should be, and his handsome junior could learn from his modern examples and put some of them into practice for his kingdom.

He’ll enable him into becoming the best person that he could be. And maybe, just maybe, the new era might be salvageable and worthy of pride for generations to come for not only the immortals and demons, but for the mortals as well.

“I’d redeemed you once,” Shen Yuan declared, his lashes fanning against his cheeks. He closed his eyes in reminiscence of his own fanfiction, inhaling the light, woody scent of the censer nearby. “I can do it again.”

In the meantime, he reflected, I must collect more merits. I cannot be lazy and lag behind in accomplishments.

While Luo Binghe fought his battles, Shen Yuan would be fighting his own—whatever they might be. He would not be outshone by his junior in his own meteoric rise.

“...System?” he inquired drowsily, his voice barely above a whisper. Turning on his side, he stared at a faraway wall. The glazed white surface of the porcelain pillow felt cold against his cheek, its smoothness reminiscent of jade. “Can you hear me?”

Ping.

【This <<SYSTEM>> provides the Esteemed Host a 24-hour service.】

“I don’t remember Airplane brother going into detail about what the education system is like in this setting. Is it supposed to be historically accurate to the ancient feudal model or…?”

Ping.

As he listened to the long encyclopedic explanation, what he’d heard confirmed his worst fears. Education was the privilege of the elites. Immortal cultivators prioritized studying matters of the “spiritual heart” and Qi refinement, in the martial and mystical arts, breaking through the bottleneck of each cultivation stage until their dedication allowed them to reach the pinnacle that was the Ninth Stage.

With that narrow-minded focus on self-enlightenment, the basic education curriculum of the twenty-first century would be seen as innovative in the pre-established setting of this strange world.

In the early webnovels, Bing gē had stagnated as a late-stage Core Formation expert. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, in his laziness to research the many intricate nuances of the Cultivation World, had waved it all away by attributing his protagonist’s OPness to his ancient, heaven-fallen demonic heritage and to the deus ex machina that was his legendary sword. Even then, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky still occasionally confused the Foundation Establishment with the Nascent Soul stages.

It wouldn’t be until the end of the series—after the outcry of the netizens—that the unsatisfied Luo Binghe made the breakthrough into the proper Nascent Soul stage with the help of his wives and their many gratuitous papapa scenes.

Then in the epilogue, the author had infuriatingly time-skipped all the way to the penultimate Ninth Stage, describing how Luo Binghe became a legend among legends who had finally attained eternal youth and aged back into his late twenties in his new immortal body after having miraculously passed the Heavenly Tribulations—disasters from heaven which were akin to nuclear radiation for those of demon blood. After an unspecified many years of rule, he’d left his legacy behind—with the uncountable size of his harem and a boundless number of his descendants “mourning the loss of a great and oftentimes misunderstood man.”

Just remembering it made Shen Yuan’s blood pressure spike dangerously. Taking deep, calming breaths, he rolled back onto his back as he forced himself to attain catharsis from listening to the mind-numbing exposition the <<SYSTEM>> was extolling to him like a history program. His fingers clenched the bed sheet.

Eventually he found himself feeling adrift, the words beginning to lose their coherency to him as he phased in and out of consciousness, his mind becoming wrapped in a haze of smoke. Soon his tense muscles relaxed.

The countdown had reached 00:00:00 when sleep finally claimed him.

Note: Small details of this scene might be subject to revision when the final draft comes out. Ch1-2 can be found on AO3. Link is in my bio!

#svsss #luo binghe #shen yuan #bingyuan #shen qingqiu #scumbag system #bingqiu #the untold tale #preview #phoenixtakaramono #svsss fic #obvs there is some canon divergence here #or rather a creative interpretation on PIDW canon #the dream sequence takes place after #I’m excited for the foreshadowing #SY is essentially describing himself #that’s the joke

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

The Price of Privilege - Part 11 (A Kyungsoo Series)

Genre: ANGSTY ANGST / Romance / Arranged Marriage / Royalty AU

Characters: Kyungsoo X You

Description: The time has come to marry the man your family has selected to take your hand. As royalty, these important matters are arranged for you, but when you meet your soon to be husband, he is nothing like you expected.

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

How had it come to this?

There were a few seconds when you touched him. It wasn’t that he allowed it but Kyungsoo no longer remained present inside of his own mind and simply did not fight the burden of your hands on him.

In those few seconds, when your hands ran along his trembling shoulders and his body shook with the ragged sobbing that took what was left of your heart and splintered it to match his own — in those few seconds when the sticky warmth of his skin connected with your cold fingertips your words jumped up your throat and bounced along the back of your tongue — in those seconds, you wavered.

“K-Kyungsoo...no,” you aren’t a monster — they wanted to spill out. — May is alive. The truthful words, the reality behind the lies and the tricks and the whole honest-to-god of it all. You tasted it. It tasted nice, like fresh clean water in the hot desert sun. You wanted to swallow it down and quench the thirst that raged through your body, drying up your cells and making your brain go mad with the need for it. You felt like you were dying without it.

You could stop his pain. The tears that spilled from his closed eyes and ran down his face that he made no move to dry. You could tell him the truth; May was alive and the ruse had been a ploy by Sehun to save her life; to save his baby. Kyungsoo didn’t kill her. He didn’t kill that innocent life that grew in her belly. They had only needed to trick him and the queen up to this point and now that she was alive and you would swear upon your whole life to him that her safety was the only goal. You never wanted to deceive him.

Would he buy it for a second?

Would he really believe that this convenient moment of spare honesty was somehow superior to the countless piles of lies you were now buried under?

And what of the tape.

What of the evidence you had gathered against him; evidence that could destroy him, strip him of his title, probably even be used to execute him if the tape was spun against him in the right way. A prince in line for the throne, found to have dealt the killing blow to a powerful monarch — his own mother, what kind of monster indeed — then gone through great lengths to cover it up.

The public would demand his head.

You had known of the tape’s existence because of May. You’d known of Kyungsoo’s involvement in his mother’s death for the same reason. May knew of the tape because of Sehun and Sehun had the most to gain from exposing Kyungsoo as a murderer and a traitor to the crown. With Kyungsoo out, Sehun would be that much closer. Sehun’s own flesh and blood brother Jongin would be next in line and he would gain that much more influence and power. Power was something Kyungsoo believed every single one of his brothers craved like oxygen. His mistrust in them went deep and no amount of your insisting that they weren’t out to destroy him would make him believe you hadn’t committed the ultimate betrayal.

He would not let you live. If Kyungsoo knew the truth — that he was not the monster he called himself, that he was not responsible for another death, but a victim of your lies — surely he would not let you live.

Maybe your life was easy to give him. You had never had much of one to be honest.

But all the others?

He would exact his revenge with a strong swift hand that would reach out to your family, your country at home whose government; whose people stood to lose so much if this marriage did not take place. How many would starve when the economy failed? Families would suffer and children would die. Your father, who had promised so much to his people would shoulder the blame and shame would follow your family’s name for generations.

Your honesty would spare Kyungsoo of this pain but so many others would suffer. So many innocents would die.

You had always known that this marriage was not about you. It was not about Kyungsoo. It was bigger than even the both of you combined and it had the power to crush and the power to destroy. It had the power to save lives and feed children and the lives of so many people depending on you and him just owning up to the task and doing what was expected of you — doing what you had promised.

You wavered in those few seconds. You teetered along the edge your choice. One choice to spare him and him alone of this monumental pain; a salve of honesty that would destroy everything you had been trained your whole life to protect.

His skin felt alive and raw under your comforting hands for those few seconds and your words pushed up to the tip of your tongue before you swallowed them back down and exhaled a soft cry from deep inside your body. You could feel the warm wetness of the tears that ran down your face and you let them fall as you swallowed down the honesty.

You deserved this pain for the crimes you were committing against the man you loved.

The polished marble floor felt like ice against your knees and you sank hard, ignoring the pain that shot through your limbs with the impact.

How had it come to this?

How did you come so far from the way of the righteous? How had you forsaken your own morals and abetted in the destruction of this beautiful human being?

The suffocating sobs were quieting down and Kyungsoo gasped in deeply for breath; his nose too stopped up to be of any use he gasped through parted lips and his eyes that had been sealed tight to the world opened slowly with the plea for air his lungs made.

You still touched him, shamelessly and with these disgusting traitorous hands. You ran your palms over his shoulders, down his forearms, soaking in the warmth of his skin that seeped through the shirt he wore and when his eyes opened you felt the first bit of it, the first bit of him coming alive and coming out of the grief that had nearly drowned him.

The first gasp of precious air was for his lungs but the second was for strength against your hands. He inhaled into the recoil and his arms rose swiftly, pushing hard against your hands that you dared to touch him with. Just enough to break the contact. Just enough to give him that precious space he needed away from you and the multitude of your sins against him. Some he knew of; others he did not.

And as quickly as it began; the sadness, the grief, the all consuming anguish, and the pain, that rose from deep within his chest to swell over his entire being, it stopped. You watched his face as he blinked once and then twice, the second much slower than the first, and the muscles in his face relaxed down to near nothingness as he exhaled every last bit of air from inside of his lungs.

Kyungsoo inhaled a deep breath and he stared ahead of himself into the emptiness of the room, not seeing, nor feeling, nor living - and he turned off.

His hands hung lifelessly in his lap; knuckles red with clotting blood and the rapid and complete shift in his demeanor was alarming enough for you to gasp in a startled breath.

You had no words to give him that could fix it and the touch of your hands had been the last thing he wanted; yet you felt desperate for something, for anything —

“Kyungsoo.” You whispered his name into the silence that had enveloped his existence and he did not move or blink when you called his name.

“Kyungsoo,” you said again and this time you heard the raspy inhale of air he took to inflate his lungs and you saw the gentle part of his lips with the air he pulled.

Would he speak to you? Would he have anything to say about his part in, what he believed was the death of your best friend? Would he have any more to speak about your monumental betrayal of his trust?

“I suppose this makes us even now,” he whispered with a tired hoarseness in his throat and his eyes refused to meet yours despite the desperation with which your eyes crawled over the features of his profile.

Kyungsoo stood on trembling legs and his eyes did not glance in your direction once as he left you. You could not bring your eyes to follow his retreat. His gaze would have no reason to touch upon a woman he abhorred. You had no courage to watch the back of his head, the back of his shoulders, or the stumble of unease in his legs as he left you.

Instead, you watched the broken empty space he once occupied; the dents in the wall where his fist had collided, and the red stains of his blood that painted the scene and the sound of his exit afforded you but a moment of silence before the murmur of voices absconded and strangers began to fret and fuss around you, but not necessarily about you. No. Not one of them was there for you. You had no one here.

Hushed complaints about the damage to the room and to the groom’s suit. Judgements about the precious time wasted on aired dirty laundry that could have been spent on receiving deliveries or fixing decorations or preparing for this abomination of a wedding that would take place in two days time.

Whispers and rumors.

Gossip and scandal.

Strangers’ fingers touched you no more than was necessary to dress you in your own clothing and relinquished you to other strangers who steered you with light fingertips — what you wouldn’t give for just one warm palm against your back. In the backseat of a black sedan you sat alone and gripped your own hands tightly together in your lap and you daydreamed of the warmth and pressure of May’s hand.

The rest of the contact with every other human was superficial and shallow and your chest ached for what you had lost in such a short amount of time.

When you found yourself again; when the dust around the day had settled and the sunlight began to lessen and the nagging unease inside of you that begged for something to happen grew too noisy to ignore; the pull for action led to the item you had been avoiding since it came into your possession.

Your room was as you had left it. The boutique shopping bag delivered by Jun sat beside your bedside table and you could tell by the careful placement of the tags on the garments inside that it had remained undisturbed since he had given you the device that would play the tape.

The tape. Kyungsoo’s video tape.

You’d hidden it well; inside a gap in the third from the bottom shelf on the left hand side of your walk in closet. The gap at the back, between the shelf and the wall, was small enough that one would be unable to spot anything off about it and as you reached a hand into the shelf and felt around the tiny space you felt the flat plastic edges of the small rectangle that had been the source of so much pain in your life.

You might have thought that the unknown was the hardest part about this tape. And while, yes, not knowing what could be on it was a major cause of grief and anxiety for you up until this moment, now the significant agony was the memory of the look in his eyes when he had learned exactly what you had done to him to get your hands on this little thing. The worst had already been done. It was now time to find out why. The reason why you had to do this had to be on this tape.

Your limbs worked on autopilot and you pulled out the laptop May had left behind. Below the garments in the bag sat a rectangle shaped device and what looked to be a larger version of the tiny tape you had in your hand. A center section popped out and you ignored the tremble in your fingers as you clicked the lid closed and carefully connected wires into their respective inputs until you had a rudimentary set up with a player for playing the video, software on the laptop to view and record video and wires running between the two. When plugged into the wall outlet, everything hummed to life with friendly little lights as if the secrets contained within this tape did not have the power to destroy entire worlds.

The first time you pressed play, the video player merely clicked and turned itself back off. A light knock on the side of your temple for your slight in memory was all it took to straighten yourself back out and you remembered that these old tapes required rewinding in order to play from the beginning. It was a little button and the device whirled to life, spinning fast and noisily until it reached the end of tape and another click signaled that the action had been completed.

The button was silent and waiting.

You had come this far.

You pressed play and the screen came to life before you. The software playing the video allowed you to record it as well and you hit the little red circle button as soon as the video began to play, understanding the importance of what you might witness. You knew the video would be backed up on the cloud, as May had always reminded you the importance of keeping back-ups of the really important things.

The beginning of the video was grainy. A view obstructed by a haze of blue. You could only hear bits and pieces of a voice speaking softly to someone else.

It was a woman’s voice and her words were sweet in tone.

‘I got you this to protect you,’ she said, and there was no response at first. And you heard his name, spoken louder, over the sounds of perhaps a television, although the video was still covered by a blue haze that prevented you from seeing anything.

‘Kyungsoo,’ she called again and you heard the first bits of a child’s voice. There was a sound of loud crackling that made the small speakers of your laptop pop with the volume and the video was flooded with light and with the image of him.

His smiling face; he had to be no older than 10 but he was small, and his face full of innocence and joy as his eyes widened on your screen, his gaze fell directly into yours as he looked right into the face of the teddy bear his mother had just given him.

‘You have to remember to bring it back to me once a week, Okay?’ Her voice was calling out to him and grew quieter before disappearing completely as the video turned abruptly sideways and bounced and shook wildly, occasionally catching the view of his tiny feet hitting the cobblestone and then his shoes bouncing atop bright green grass. Then you landed with a thump on your side in what could only be described as a makeshift tent hidden somewhere on the palace grounds; far away from the sounds of anyone or anything that might disturb this adorable child’s very important work.

He was a tiny chef. You saw actual pots and pans and a little boy crouched in front of them, grabbing handles and flipping up rocks and sticks; spilling the contents out onto the ground below without a care. He shouted orders out to his imaginary kitchen staff and rang an imaginary bell when his dish was perfected. He paused once to set you upright from where you had fallen over and you had a better view of the piles of mud and leaves he had carefully arranged on a stolen dinner plate. You lamented that you could not answer the many questions he asked you; his visiting teddy bear friend who had joined him for dinner this evening.

He was playing. He was happy and he was full of so much life and so much energy.

As the video played you fell into it. Giggling with the games he played and growing attached to this happy little boy who didn’t say much to others but seemed to find great comfort in talking to himself and sometimes to you, the teddy bear, who carefully watched him play. While the recording quality was low and grainy, sometimes hard to make out with great clarity what exactly was going on, you soon realized that you had been let into a substantial chunk of the very young life of Do Kyungsoo. Yet you knew, if you wanted to make any significant progress in viewing this thing before your wedding, that you would need to speed up the playback to get through it all.

You’d grown tired of sitting and waiting after the first hour watching without sound as the recording played at 5 times the normal speed and occasional images of a messy bedroom, or that empty tent flew by the screen.

Surely something would happen on the screen. Something significant enough to catch your attention. Something profound enough to signal you to slow down the playback and pay attention.

You half watched now, noting how the lighting shifted as the day turned to night and then to day again. You clicked again to speed up the playback after the two hours of watching the same bare tent wall with nothing happening.

Occasionally, and it was shocking each time it happened, his sweet face would appear — lips moving quickly with smiles that reached his eyes and some toy in his hand that flew around, attacking some other toy in his hand — and you’d slow the playback down to real time to hear the booming battle sounds he made with his mouth.

As the video played, again at super speed since the camera had obviously been left in an empty room alone for a very long time, you let the video run away with it until you saw movement again, walking away a few times to eat or use the bathroom. After long you found mind drifting and you struggled to pay close attention again, occasionally slowing the video to listen to the sounds of some video game, a child’s screaming and laughter, the sounds of play, the view of a tree blowing in the wind on the other side of an enormous window.

The change happened overnight.

The video ran for long, too long and nothing seemed to happen. Yet you sat up straighter in your seat when the sudden realization hit you. The video had been playing fast, super speed, yet the image of the little boy sitting in a ball on the floor was not moving.

With the speed it was playing at he should have been buzzing about the room with toys or running back and forth but in the video, Kyungsoo had been curled around himself on the floor by the window for hours now.

You reached for the video controls and switched to normal speed. But of course, if he did not move at five times the speed he would be absolutely motionless at normal speed.

You sped the video up again, moving even faster this time; looking to move past this stillness. You saw someone enter the room, leave some food for him which he did not touch, and the image of his tiny body curled into himself merely shifted as he fell over into the hardwood floors and fell asleep.

You moved again, maxing out the speed with which the video could play and you watched his tiny body sometimes rise to move lifelessly through his room. Occasionally eating to survive. Getting up only once onto his bed to sleep. Most times, falling asleep on the floor in front of that window. Never once touching any of the toys and games that filled his room. Never once gracing your eyes with his sweet laughter or glorious play again.

He was just gone and it had happened overnight.

Only, what the video showed you wasn’t anything substantial that could be of any use to nearly anyone. Except perhaps a therapist.

The video only showed a beautiful, once happy child changed into the broken shell of a person that you sometimes saw behind those big eyes of his.

The trance-like way he stared ahead of himself, neither crying nor raging, felt achingly familiar and you recalled the last few moments you had with him in the dressing room. After the grief had subsided and his heart and mind turned off any and all traces of humanity — to protect himself.

You saw three days fly by. Three days of this broken child sitting alone and the video ended with the bear sitting in the exact same corner of his bedroom and Kyungsoo sitting motionless by the window.

But, what had happened before this? You had seen nothing that was significant at all. A bit of a child playing, you recalled from the earlier playback, and then the bear was left somewhere without him for a while.

You replayed the day again after the video finished copying into the hard drive of the laptop, moving at twice the speed to save on time. There was some movement as the camera traveled and it changed hands. You saw different shoes and the camera moved between a few different people until it landed into the hands of someone who wore a suit — security of the house, or a butler perhaps and then the view was simply Him, in his room, shell shocked and destroyed.

This tape didn’t have any incriminating evidence against the young child and definitely didn’t show a murder. If anything it showed a complete failure on the part of any of the adults in his life to give enough of a shit about him to protect him, to protect his heart, to help him overcome the soul crushing grief of losing a parent.

What you saw was neglect.

What you saw was apathy and it was criminal.

It made you feel sick to your stomach and the image of that small child sitting alone sat in the back of your eyeballs for a long while after the tape quit playing and the screen of your laptop timed out and shut off.

The regret came to your first. It surged up fast and hot inside of your chest and you felt the tremble in your lips and the burning in your eyes a split second before you felt the wave of guilty water coat over the top of your head.

This?

Had this been it?

Had you been sent on a wild goose chase by May and Sehun to occupy you, to destroy the faith you had in Kyungsoo and to weaken the union the two of you would make?

Had you really destroyed the man you loved, for this? A video of his pain and his grief after losing his mother?

You had been so sure. It was May. Your May. You loved her, she was your very best friend and she had never once lied to you before. Sinful secrets with Sehun aside, this was May!

The image of that little boy flashed into your mind once more and you closed your eyes tight, feeling the unshed tears slip down your face.

When you opened them again, the silence of your own room bore down on you, heavy and destitute. You looked around your large and empty space and the clocks on the wall talked to each other with out of sync ticks, leaving you out of their inside jokes.

You were alone.

You’d lost May.

You’d lost Kyungsoo.

The silence was stifling.

How could you even begin to repair this?

If you spent the rest of your life apologizing for what you’d done, would he ever forgive you?

Maybe if you returned the tape. Maybe if you told him the truth about May. Maybe if you fell down to your knees and begged his forgiveness. Maybe if you vowed to sacrifice your entire life for him.

The sour mood dragged you down fast and you reached for the damned tape, angrily popping it out of the player and gripping it hard inside of your hand. This thing that had been dangled in front of your gullible face and you had fallen for every word so easily.

Your thoughts were a jumble of anger, guilt, loneliness, sadness. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to talk to somebody, but you had no one. Not a single person inside the walls of this enormous palace who was on your side. No one who was a friend.

Their faces flashed through your mind and with each pass through every single member of the royal family and even through the help, even May, even Ara when you began to feel a little too desperate, one face in particular kept returning to you.

One person who felt, somehow, different than the others

One person who was closer. Who you had already cried in front of once, maybe even twice. One person who was just as lost and confused with even being alive. Perhaps you could run some of your thoughts by him. Perhaps you didn’t have to go into exact details, if you just left out some incriminating details.

You raised your hand to knock on the door.

You didn’t even have a hard time finding his place this time. Although you couldn’t be sure of his motivations with Sehun and with May, you at least trusted him enough to be your alibi. You at least had some faith in him as a friend. Maybe he would be too drunk to be any use. Maybe you could spill all of your secrets to him and he wouldn’t remember them in the morning.

When Baekhyun pulled the door open you took note of a few things immediately. He was wide awake, at three in the morning. And even though he was wide awake so late, Baekhyun was completely sober.

“Oh. Hello,” he said softly, without much of the usual fire and mischief that usually sat inside of his eyes, Baekhyun looked into your face with a little cock of his head and a tiny smile on his lips.

He looked at you for a moment and the tilt of his head straightened out as he pulled the front door of his room open further and he took a step back, clearing the way for you to come inside of his home.

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you,” you said softly and he shook his head just a tiny bit. His stance was inviting and you found your legs carrying you through the threshold, stepping lightly into his foyer where you slipped out of your shoes.

You didn’t understand why you felt so at ease with Baekhyun.

Perhaps it was the ultra casual way he looked at you and spoke with you. Although not an equal by any means, he was a self proclaimed bastard with no prospects. You were, down to your DNA, a rightful heir to a kingdom and he was...well, he was…

“Let me guess…” Baekhyun began speaking slowly the moment his eyes left your face and watched down at your feet as you slipped into the slippers you found there.

You looked up into his face when he didn’t immediately guess and you found his eyes tossed up into the air with a finger poised against his face, deep in thought and you scoffed out a tiny chuckle. Your first of the day.

“Umm...cold feet?” His teeth bared with the last syllable and his lips pursed into a small pout when you sighed and shook your head, inhaling a breath ready to speak, to answer him, to come up with some excuse as to why you would show up at his door in the middle of the night, two — actually, now, one full day before your wedding day.

“No, no..let me guess,” he spoke before you could get any words out and he was taking smaller steps into his home as you followed behind him.

It was clean this time. Gone was the booze filled kiddie pool that had occupied the living room the last time you came. You didn’t see a single empty liquor bottle or empty can of beer and all the rooms around you had open doors and they all looked to be unoccupied with sleeping hookers. There wasn’t a single speck of white powder on any of the shiny surfaces of the home and the place smelled as clean as it looked.

He sat down on the sofa and tucked his feet under himself, patting the seat directly beside him for you to sit down as well and you did as you were told. There was a weariness that washed over you as you sat down and you leaned against the plush sofa feeling like you might never be able to get up again if you stayed here for too long.

Baekhyun inhaled sharply and snapped his fingers in front of him, a charming smile widened across his face.

“I’ve got it!” You were pretty sure he didn’t have it, but his enthusiasm was adorable and you felt another tiny chuckle leave your chest. “You have come to the extremely correct conclusion that you have picked the wrong prince to marry and have come to take me up on my many offers.”

You had leaned your head back against the sofa and closed your eyes just for a little while and his guess made you smile right before you opened your eyes back up again to look at his face and let him down gently.

A small head shake was all it took to drop the raised eyebrow from his face and pull his wide triumphant smile into more of a thoughtful pout.

“Okay, I give up. Tell me.”

“Are all you done guessing now?” The smile remained on your lips simply because it was him. He had a power inside of him to lift your darkest moods.

“What’s the point,” he shrugged, “if you aren’t here to run away with me.” He was kidding, of course. You could hear it in the easy delivery and flippantly dismissive words. This was Baekhyun’s charm. Nothing bothered him. Nothing ever destroyed him completely. He was Prince Baekhyun. The nation’s trouble maker. The illegitimate bastard of the king and, who was it again? The rumors had been harsh. Did those words roll off his back as easily as everything else did? 

The son of a whore.

“I just needed a friend, Baekhyun.” Your voice betrayed a bit of your weariness with the sigh that preceded your declaration and Baekhyun had gone quite still and quiet beside you when you said it.

Baekhyun, who was, at his very core, a fidgety person, had gone still and when you opened your eyes again he was watching you without a smile on his face and with what had to be a look of confusion in his eyes.

“A friend?” He said it so low, had he not been completely still you might have missed it.

You nodded once, not quite understanding the odd look you saw on his face.

“...and that friend is...” he was squinting at you now, with his head turned and not quite looking at you head on anymore but his hand was up again and one shaking finger was pointed toward his own chest. With his mouth he shaped out the word me but he didn’t actually say it out loud.

“You,” you said with a bit more conviction than you thought was necessary and the squinting evened out into the regular confused look he had on his face at the beginning of this friend talk.

“Do you… do you need money? Or do you maybe… need a fix of something…” he was running through the possibilities out loud now. “Or maybe…”

Was this really such a stretch to him? 

“No, Baekhyun. I don’t need anything from you. Just — I just wanted to see a friend. I promise, that’s all.” He was watching your face carefully. Probably still judging your words for their honesty and after a bit of silence you felt the characteristic tremble of his legs shaking as he resumed all of his usual fidgety behavior. 

While you hadn’t exactly been Miss Popular in your life, you had at least had May, but something about Baekhyun’s reaction made you a tad uneasy. Why was you offering your friendship such a far-fetched idea?  Maybe he didn’t like your company. Maybe it was unwanted. 

“If...that’s okay with you.” You supplied sheepishly, suddenly losing what little confidence you had in this plan. “I just thought that we seemed to get along.” 

Baekhyun inhaled and exhaled a long slow breath before angling his torso toward where you offered your flawed but no-strings-attached friendship to him.

 “Okay,” he said once and his head bobbed forward as if he danced to the beat of a song that wasn’t playing.

“Okay. A friend. I have a friend.” 

You offered a grin in response and breathed in a steadying breath. But it wasn’t enough. You felt the strange awkwardness that coated the back of your tongue and Baekhyun cleared his throat nervously and looked away from your face now. 

Perhaps this was just a little new to you. What exactly did friends do with each other anyway? 

Talk? Watch movies together and play games together? Joke around and laugh together? Sit awkwardly on a sofa and avoid eye contact until one of you slips and catches the other one looking and has to cover his mouth to keep from spitting out in anxious laughter. 

Baekhyun was giggling now and you bit down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing along too loudly. It took a moment for some of the awkwardness to fade and even then you felt the need to spark up some sort of conversation to ease into this new friendship.

“Baekhyun, can I ask you something?” You slipped into it a moment after his giggles died down and he looked up from the nail polish he had been scraping off of his nails. 

“Oh God, you do want money,” he said immediately without missing a beat and you laughed and rolled your eyes at the question. 

“Why did you help Sehun out?” 

It wasn’t a selfish question to ask. Not entirely. You were genuinely curious about why someone who had nothing to gain from it, would put his life on the line by going against the queen. By lying to the throne and for the part he played in faking May’s death like that. 

Baekhyun was quiet for a moment and stuck a finger inside his mouth, now using his teeth to scrape off the remains of the pink polish. 

“Well, there’s a baby, you know.” He finally said with a shrug. “Somebody should take care of the baby. It’s not like they have any say in this.” 

He had moved on to the next finger and bits of dried polish sat scattered all over his lap. 

“Babies are innocent. And he shouldn’t lose his mother just because of who his father is.” 

You nodded your head, not bringing to his attention his slip of calling the baby a he. Even though this early in the pregnancy, the gender of the baby still couldn’t be determined even with advanced ultrasounds. 

You felt too exhausted to correct him and who knows, maybe Baekhyun knew something about it that you didn’t. 

You looked around with your sleepy eyes, noting how every single light in this place was on and you could see a stack of boxes off toward the side of his kitchen. Close to the room you had been in the last time you visited. The only clean room in the house at the time. From what you could see from your view on the sofa, it seemed like the walls might be a different color in there. 

“Why are you awake so late? What were you doing?”

Baekhyun followed your eyes and looked behind him toward the strangely pristine room that he kept in his home. 

“I’m redecorating.” 

He declared it with a wide smile; abandoning his quest to rid himself of the pink nail polish with his teeth. He stood up from the sofa becoming re-interested in what you had interrupted with your arrival. 

“You wanna come and help me pick? I can’t decide on which curtains I want to use.” 

You welcomed the distraction and rose to follow him into the bedroom which you swore had been completely brand new and unused the last time you’d seen it. You knew what packaging creases looked like on pillow cases. You even smelled the new walls back then; just a touch of fresh paint, covered with some pretty scent in a warmer on the dresser. 

When you stepped inside the room, the color on the walls was indeed different and even the flooring which once had a soft plush carpeting had been replaced with polished wood. 

The furniture was brand new and sitting just enough away from the walls to tell you that the soft blue he had selected wasn’t quite dry enough for anything to be resting up against it.

He grabbed two packages from atop the brand new, plastic covered mattress and held them up for you to see. One was a shade darker than the other, with a gentle striped pattern and the other was sheer bright white. Honestly, either would look perfectly fine with the color of the walls and you shrugged and pointed to the sheer curtains. 

“Can’t go wrong with natural light,” you said and he flung the rejected curtains out of the door and began to rip with his teeth at the packaging around the new curtains you chose. 

You noticed he still had a speck of bright pink nail polish stuck to his bottom lip and you leaned in close with your fingers outstretched to carefully pluck the pink off. He stopped moving his mouth just long enough for your fingertips to come into contact with his skin and the moment you felt the warmth of him you heard the gasp of breath from his surprise. You saw the widening of his eyes too and they crossed as he tried to look down at your hand descending on his face. 

Had you made a mistake? You didn’t think that touching would be off limits but Baekhyun sure seemed surprised enough by the motion.

Nevertheless you got the bit of pesky pink off his lip and it was stuck to your finger now. You held it up for him to see what you had been after but he was staring at your face with a far away look inside his eyes

“You had some nail pol—”

Your words were cut off when he leaned into you quickly and covered your mouth with his own. 

Baekhyun was kissing you on the lips. He was kissing you, why? What? It came as such a shock that you had a one second where every bit of rational thinking just stopped. It was a genuine surprise; you were frozen with it and when the warmth of his exhale, through his nose passed over your face, it signaling for you to wake up and do something about this. 

You pulled yourself away from him, and you lifted both of your hands to lay over his chest. The push was slight, and the second your lips left his he took a step back and away from you. 

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately and there was a look of genuine surprise in his eyes as he lifted his hand up to his own face. He covered his parted lips and you saw a trembling in his hands. 

“Baekhyun, what—”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t know...I’m not good at this. Shit,” the trembling in his hands was worse the more he apologized and you saw wetness inside his eyes. “You’re not going to leave, are you? I’m sorry, I fucked up. I won't do it again. Please, I’m sorry. Don't leave.”

He sounded like he was close to panicking with the shaking you saw and the first drop of wetness you saw on his cheek. 

“Baekhyun, it’s okay,” you said over the rambling he was doing and he closed his eyes tightly and laid a hand over his chest in some attempt to control his reaction.

“Baekhyun, it was a mistake, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you.” You reached out your hands for him, coming just short of touching him and his breathing was fast as his face screwed together with a look of intense discomfort. 

“What—” He panted through gritted teeth and his eyes were closed tightly. “—do you want from me?”

“Baekhyun, I don’t want anything. I just wanted to see you, that’s all. I promise!” There was only so many times you could say it before the frustration of his misunderstanding your intentions with him became too much. 

“People want drugs, or favors, or money, or sex from me,” he raised his voice suddenly and spun on his heels to face you and his eyes were wide and red from the heightened emotions running through him. 

You shook your head, insisting that you had no such intentions in approaching him tonight. But the seriousness that you saw in his eyes took away the frustration you’d been feeling. In its place, a new emotion was surging through you. 

It was worry. You looked at him in a new light now. Seeing the anxious energy that was radiating off of him. The fidgeting and the rapid speech. The trembling in his hands and the tears that slipped out of his eyes even as he blinked fast, trying to dry them, trying to fight this, you softened your voice to him and reached for him, at last.

You felt the warmth of his arm and gripped a hand lightly around his bicep. He was tense and his muscles were clenched down hard, yet when you touched him, he did not flinch away from you. 

“Baek, are you okay? When is the last time you slept? Did you eat today?” 

With your touch, his breathing began to slow and he blinked much slower. There was a pause in his movement and you felt the weight of him lean against your arm. The signal of his acceptance of your comfort made you open your arm and pull him in, wrapping an arm around his back to rub and shush calming circles over his shirt. 

“I—I have to finish this.” He signaled around the room with a free hand and on his voice was the kind of hopelessness that only came to someone who had been futilely working on something until four in the morning. 

“Why do you have to finish it tonight? Can’t it wait until tomorrow, Baek?”

He looked at your face now, his nose pink and his eyes red and bloodshot. He was blinking his eyelids hard as he looked at your face for a long while before he inhaled a breath and lifted his face, suddenly focusing on your face and his expression changed into one of mild surprise. 

Then he looked around the room again. It felt like you’d lost him for a moment and he suddenly realized who you were when he looked at you that way. 

“I—I….don’t know, I’ve always tried to get it done as soon as possible. It has to always be ready. Every moment when it’s not ready is a waste.” 

His words held so much conviction, you did not doubt that he believed this to be completely true. But, why?

“Ready for what? It was brand new before, why did you have to re-do it? What are you getting it ready for?”

His head was shaking halfway through your line of questioning and he was taking a step away from the comfort of your arms that still tried to rub gently over his back.

“No. No. Not for what. For who.” 

As bizarre at this evening had become at this point you didn’t believe he could have said anything that would make today any stranger. 

At least you weren’t alone. If Baekhyun wanted to repaint and decorate and entire house tonight you would be his own personal decision maker if it meant you didn’t have to go back to your place and be all alone 

“She didn’t come before, and it wasn’t good enough. When she comes it must be perfect. I think the blue should be perfect this time.”

You weren’t following. Did he have an ex girlfriend that had demanded that he change something for her? 

The silence on your face and the way you looked at him with a head shake to indicate that you did not understand got him moving again and he looked right into your face now. 

“I’m not crazy,” he said firmly and he bit down on the inside of his bottom lip and did not let the eye contact that he held with you fall. 

“Baekhyun, who is this for?” You’d had enough of the cryptics and the exhaustion of the day was smacking you against the head right now. You didn’t have time for anymore games. He had to quit this and go to sleep. He was making you sleepy with his non stop messing and fussing over the room when it was becoming increasingly evident that he just needed a good night’s sleep. 

“Hey,” you tried again, reaching for his arm now. He gave it to you easily and closed his eyes when you pulled him. “It’ll be okay if you finish this tomorrow. It already looks great. I’m sure she will love it when she comes. She might even like helping you put up the finishing touches.” You felt like you were talking to a young child at this point. He moved his legs where you led him and you saw his face calm over as he sighed a long breath of defeat. 

“But, what if Mom comes tonight? When I’m asleep?” He said softly and you had managed to pull him into the living room, toward what you assumed was his own bedroom. 

When he said that word the exhaustion that had been coating every inch of your skin faded your focus on his face sharpened. His eyes were closed and he was swaying on his feet. He looked ready to drop and you… You were having a hard time with that word he had said because of what you knew to be an absolute fact about Byun Baekhyun. 

“I’m not crazy,” he said again softly when he caught you looking at him again. 

And though you hated to think of him in such a way, you were having more and more trouble with this project of his now. 

Because you’d read all of the articles in the newspaper after it happened. And you heard the rumors and gossip spreading through the palace. Everyone knew it. It was a fact. There was never any doubt about what happened to her.

Worse than the hideous words they called him were the words they attached to the woman. 

That’s what they all said. There was a funeral. 

She threw herself into the sea. Prince Byun Baekhyun, the son of a dead whore. 

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

#exo #kyungsoo #exo fanfic #kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo series #do kyungsoo #exo fic #kyungsoo fic #exo angst #kyungsoo angst #exo series #chaptered #exo chaptered #kyungsoo chaptered #fic #ff #exo ff #ksoo #ksoo fic #ksoo ff #kyungsoo ff #kyungsoo fanfiction #fanfiction #exo kyungsoo #kyungsoo exo #exo kyungsoo fanfiction #angst #series #scenario #exo scenario

[kisipie]

‘Just Sorry?’ A Mini Series (Chapter 12/??)

Author’s Note: After an extremely long hiatus I’ve finally updated this series. Thank you to everyone who has kept an interest in this story. It really means a lot to me. Enjoy the read~  Warnings: Following chapters will contain violence, mentions of drugs usage, sexual situations, daddy kink, rough sex and angst.  Previous Chapter: 11

“Jaebum….Jaebum…Come on you can’t be serious right now I have to study”. 

“But it’s been weeks since we’ve been alone.” 

I know it’s been weeks but I really have to pass this nursing mid term. If not whose going to patch you up after your next fight with Yongguk?” 

The soft giggle coming from the girl across from Jaebum made him want to grab the nearest pillow and fling it at her. But he couldn’t resist seeing the sparkles that seemed to dance across the young woman’s eyes as he looked at her. 

Reina. 

The only person in this world who knew Jaebum better than he knew himself. The pair had crossed each other’s paths the first night of spring back in 2014. The newest member to Yongguk’s team had been invited to the leader’s annual spring bash. Not only was the party a great way for the men to be entertained but it was also easier for the leader to find out who could keep a level head when things got too tense. Gambling and alcohol was one of the party’s main activities and with those two came many arguments that soon turned into physical altercations. Jaebum wasn’t much of  a gambler nor a drinker. But he did allow himself a couple of drinks to loosen up. As the brunette sat back and scanned the clubs scenery he couldn’t help but to notice a particular girl standing a few feet away at table with a group of what seemed to be her close girl friends. Her hair was curled with auburn highlights in at one moment black hair but when the flashing lights hit it Jae could tell it was definitely a deep brown. Instead of the classic tight dress he saw most girls wearing at the club, se had chosen to wear a oversized denim jacket over a fitted sharking  sliver crop tank top and black fitted jeans . Her lips were glossed just enough to be seen through the darkness of the room and her eyes were decorated with a simple black eyeliner. The brunette must have been staring too long because he noticed one of her friends nudging the girl at her side to signal that she was being checked out. Eyes locking with hers; Jaebum was given a welcoming smile and nod by the other. Using that as a sign to go over and talk to the enticing stranger, he politely waited for the right moment to tap her shoulder and engage in a conversation. “I haven’t seen you around Yonnguk’s Clubs before. Must be a newbie huh?” The girl spoke first as she extended her hand out. “I’m Reina…And you are?” Taken back by not having the first introduction. Jaebum quickly collected himself and pulled his lips back into his confident smile as he shook her hand “I’m Jaebum…Ah, but I hate the word newbie. It makes me feel like a freshman in high school or something.” Gaining a smile from Reina as a response. He moved closer to her as his shoulder brushed against her bare one. Just a slight touch but it was enough to make Jaebum’s hairs raise from sudden goosebumps. “Well I’ll let my cousin know that. But I can’t assure you that’ll work; he’s a real dick” Renia laughed at her own words and looked over towards the bar to see Yongguk with his arm around a girl who she was sure he didn’t even know what her name was. Rolling her eyes and taking a quick sip of her rum and coke Reina looked up at Jaebum not surprised to see the shock in his face. “Yeah I know…. A real cockblock right?” She joked which made the other laugh even though he was still quite thrown off but the new found information. “So you’re the cousin he always tells everyone to look out for. He did mention your name before but I should punch myself for not putting two and two together. Jaebum responded but the interest he had in the young woman didn’t go away one bit. Being even more confident in his movements he placed his drink next to hers as he extended his hand out. “Now  I definitely have to see what the fuss is all about. Care to show me some dance moves?” Reina looked the other up and down for a few seconds before looking over at Yonnguk once more. Instead of his attention being on the girl in his lap as he was now seated comfortable in a booth. His eyes were on his cousin. Cocking his eyebrow up surprised to see her with one of his newest recruits, he usually didn’t like the thought of Reina dealing with someone he worked with but Jaebum was different than the rest. Only being with his team for 9 months. Jaebum had already been pulling in double of what Yongguk’s senior members were pulling for drug dealing. That’s what happens when a young rich teenage boy with equally wealthy friends decides to give the fast life a chance. Yongguk never really understood the reason why a kid with such a bright future would want to cross paths with him but all he knew that if Jaebum kept bringing in revenue like he was doing the past few months Yongguk might have a prodigy in the making.. Getting a quick nod of approval from her cousin, Reina smirked and accepted Jaebum’s dance proposal. Within seconds the two were on the dance floor. Bodies pressed close against one other, Jaebum knew he had to find out more about her. Reina had a confidence about her that made him shiver. The pure fire he could see through her eyes could burst anyone into flames if she desired and that made him hooked. “I would like to spend more time with you” Reina whispered into young man’s ear as she pressed her ass so she could feel his bulge that she knew was already there. “Just let me know a time and place beautiful.” Jaebum responded to her moves as his hands wrapped firmly around waist. Pulling her into him as they swayed to the beat, he leaned close against her neck just enough to inhale the scent what seemed to be something floral with a hint of spice to it. A mixture9 of some sort. Not daring to kiss her skin, he wanted her to tell him what to do. She was definitely in control and they both knew it. “How about within the next twenty minutes in my apartment?” She turned to look at Jaebum and smirked when he stopped his movements but his hands stayed wrapped around her frame.  Leaning in to have his lips brush briefly against hers, he could feel his dick hardening at the thought of getting her alone.

“Let’s go then.”

___

“So you’re in school for nursing? That’s pretty fucking cool” Jaebum spoke out as his left index fingers slowly traced the soft outline of Reina’s spine. Messy strands of hair sticking to the girl’s forehead, her hands held a pillow against her naked chest as she laughed. “Cool?! I’ve been losing my hair stressing over school work. That’s what I get for wanting to be a good person” She joked but the slight redness of her cheeks gave away that she was happy for the other’s compliment. “Thank you though. It’s my second year in this program and I still feel like I have so much to learn. Which I do. I  mean- I want to learn as much as I can to help someone.” She went on and attempted to fix her hair but the strands went right back against her face. “I’ve wanted to be a nurse since I was 12. It’s the only thing I could actually see actually working out for me.” A soft smile made it way to Jae’s face. He couldn’t help but to picture a young Reina on career day stating her goals to her classmates with the same determined look on her face that she wore now. “Well I know you’re going to be a great nurse. I can sense it” He replied as he allowed himself to stare at the other a few more seconds than needed. “Thanks” Reina replied before the two sat in a comfortable silence. With that silence, there  was a shift in the air that Jaebum felt.  An excitement of the unknown that waited for them once the sun made it’s way back into the sky. Jaebum knew he didn’t want the encounter with Reina to be a one night thing and he could only hope she felt the same. Sneaking a glance at the girl, his eyes traced over the lines of her neck, the soft curves of her cheeks and the plumpness of her lips as he recalled the first kiss they had shared only a few hours ago. Before he knew it, the sun was making itself known to the world as the birds nearby welcomed it. Taking it upon himself to start getting dressed as Reina was still trying to fix her hair; Jaebum was about to grab his shirt before her voice stopped him. “So….Breakfast?” He heard her say but he couldn’t  tell if she was nervous or just tired. However,  once he looked at her. The same excitement and curiosity or what the future could hold was sparked in her eyes just as it was with him. Placing his shirt back to where it once was, he nodded and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Breakfast” Silence Unlike most people in the house, Jackson loved to be alone for at least 2 hours throughout the day. It allowed him to center his mind and body after a long day of work and to also mentally prepare for the following day. Being the right hand to Jaebum could be mentally draining at times. Especially now that he would be working with Yongguk. The blonde knew everything he needed to know about the leader of group X and didn’t like any of it. Especially what went down between Jaebum, Reina and him.  When Jackson first agreed to work with Jaebum, he already obtained all the evidence he needed about the other. It was amazing the knowledge a little asking around the right people in Seoul could get him. Jaebum went from drug dealing with the gang ‘X’ for three years to building his construction company that seemed to grow into a powerful million dollar company within a year. Of course such a quick growth raised a few eyebrows with authorities but with the power of Jaebum’s uncle being the head of Seoul’s Police Department. He was able to turn a blind eye to the brunette’s risky past in order to keep the family’s name clean (And a yearly donation of $100,000 to the department didn’t hurt). Even with all this information,  the blonde agreed to keep Jaebum’s company reputation intact as along as he was able to advise the young CEO on future business deals from what first started off to be for China but soon turned into him handling both China and South Korea’s deals. It was a lot of work but the pay and friendship that came with working with Jaebum and the five other young men was something he wouldn’t change for the world. He truly gained six brothers within the Im Company However, these days things were different. Never would he thought Jaebum would work with Yongguk again. Not after everything that’s happened between the two. But here he was looking over the camera just like Jaebum had done before to make sure none of the X boys had done anything stupid. Everything about this situation was unethical but when was observing workers sneaking drugs into the company’s warehouse was? He had already went through the plan with Jaebum after they briefly spoke a few days ago . The deal was simple. Yongguk would use Im Warehouse to store 10  grates of cocaine that would be sold within the month to a few of his business partners. Jackson suggested that Jaebum get the names of the buyers but the other refused. It was to be a one time thing only. No need to know everything the gang leader was doing. “I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this right now” Jackson cursed but kept his gaze on the computer not wanting to miss a single second of what was going on. ‘X’ members Jongup, Daehyun and Zelo had one more grate to unload. If an ordinary person was to watch the screen they would tell the blonde he was crazy for watching his employees work so hard for over an hour from his home office but Jackson knew better. One wrong step and the whole company would be shut down. Thankfully everything was happening after hours and it was only the three men in the warehouse to witness the grates being stored. Once the items were placed in a dark corner of the warehouse that would get confused with the other inventory. Daehyun wrapped them in several layers of plastic and placed a paper that read “PURCHASE ON HOLD” which was a sign for other employees not to move until instructed. A soft sigh of relief left Jackson’s lips as he watched the ‘worker’s exit the warehouse to most likely report back to their boss. Pulling out his phone, his right thumb tapped against the device as free hand grabbed his jacket then turned off the computer. 

[Text: Jaebum] It’s done. This better be the last time. I mean it Jae I don’t like this at all.

With the text sent, Jackson could only hope his best friend knew what he was doing. If not, things were only going to get worse. But he couldn’t let Jaebum’s greediness jeopardize the plans he had in store. Especially for him and Y/N.

#got7 scenarios #got7 smut #jaebum smut #jaebum scenarios #got7 #jackson scenarios #Jackson smut #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #Kisipie: Update

[morningsound15]

I agree with you that the whole political system in the US is rotten to its core. I don't know what it is, but it's not a democracy. And yes, Biden won't bring the structural change that's needed. However, don't you think it'll be easier to get any change at all if after the election we get a blue house, senate and president? (Not to mention the supreme court seats won't fall into Republican's hands.) I mean, at least this way there's a chance progressives can get some of their causes through.

okay, so this is like the only ask i’m going to answer about this because i do NOT want this page to turn into this, this blog is the only part of the entire internet for me that isn’t entirely devoted to politics, organizing, radical education, theory, community-building, mutual aid, agitation, etc. i do that on literally every other social media platform and i do not want to do it here. that said i will answer this ask, i guess, though not exactly in the way you asked it i’m just gonna dump my thoughts on electoralism & this election here and i apologize in advance for how long this is going to be

to your general ask: yes, some people believe that. that is a reason many people are participating in this election (i go into that further down). my objection is not to the idea of participating in this election, the idea of voting, or the idea of voting for joe biden. it’s the entire framing of the situation & it’s the complete disregard for any people who have decided not to participate in this election, or who have decided to participate in this election & not vote for joe biden (i am NOT talking about republicans or trump supporters, that is a party of fascists & white supremacists & i am NOT talking about them, i’m talking about young people and the disaffected left). i’ll explain (under the cut so it doesn’t clutter y’alls feeds & so hopefully i won’t get as much hate because if there’s one thing i know it’s that no one on the internet reads)

what i object to is the framing of joe biden as anything less than an active enemy of the left & progressives. (the left & progressives are not the same thing, but they are both to the left of the dem party so i am putting them together for the sake of this argument but progressives are not leftists, though some leftists do describe themselves as progressives & vice versa, just want to put that out there to start.)

what i object to is the framing of joe biden as an ally. this kind of “at least he is willing to be pushed” “at least he’s already been pushed to the left by progressives” “at least he’s willing to listen & maybe with enough pressure we can get him where he needs to be!” “at least maybe a biden administration will support the policies we want them to!” because he’s not willing to learn, he’s not willing to help, he’s not willing to listen, he’s not willing to support progressive policies to tackle the healthcare/climate/war/imperialism crises or do any of that stuff. his policy goals, his entire campaign is basically to figure out what is the absolute bare MINIMUM thing he needs to do in order to say that he’s “moving the country in the right direction” so he can get elected & so he can get political cover from well-meaning but ultimately extremely sheltered dem figureheads while at the same time actively standing in the way of any real reform, progress, change, abolition, justice, etc. that’s his goal, he’s been very clear about that fact, i do not need to go into all the ways he’s already said & proved that! it’s obvious in his speeches, in the entire dnc (i watched every night of the dnc hoping for someone to lay out a good reason for me to vote for biden & i came up with 0 thanks democratic party), the people he has running his campaign, the donors he has, the lobbyists he hires to write his policy platform, the way he cozies up to billionaires, racists, segregationists, war criminals, and the way he always has in order to ‘maintain the order of politics’ & it’s gross & we don’t really need to go into it. he’s a capitalist, he’s a corporatist, he takes $$ from pharmaceutical companies and oil lobbyists and he is not a good person. BUT! many progressives know this and believe this, & still are voting for him. that is fine.

but we have to remember that joe biden is not our friend, he is not our ally, he is an enemy of the left, he is an active obstacle stopping us from achieving what we want to achieve (liberation, equality, justice, the dismantling of capitalism). so let’s not get it fucking twisted, like we need to be clear about that from the jump. we shouldn’t talk about him like he wants those things, like he’ll help us achieve those things, because he doesn’t, and he won’t, so we do not need to talk about him like he does. it is damaging to the progressive left of the democratic party to talk about biden like he’ll help us achieve any of our goals, because he won’t. we will need to fight just as hard if not HARDER under a biden administration to get the things we want, because we’ll be fighting with the people supposedly in our own party too, and they (along with the political machine they worship & kill themselves to support) are going to do everything they can to demonize and push out the young progressive diverse left, to break their spirits & destroy the political potential of the few politicians they actually do like, because that’s what they’ve always done, because the progressive left represents a threat to institutional capitalist white supremacist power. so our job would not be EASIER under a biden administration. it will just be different. we have to be very clear about that when we talk about what might happen in november.

now, that’s NOT TO SAY that there are not good reasons people have for voting for joe biden. i’m not telling people not to vote for joe biden and i am not telling people not to vote. that’s not what i’m saying. you just have to understand what this country is, what these politicians are, what they want, and what they are going to do to achieve what they want. just don’t lie about it. and only when you understand all of that can you make a truly informed decision about this upcoming election.

you can support joe biden for a lot of reasons. there are a lot of people whose politics don’t align with mine who want me to vote for joe biden, and there are people whose politics do align with mine who are making the choice to vote for joe biden. and the things that the latter group says, stuff that i find persuasive, is stuff like “joe biden is an enemy. donald trump is also an enemy. putting joe biden into office is better for the cause of liberation/leftists/revolution because he is a weaker enemy. he is a weaker opponent. we might be able to do things with him in office to help us tinker with the way our system is structured that will ultimately be for the benefit of the true left wing of this country, which will help future political actors survive in our rigged electoral system and maybe actually gain & maintain political power.” (stuff like abolishing the filibuster, getting rid of the electoral college, packing the courts, systemic changes that we need to make if we want to wrest control of this broken political system from the hands of fascists and white supremacists - many of whom sit inside the democratic party too, so let’s not get that twisted. all of these proposed changes, by the way, it’s important to note (unless i’m incorrect which i don’t think i am) joe biden doesn’t openly support or advocate for ANY of them, so let’s not get THAT twisted either.)

here’s the argument i think you’re making anon, from the mouth of comrade Angela Davis (libs love to weaponize angela davis’ words on biden without comprehending any of her politics or supporting her abolitionist policy positions, also there are other abolitionists who do not agree with davis here but i digress):

“In our electoral system as it exists, neither party represents the future that we need in this country. Both parties remain connected to corporate capitalism. But the election will not be so much about who gets to lead the country to a better future, but rather how we can support ourselves and our ability to continue to organize and place pressure on those in power. And I don’t think there’s a question about which candidate would allow that process to unfold… if we want to continue this work, we certainly need a person in office who will be more amenable to our mass pressure. And to me, that is the only thing that someone like Joe Biden represents.”

i don’t know if i fully agree with that argument per se! but i understand it, and i think it’s valid and valuable, and i understand arguments like that, and they are persuasive to me in many ways. because the republican party maintaining power is the way we slow-march into fascism, but also the democratic party getting/maintaining power is the way that we continue to slow-march to neoliberal destruction of the planet. so they’re both bad, obviously. but there are people who think (maybe they’re right! i’m swayed by this argument) that the biden administration would be easier to manipulate, easier to transform, than a trump administration.

(the counter-argument would maybe be that there are a lot of fucking liberals paying attention & even showing up in the streets right now because donald trump is the president, and if donald trump is no longer the president they’re gonna go home and be quiet and go back to brunch and close their eyes and plug their ears like they did with obama, just like they did during standing rock and ferguson and occupy, and be like “oh kamala harris wore CHUCKS on an AIRPLANE look at how COOL she is don’t you remember when there was a COOL war criminal in the white house?” there are people who are going to do that if biden/harris win, and that’s risky to me! like that is a risk we need to be talking about. i see that as dangerous. now, that’s not to say that’s more or less dangerous than what we currently have, it’s just a different kind of danger we need to be cognizant & wary of. and it’s people who post statuses like “fuck you all if you don’t vote for biden you privileged snowflake how dare you look at everything biden’s ever said done or promised he will do and decide that you don’t like that and you don’t want a part of it how dare you you fucking cuck you fucking idiot you support fucking fascists you fucking idiot” who make me lose my mind because like shut up! you don’t know what you’re talking about. there are people who know what they’re talking about who have decided they’re going to vote for joe biden and there’s people who know what they’re talking about who have decided they are not going to vote for joe biden, and you know what they don’t do? they don’t fucking fight each other, they don’t attack each other, they understand & support the reasons their comrades have for taking the action they are taking. and that is just what this is about. stop yelling at people that you don’t know who are making choices you don’t understand just because you don’t understand their choices.)

(this is even assuming biden will win, which is unlikely, or that trump will relinquish power, which is unlikely, or that there will be a peaceful transference of power and not a full-scale right-wing armed militia explosion of violence on american streets after november 3rd, so let’s all really be prepared for what might be coming in the next couple months!!!! all of these arguments mean next to nothing when we don’t even know what kind of violence awaits us in november)

it’s just psycho to think that joe biden is anything but an enemy. he is an enemy. and you can vote for an enemy and you can have your reasons for voting for an enemy, but don’t sell me shit and tell me it’s gourmet.

that’s mostly what i object to. the framing of this. and i’m not telling people not to vote for joe biden i’m not telling people not to vote. i think people should vote, because for those of us who are able & haven’t had that right stripped away from us or stolen from us by our own government, voting is easy, it’s literally the easiest thing that you can do because it’s also the LEAST politically effective thing that you can do. it’s like step fucking 1 because its impact is so low. that’s not a reason not to do it! that is not a reason not to do it. voting is important because any functioning society needs to have an engaged citizenry and an engaged electorate. now we don’t have that here, but you know what i’m saying. electoralism is a conditionally useful tool of enacting change and what we choose to do with that tool is an individual choice and there are people who are making different calculations than you, and they’re coming to different answers. and those people are often radicals, they’re often poor, they’re often black, or indigenous, or undocumented, or incarcerated. they’re often the most marginalized people in this society who are making these kinds of non-voting decisions, and it’s racist and misogynistic to assume that it’s all privileged white kids who are making that choice, because it isn’t, okay? it fucking isn’t.

and it’s so crazy because it’s always white cis libs who are talking about how important it is to get out and vote and to vote for people who aren’t like you and to vote for someone who isn’t you and it’s like, the black radicals i know are not voting for biden! they just aren’t. they do not see the electoral system or the fucking presidency as the thing that’s going to help & protect their communities. so instead they’re organizing on the ground, they’re distributing food & funds & housing comrades & fighting the police & helping elders shop and pick up medicine & making sure kids have internet access so they can go to school and that is what people are doing on the ground. they aren’t all up on instagram or tumblr sharing voting memes & telling people to hold their nose & “just vote for biden he’s the best choice we have” because they understand that for their communities, that’s not what liberation looks like. that’s y’all doing that goofy social media shit.

political power lies with the people always. the people collectively will prove whether or not the biden electoral strategy (of appealing to older, conservative/moderate, white voters in the midwest instead of young voters, poor voters, and voters of color all over the country, but i digress) is successful. whether or not his strategy is successful, the responsibility for the outcome of this election lies SOLELY with the biden campaign, capitalism, voter suppression, white supremacy, and our undemocratic election system — NOT the individual voters. know your enemy & know which system you need to fight. hint: it’s not apathetic or disengaged voters.

vote for whoever you want to vote for. don’t vote for trump, obviously, he’s a fascist do not vote for him. but for people who are not fascists or white supremacists, just try to understand what you’re doing and your position in the world & in this political system & act accordingly. not voting is not an excuse to do nothing; if you are choosing not to engage in electoral politics the expectation is you should be working twice as hard to make sustained impacts and improvements in your community. and if you ARE choosing to engage in electoral politics, the expectation is you should be working twice as hard to make sustained impacts and improvements in your community.

if what you think the liberation fight is is making sure you turn out at the ballot box on november 3rd, if that’s how you think you are being the most helpful, it isn’t and you’re not. you’re doing something, sure, and it’s not bad. like i did this, this was my job for a year, my job was to register voters and get young people to vote. i don’t have that job any more because i don’t believe that’s the solution. i just don’t believe it’s the solution. i don’t believe we should be talking about this upcoming election like it’s a solution, because it’s really just another problem we’re going to have to face and tackle, and we can’t talk about this election like anything is going to be solved if joe biden is president instead of trump because it’s not, and it won’t be, and these people are all our enemies, and we have to treat them like they are. that’s not to say don’t vote for them, if you understand all that & that is the decision you come to! just know what you’re voting for, and know what it means.

whatever, i’m not gonna keep going on this, rant over forever just had to spit that out somewhere and if i put that shit on my Facebook i would get unfriended by every white lib i went to high school with so fucking quick…

#now back to your regular programing #long post #rant #us politics #political rant #apologies 5ever for this #anonymous #asks

[valiantleigh]

What I Learned From 5 Years of Minimalism

The Beginning of  a Learning Curve

It all started with clothes. Oh boy, the clothes that 14-year-old Brenna chose to wear. Walking into Rue 21, determined to make all my fashion dreams come true, I‌ [un]wisely chose 3 pairs of brightly colored skinny jeans⁠—electric blue, shockingly emerald green, and maroon⁠—and cheaply made circle scarves and tops to match. This was it. This is how I would gain the “oohs” and “ahhs” and admiration of my fellow trendy Freshmen at Parowan High.

Eventually, the glamour wore off. Frustrated, I realized that rare shades of spunky green could only match with so many things. Dressing fashionably was more of a chore than I had ever wanted it to be, and somehow I still didn’t measure up to the girls around me. How would I‌ ever be comfortable with how I looked and achieve the effortless style I longed for?

Enter minimalism⁠—the worldwide movement touting the universal benefits of decluttering, downsizing, and “less is more.” Capsule wardrobes and black and white outfits seemed like the perfect solution to my personal style dilemma, and at age 15 I proudly declared myself to be a “minimalist.”

(If you are not familiar with the term “minimalism”, this article, and this article both give a good overview.)

I‌ began to devour every piece of minimalist literature and media I could find. I strategically began buying clothing that was guaranteed to pair well each day. I was ruthless as I decluttered my belongings and challenged myself to thrive with only the things that were necessary. Everything had to go. Frivolity and excess became enemies to my ideal of perfection.

At one point, I was successfully dressing myself for school each day with only 3 shirts, 2 pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of shoes, and one jacket to my name. Decided pickiness and a limited budget didn’t allow for much more, but at that time it was all about the numbers. I was proud of myself for proving it was possible to “live with less.”

But minimalism isn't strictly about clothing. It's a way of life. Mistakenly, I began to pattern myself after the lifestyle I saw on other people’s blogs and YouTube channels, convincing myself that this was my best life. Minimalism changed a lot of things for me: how I‌ viewed my time, my dream [tiny] house I‌ would build in college (ha! not happening), constant dissatisfaction with the untidiness of any room that wasn’t mine, and even how I‌ lived the gospel. Clearing the excess left me feeling empty instead of whole.

It took a little while but I finally realized that I‌ don’t want the smallest home possible; I don’t want to grow all my food and live off the grid; I‌ don’t want to constantly obsess over having the “right” stuff. And white walls and furniture? Forget it! I’m gonna be a mama, after all.

What I Got Wrong

In the end, minimalism wasn’t the solution to all my problems. For a young girl who felt that having full control over every detail of her life would bring the peace she desired, maybe minimalism wasn’t the best thing. However, looking back I wouldn’t give up the lessons I‌ learned about the relationship between possessions and my individual worth. While there was certainly a time that I cut out too much in order to live the lifestyle I‌ thought would save me, I have now kept the best parts of that journey and found balance and joy in more fulfilling ways.

So what are the best parts of minimalism? A few years ago, I totally missed the mark on that score. “Minimalism is a tool to rid yourself of life’s excess in favor of focusing on what’s important—so you can find happiness, fulfillment, and freedom.” (theminimalists.com, emphasis added) I, however, was using this tool as a justification for striving for unattainable flawlessness.

While I recount my past misunderstandings concerning minimalism, my goal is to dissuade you from it’s vices, not it’s actual tenets. Younger Brenna was reading words between the lines that weren’t meant to be there in the first place.

In fact, nearly every minimalist influencer out there pleads that newbies to the movement avoid conforming to any one way of using minimalism, especially if it isn’t right for them.

According to Colleen Valles of No Side Bar, “the beauty of minimalism” is that “there are no standards.”

“Minimalism is not about following someone else’s rules or way of living as a minimalist,” offers Melissa of Simple Lionheart Life. “It’s about figuring out what is important to you and getting rid of everything that’s distracting you from the important stuff.”

As I made this mental shift from a sort of utopian/restrictive minimalism to a mindful/carefree minimalism, here’s a few lessons I picked up on:

Lesson 1: When you find out what is really important to you, you’ll actually want it, and have a clear path to get it.

In this busy, busy world there is so much to choose from. With all of these choices vying for our attention, decision fatigue eventually leads to self doubt and feelings of failure.

But do we really even want the things that we choose on a daily basis? Do we want to scroll through our Instagram for 6 hours a day? Do we want to impress people whose opinions don’t matter to us anyway? Do we want to avoid things that might challenge us just because it is safe and easy? No one, when making a list of their priorities in life, even thinks about these things. They don’t make the Top 100!

So ask yourself, “What do I really want? And what is stopping me from obtaining it?” When I talk about actually wanting something, that includes taking the necessary action to reach for it and then make it a reality. This is different than saying something is a priority, or knowing something should be important to us.

You don't really want it unless you act like you want it.

A powerful gift that we have been given from our God is our ability to choose. By realizing what you really want and don’t want for your life, daily decision-making won't necessarily become easier, but it will certainly be simpler.

In my own life, instead of wearing certain styles of clothes to fit in or measure up to someone else, I‌ wear them because I‌ want to. I dress modestly because I want to. I‌ wear my vintage mom jeans because I look dang good in them, and because I‌ want to.

Instead of counting how many objects I own in order to fit into some made up ideal, I‌ keep it to the necessities because I want to. I‌ want my stuff to be organized, so I organize it, not worrying about how unorganized other people’s stuff is (because people are more important than stuff).

Once I figured out what I‌ really wanted, my life truly became mine, not some miserable copy-cat existence. My biggest hope for you is to recognize just how much power you wield when you make the choice to choose what your life is going to be.

Lesson 2: You can’t have everything you want, but you can be content.

I know this seems counter-intuitive to "choose what you want in life." But hear me out.

I am a firm believer that when we decide to choose the important stuff, it invites those things into our lives like a magnet. But I also know that we can’t choose every situation, or heartache, or trial that becomes a part of our mortal journey.

I like to think that our freedom of choice falls into two categories: (1) the things we can control or influence, no questions asked, and (2) the things we can’t–in which case we still have full and complete control over our attitude, our outlook, our reaction, and how we cope with what is placed before us.

My decision to be a minimalist was born out of discontent. I‌ just wanted more, more, more, because I didn’t feel like I was enough. But today, I’m here to tell you, that whatever you do have–whether it’s less or more–you can be content, and even grateful, right where you are. You are enough, and all that surrounds you is enough.

Even after all my talk of action and knowing what you want, I know that sometimes there is no amount of action that can change what our reality is right now. Some of our desires only come to fruition after we’ve been reaching for a very long time.

Remember those two categories of choices? I‌ think that they can be separated by time as well. The first category, the things we can control, are all in the future, at some later date. And while we wait, we make the category two choices: our attitude, how we view our situation. Contentedness is “satisfaction with things as they are.”

Plainly stated, we will never be happy or fulfilled with what we have in the future if we don’t accept our current situation–the “right now.”

What I am trying to say is this: maybe you want x but you need y. You want a clean home, but you need less stuff. You want freedom, but you need to take charge of your choices. You want peace, but you need to make space for it by letting go of something first. You want to be productive, but you need to measure your success differently.

After you know what you want, being content in your day-to-day existence–with yourself, your situation, your stuff, and the people around you–is the best way to love the journey while you reach for your desires.

Lesson 3: Money matters, but not in the way the world tells you.

Long before minimalism, I‌ learned my most important lesson about money management from paying tithing. Giving 10-percent of my earnings to the Lord–as a act of faith and obedience–has always multiplied the other 90-percent.

Minimalism taught me how to more effectively use that 90-percent. It’s easy to think that we are free to spend money just because we have it. I have been shopping for about 5 out of 20 years that I've been alive, and every purchase that ended up not working out in the way that I expected–whether I‌ was expecting increased happiness, popularity, or some easy fix to a deeper problem–was a lesson about treating my money well.

When you treat your money with kindness, it will treat you kindly too. So be nice to your money. Think carefully before you use it. Save some of it to show that you appreciate it. Invest it in something for the future. Spend it on that which is good and wholesome–especially the things and the people you treasure. But in all of your budgeting, don’t be too stingy with it. Money will ebb and flow through your life. Treat yourself! Use it as a tool to improve your life and lives around you. The mistakes you make with money will always be lessons for the future. Money is forgiving when you try to mend your ways; all it takes is some time.

Livin’ the Slow Life

I‌ hope you realize how recently these lessons took full effect for me. It didn’t happen right at first, or even all at once.

Over time, I’ve come to distance myself from the world of minimalism. I‌ no longer pour over articles from minimalist bloggers. I‌ know enough, and it sits well with me. Still, minimalism has been a big part of my growth, and I can’t pretend like it never happened.

Now that I know myself and my stuff a little bit better, I’ve decided to call what I do “slow living.” With a quick internet search you will find that there is certainly a slow movement going on, with decades of history behind it, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm just doing what works for me (and borrowing the term). How I approach productivity, money, and how I spend my time is largely influenced by minimalism, but recently it’s become something all it's own. (Of course, I’ve always been influenced by the gospel of Jesus Christ.) Right now, I’m just focused on “embracing my pace.” And I can’t wait to tell you more about it.

Live valiant leigh,

Brenna

[Originally posted on September 3, 2019]

[sdvbrsb]

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[love-god-forever]

Christian Marriage Advice on How to Choose a Spouse

Hello brothers and sisters of Spiritual Q&A,

I’m old enough now to look for a partner in life, plus my unbeliever family members are pushing me to find a boyfriend. But I don’t know what kind of partner I should look for in order to be happy. When it comes to looking for a spouse, my unbelieving friends all want to choose those who are “tall, rich and handsome” or “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful,” but I see there is no real affection between them, and instead they cause each other a lot of harm. I’d like to understand how, as a Christian, we should approach love and marriage.

Sincerely yours,

Bai Xue

Sister Bai Xue:

So many feelings came up for me when I saw your message. It can be said that the issue of love and marriage is one of the major things in our lives as well as a critical juncture. The partner we choose can influence whether this life is painful or joyful. Before I believed in God, I also pursued the trends of the world along with the friends and coworkers around me, aspiring to have a fancy wedding and setting “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful” or “tall, rich and handsome” as my criteria for choosing a mate. It wasn’t until after I came to believe in God that I understood this principle of the truth; I gained a little understanding of love and marriage and then knew how to make choices in love and marriage.

What follows is what I underwent in my marriage after I gained the ideals of “tall, rich and handsome.” I hope this can provide some help and inspirations for you so that you can make the right choice for love and marriage, creating a beautiful start to your future and a happy life.

Once I got to marrying age I hoped to meet my own “charming prince on a white horse,” and with the matchmaking help of friends and family, I met a man who met my ideal of “tall, rich and handsome.” He was tall, good-looking, made good money, and came from a well-off family. The vanity within me was quite satisfied, and at the same time I also hoped we could grow old together, that we’d love each other for the rest of our days. But after less than five years of marriage, he started getting fed up with me and became hypercritical about everything. Everything I ate and wore had to be according to his own preferences, and because of the disparity between our family backgrounds, I was always seen as inferior when I was around his family. I was constantly observing their expressions, and when I did something he didn’t like, he’d pull a long face and refuse to acknowledge me, giving me the cold shoulder. I tolerated all of that, but he complained that my legs weren’t long enough, I wasn’t thin enough, and I didn’t have good skin. I didn’t figure out until later that he had betrayed me long before.

What was so hurtful and painful for me was that he was a classic atheist, and after I believed in God, he was oppressive and obstructive towards my faith. He followed me and wouldn’t allow me to go to gatherings, even raising a hand against me. We already lacked a common language in our life together. Our marriage existed in name only; we were strangers sharing a bed, and I was awash in tears. That marriage ended amidst that kind of suffering….

God has blessed me. By reading God’s words, I have understood this part of the truth and found the root of my pain. I saw these words of God, “One after another, all these trends carry an evil influence that continually degenerates man, causing them to continually lose conscience, humanity and reason, and that lowers their morals and their quality of character more and more, to the extent that we can even say the majority of people now have no integrity, no humanity, neither do they have any conscience, much less any reason. So what are these trends? You cannot see these trends with the naked eye. When the wind of a trend blows through, perhaps only a small number of people will become the trendsetters. They start off doing this kind of thing, accepting this kind of idea or this kind of perspective. The majority of people, however, in the midst of their unawareness, will still be continually infected, assimilated and attracted by this kind of trend, until they all unknowingly and involuntarily accept it, and are all submerged in and controlled by it. For man who is not of sound body and mind, who never knows what is truth, who cannot tell the difference between positive and negative things, these kinds of trends one after another make them all willingly accept these trends, the life view and values that come from Satan. They accept what Satan tells them on how to approach life and the way to live that Satan ‘bestows’ on them. They have not the strength, neither do they have the ability, much less the awareness to resist.”

I realized from God’s words that current evil trends all focus on seeking money, power, and status, and drive many people to set their standards for a partner as “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful” or “tall, rich and handsome.” On top of that, every single one of the idol dramas and youth dramas played on TV particularly reveals this kind of thinking, drawing people in to care about external appearance and status and pursue money. So-called “love” and “marriage” are permeated with the stench of greed and are replete with transactions and benefit. Those marriages are essentially rotten from early on. The hasty end to my marriage came about because I had taken the evil trends of “tall, rich and handsome” as my goals to pursue in marriage, becoming intoxicated with wealth and personal benefit. Even though I gratified my short-term vanity, after getting married, since our values were different, and our habits, preferences, and pursuits were all wildly different, getting along together was really exhausting. And, since I wasn’t up to the standard my husband held on to of being “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful,” he really looked down on me. This meant our post-marriage life wasn’t just happy, but was incredibly painful. Satan really does utilize these evil trends to corrupt and harm people, turning what should have been a happy marriage into a transaction with all sorts of additional conditions, and as soon as the other person can’t meet their desires, their relationship utterly collapses and the days of their marriage are numbered. This is the outcome of Satan’s corruption of mankind.

Because of this setback and failure, I no longer relied upon my satanic perspective on marriage or followed the trends of the world of taking “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful” or “tall, rich and handsome” as my measure when finding a partner. Instead, I considered it and approached it according to the principles of the truth.

Afterward, I saw The Sermons and Fellowship on Entry Into Life say, “Tell me, what is the most crucial consideration when looking for a partner? The most crucial consideration is what path they walk, and what type of person they are. If you are walking a different path from them, then you will spend the rest of your lives sleeping in the same bed but dreaming different dreams. Would there then be any happiness to speak of? If you don’t share a common language, then you won’t be happy. Say there is a sister who pursues the truth, and her husband pursues wealth. Can someone who pursues the truth live their life together with someone who pursues wealth? Do they share a common language? When the husband comes home, he says: ‘I’ve seen a way to get rich again today.’ And the sister says: ‘I’ve understood a little more truth today.’ You see? The moment they say these words, their minds diverge, because they are not walking the same path. Therefore, when it comes to choosing a partner, what should you choose first? It is imperative to choose someone who shares your ideals and beliefs. So on this foundation of sharing ideals and beliefs, what else must you choose? Choose someone who has a similar humanity to you. If you have a good humanity and you choose someone whose humanity is poor, then you will surely have many arguments and differences in the future; if you have a humanity that isn’t so good and you choose someone whose humanity is good, then they will benefit you and can be understanding with you—this is key, and you must consider all these aspects. As to whether someone is ultimately suitable for you or not, you must pray to God. Pray for a while, and if you see that there are no obstructions and that you feel very peaceful, and that from praying and seeking, everything goes smoothly and without difficulty, then this shows that the marriage is a good enough match. Afterward, ask your brothers and sisters to verify the marriage, and if everyone says ‘You are really suited to each other,’ and they all feel that the marriage is a suitable one, then it will be verified. … See, God has given us peace, acknowledgement, and a smooth path in the spirit. This is incredible, and it can determine the fate of a life….”

I saw from this fellowship that when looking for a partner, only looking for a like-minded one who shares our faith is in line with God’s will. This is because the two people have a shared language and pursue the same goals. When they are weak and negative, they can help and support each other; when they encounter difficulties and dilemmas, they can encourage and comfort each other, leaning on God together to stand witness for Him. That kind of companion is beneficial for the entry into life of those of us who are believers. This is just like one of my church friends—she and her husband are both believers, they share a common language, and they are both proactively working and expending themselves for God, spreading the gospel and bearing witness to God. When they encounter a truth they don’t understand they can have fellowship with each other and bolster the other’s weaknesses; when they encounter a difficulty they can encourage, help, and support each other. In their domestic interactions they also express mutual help and love as well as tolerance and forbearance. In their lives, they take the Lord’s words as their principles of practice; they live in domestic bliss. Thinking back to Job’s wife, when he encountered trials and was in great pain, not only did his wife not encourage him to lean on God, but she instead taunted him, saying “Do you still retain your integrity? curse God, and die” (Job 2:9). My own failed marriage was also a huge lesson for me. It is clear that finding a like-minded partner for marriage is absolutely critical. Just as the Bible says, “Can two walk together, except they be agreed?” (Amo 3:3). One aspect of finding a companion is having shared faith and being like-minded. Another is to pray to God and seek on this a lot; pray to God about this for a period of time to see if there’s any verification from the Holy Spirit. If you feel at peace in your heart, that is verification. If your brothers and sisters all feel it’s a good match, this comes from God’s arrangements. Only that kind of marriage is blessed by God and can bring happy days.

I hope that the above fellowship will be of help to you. God’s words are the light that shows us the way, the road sign to happiness. Only by practicing according to the principles of His words can His blessings be gained. May God bless you in finding another half that brings happiness.

Sincerely yours,

Xinling of Spiritual Q&A

#believe in God #the Bible #the gospel #pray to God

[whitesunlars]

across the stars (or attachments not allowed)

A Jily Star Wars AU. Also available on ao3 and fanfiction 

If asked where her home was she would always pause, as if unsure the real answer, before replying the Temple; if asked the same question he would answer before the question was fully delivered, knowing without a sliver of doubt that his home was the Jedi Temple.

           Unlike the other padawan learners, she could remember her home. She remembered her mother braiding her hair and her father tucking her into bed. She remembered a sister, with long blonde hair and a longer neck to match it, who was her best friend. She remembered the day Severus, still too young to be a padawan yet travelling with a Jedi Master, found her, how they watched as she flew off the swings using the Force (even though she didn’t know what the Force was or how she was using it). She remembered a whirlwind day when that morning she was just Lily Evans and by that night she was leaving her home planet and travelling to Coruscant to train as a Jedi. She remembered her sister begging to come. She remembered the tears in her mother’s eyes. She remembered Master Slughorn kindly placing a hand on her shoulder as she learned her first Jedi lesson: no attachments. If asked where her home was she would remember it all and think that her home was with those kind faces from long ago memories that she clung to so fiercely and yet she would still reply that her home was the Temple. Sometimes she thought that maybe she just did not have a home.

           James Potter could not remember his parents. He knew that they were old, for human standards, when he was born. He was a miracle child. Part of the miracle was his strength in the Force. Before she came to the Temple, James was the most Force sensitive padawan learner. His childhood memories did not include a mother’s hug or a father’s laugh because he had left their home before he could walk. His childhood memories consisted of Master Dumbledore projecting star maps around the classroom. He remembered meditation sessions that could not last more than five minutes before they would devolve into laughter. He remembered nights awake, the only light source in the room coming from an ignited training saber, as he whispered about dreams and futures as peace keepers with his fellow younglings. He remembered his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, Sirius, tossing spitballs at him in lessons with the help of the Force. He remembered joking around with Remus, a half-Shistavanen half-human youngling, about all the fur he would shed during the moments of the month when he was more wolf-like than not. He remembered a family connected through faith, not blood, that while deeply loyal to each other were forbidden from admitting it aloud. As much as James loved the ways of the Jedi, no matter how hard he tried, he could not understand the rules against attachment. He had attachments, he figured, everyone did. One of his attachments was to the Temple, his home.

           They didn’t get along. Maybe it was because of their different backgrounds, they’re so fiercely contrasting ideas of home. Maybe it was because he cut her hair off with a training lightsaber when she was nine. Maybe it was because she filled his bed with stink slugs, the most horrid combination of slime and smell she could think of in the galaxy. Maybe it was because he hated her best friend and her best friend hated him. Maybe it was because one day they would get along and it just wasn’t the right time. Because they would, get along that is, eventually.

           The very first thing Lily ever said to James was “You leave him alone you kriffing sleemo!” She then promptly punched him in the face. Later, she would also be forced to apologize by no less than three Jedi Masters, because upon entering the Jedi Order Lily had to be taught not to feel anger. Later, Lily would claim he deserved it. After all, he had been taunting Severus, the youngling who had led her to the Temple and her new life.

           The very first thing James ever said to Lily was most likely something along the lines of, “Hello.” However, he was so dazed by her furious green eyes and flaming red hair and furious shouts that he might have just stuttered out random syllables instead of any real words. But even at the age of six when Lily first entered the Temple (and subsequently punched James in the face) she was the most vibrant and lively person James had ever met. When she was added to his age group of younglings James made it his goal to befriend her. After all, she was six, he was six, they had so much in common. When Lily was added to James’s age group of younglings she made it her goal to loathe him. She managed to maintain that goal until the age of fourteen.

           In the eight years of hatred, Lily hated him with all her soul. If asked by a Jedi master she would claim otherwise, because hatred was just as forbidden as attachment, but she truly loathed James Potter. He was a nightmare, she argued. He relentlessly bullied Severus (unbeknownst to Lily, Severus retaliated to everything James did in a much harsher manner), he pranked her at every opportunity (James pranked everyone but Lily firmly believed that he targeted her), and he was full of himself, strutting everywhere with his gang of other miscreant younglings.

         In Lily’s eight years of hatred, James did everything he could to befriend her. He did everything he had done to befriend Remus, Sirius, and Peter, but apparently, those tactics didn’t work. Maybe James just did not understand girls. Lily reacted terribly to the fluorescent fireworms being in her bed something which Sirius had thought was amazing (at exactly 1:14 in the morning all the worms glow different colors). She also got mad at James when he cut her hair, which Remus appreciated his friends doing (at least with the spots he couldn’t reach, being part Shistavanen made him much hairier than his fully human friends). She even got mad when James tried to correct her grip on her lightsaber, something which Peter (who struggled with offensive techniques but excelled at defensive) found helpful. What James considered the friendliest of his many gestures was his attempts to ward Snape away from Lily. The Force presence of Snape was dark and tumultuous (few but James sensed it, or if they did they chose to ignore it) and James wanted to protect Lily from the dangerous youngling she had befriended. Lily took to his attempts to keep Snape away from her the worst (at times James believed that she truly thought his name was sleemo).

           When Master McGonagall picked James to be her padawan every youngling, especially Lily, was jealous. She could not understand how the (arguably) best Jedi would pick James of all people to be her padawan.

           When Master McGonagall picked James to be her padawan ever youngling, especially James, was confused. He could not understand how the (arguably) best Jedi would pick James of all people to be her padawan.

           However, nobody was surprised when the most demanding Master, Alastor Moody, choose Lily to be his padawan. A large Gran (whose center eye was damaged by in battle and therefore a pale white color, unable to focus) Master Moody was often called Master Mad-Eye, a name he wore proudly. A few of the prospective padawans were jealous, but most were to terrified of Mad-Eye to want him for their master.

           When Master Slughorn chose Severus to be his padawan nobody was surprised or jealous. Everyone had seen it coming and nobody else would have wanted Slughorn for their master.

           One by one their youngling class was chosen as padawans and they all began their real training. Distances grew between the learners, both emotionally and physically. After years of living in close quarters of the Jedi Temple the new padawans were suddenly parsecs apart, in different star systems, on different planets.  The padawans were expected to have a gentle start to their training but when the war started everything changed.

           The war was unexpected, unforeseen by the strongest Jedi, Master Dumbledore, and all others who listened to the Force. Yes, the Jedi did know that the Sith Lord, Darth Voldemort, was gaining power, but they saw no signs of the incoming battles. Right under the noses of the Jedi, the Sith had built a following of force sensitives whose parents chose not to send to the Jedi temple and were then trained in the ways of the dark side. His trained force users and an additional army of droids descended on planets, their goal: eradicate the galaxy of non-force users. In the eyes of Lord Voldemort and his loyal followers, beings who could not connect with the force were lesser, only those who were force users truly deserved the title of sentients.

           As the Republic’s peacekeeping force, it became the responsibility of the Jedi to protect all from the ruthless scourge of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Battles began popping up across the galaxy and at each site a Jedi and their padawan would be there, ready to stop Voldemort’s evil forces. Masters McGonagall and Moody often were paired together by the council which inadvertently caused James and Lily to be together constantly, with no one else close to their age to talk to. All at once, they became friends.

           They didn’t become friends because James stopped his poor attempts to woo her or because Lily realized he was just trying to be nice. They became friends because they kept saving each other’s lives.

           At age fourteen the two were at their first battle without their masters, it was just the two of them and a battalion of clone troopers against Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort’s right hand. It was bloody and vicious; clone troopers were dying everywhere and the piercing sound of Lestrange’s mad laughter continuously broke through the cacophony of blasters. James and Lily were side to side, his green and her yellow lightsaber redirecting the incoming blaster shots towards the enemy. They were laughing despite the battle, keeping count of the number of droids they shot down, each wanting to finish with a victory in both the battle and their game. It was all going smoothly until there was an explosion. The cliffs behind them started to collapse, rocks hurtling down. The padawans called for their troops to clear the way, which they did. James and Lily sprinted in opposite directions to get away from the debris. It was then that Bellatrix’s gunship swooped in. One second James was there, helping his troops and out running the rubble, the next Lily was watching in horror as he was grabbed by Lestrange and disappeared into her ship which disappeared into the clouds.

         For the first time since her training began, Lily felt like the six-year-old girl being led away from her loving parents, she was suddenly alone and confused. She almost let herself wallow in the feeling until the very un-Jedi like emotion of rage swept through her body. James was in danger and she was going to save him. She left without orders for her men. She sprinted to her Starfighter and flew off in pursuit of Lestrange, it was only by chance that her R2 unit was still in the ship. Once in open space Lily caught the final glance of Lestrange’s ship as it streaked into lightspeed. She was almost too late but her R2 unit had just enough time to calculate Lestrange’s coordinates.

        Slipping alone through Lestrange’s personal palace, Lily had to admit that she was in the midst of the most reckless thing she had ever done. She had always been a planner, a strategist. But there she was, no plan, no backup, nobody even knowing where she was, sneaking past droids in an attempt to find James. It was pure luck that she found him. Or well, he found her. He had managed to convince the droids guarding his cell to release him due to a wager and a simple magic trick, Lily didn’t fully understand how he tricked them but from what she could grasp, it sounded exactly like something James would do. As he was sneaking out and she was sneaking in, they ran straight into each other. After a moment of stunned silence Lily threw herself in his arms and kissed him. The kiss lasted a second, a simple celebratory peck on the lips because he was alive but then they both froze because she had kissed him and Jedi aren’t supposed to kiss and the two of them especially should not be kissing because up until that very moment she thought she hated him. (It turned out she didn’t hate him; she was actually rather fond of him.) They were lucky again. Managing to escape Lestrange’s lair without alerting her. They flew off together in Lily’s Starfighter, despite the fact that her model ship was only designed for one person, they made the fit.

         By unspoken agreement the kiss was not mentioned afterwards. By unspoken agreement they became friends after that.

           They were nineteen when Lily fell in love with James.

           They were nineteen when James realized he had been in love with Lily since the first time he saw her and she called him a sleemo. (He would later tell her it was inevitable. She’d call him a sleemo, again.)

           They were nineteen and the war showed no signs of stopping any time soon. They were battered veterans who had seen more death than anyone should in their life, let alone at such a young age.

           They were nineteen when Severus Snape betrayed the Jedi Order, killed his master, and joined the ranks of Lord Voldemort. They were there when it happened.

           Droids and Death Eaters swarmed around them like bees in a hive. There was a never ending stream of adversaries. Lily and James were back to back. Their lightsabers were flashing nearly in sync as they diverted blaster bolts. Blood was pounding in Lily’s head. James felt his muscles aching. The cacophony of noise made it sound like the world they were on was about to end.

           Then, in the midst of it, the battle halted. Lord Voldemort was there. Beside him was Severus. Lily shouted out. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as Severus, in one long motion, lodged his lightsaber in the stomach of Master Slughorn. The Jedi were frozen as they watched the master crumble to the ground, dead. Then Severus - no - Snape was taking Voldemort’s outstretched hand. The battle resumed, more vicious than before. In the moment, everything changed. Distracted, Lily took a blaster to the leg, knocking her down. She collapsed against James. Supporting her, he continued to fend off attacks.

           But as Voldemort left, with Snape at his side, so did the fighting. It would have been as if nothing happened if not for the scattered droid parts, some still smoking from contact with lightsabers, the dead Jedi, clones, and Death Eaters laying where they fell, and the smell of death and sweat in the air.

           Lily and James both slid to the ground, in shock. They were leaning on each other, supporting each other. She rested her head on his shoulder and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Softly, despite herself, Lily started to cry. She had just watched her once best friend defect to the Dark Side. James held her through her tears, whispering words of comfort. It was as if the other Jedi around them, the ones cleaning up the battle and tending to the wounded, did not exist. For a moment, to them, the only people in the galaxy were Lily and James.

           “Thank you,” She whispered as her tears subsided, “For saving me, again.”

           “I’d save you a million times, Evans,” James said.

           She smiled a little, “Let’s hope it never comes to that. But I do feel safer, always knowing you have my back.”

           “I’m with you Lily,” He promised, “Until the very end.”

           For some reason (and Lily would never know for sure why) those words reminded her of home. Not of the Jedi Temple and the no attachments rules but of her vague memories of her mother pressing kisses to her forehead and her father letting her dance on his feet. A rush of warmth swept through Lily. It felt like she was coming home. It felt like James was home. And then she realized. Sitting in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by the dead, the wounded, and the confused, Lily realized she loved James. So, she told him. And for the first time in either of their memory he was speechless.

           His mouth went dry. His heart pounded. James felt the world stop. “But, but love isn’t allowed.” He managed to murmur.

           “I don’t care.”

           “We could be expelled from the Order.”

           She repeated, “I don’t care.”

           “This could destroy us.”

           Again, she said, “I don’t care.”

           All the while as they spoke their faces inched closer and closer together. His breath was brushing over her lips, each exhale feeling like the ghost of a kiss she could almost remember and never forget. “Screw it,” James whispered as he pressed his lips against hers. It was a messy kiss, their lips not meeting perfectly, and there was too much teeth, because James kept telling her how much he loved her, even as they kissed. (Despite the sloppiness, Lily would later claim it was the best kiss they ever shared.)

           Surprising them both, not much changed after they confessed their love. The war only grew more intense and so they were often sent out into deep space, just them and a starship full of a battalion of clones. During day, they would put forth strategies, lead their men, and be two of the greatest Jedi generals. But at night they were Lily and James. They would slip out of their Jedi robes and Jedi roles. They would talk and laugh and pretend the galaxy wasn’t falling apart. They would kiss and touch and love and live. And when their eyelids grew heavy he would throw an arm around her waist and pull her close as they drifted off to sleep together. Nobody was the wiser that they spent the night together in his cabin. Or if they were, nobody seemed to care.

           On the battlefield, they also found little change. Jedi forbid attachment because it would, in theory, spread thin the compassion of the Peace Keepers and make the susceptible to weakness in battle. Lily and James found that their love made them fiercer. They were fighting for more than the Jedi Order; they were fighting for each other. They were fighting for a better day when the battles would end and holding hands they could step down from the Order and build their own life, together. They were fighting for the galaxy’s future that they saw themselves a part of.

           At night, sometimes laying on the surface of a distant planet staring at unknown stars, sometimes curled together in a starship cabin bunk tracing constellations across the other’s skin, Lily and James would talk about the future they saw. James would twirl one of her curls as he whispered of a life together. He’d tell her about moving away from the other population of Coruscant, to one of the temperate paradise planets like Naboo or Rishi. He would tell her about leaving the Order, handing in their lightsabers and just walking away. He’d tell her they deserved it after everything they’d seen. She’d tell him about the job of local law enforcement they would both take. She’d tell him about finding her family, how they would accept them both with open arms, kisses, and tears. They agreed that they’d have a son. Maybe more kids later on. But without a doubt a son. With his eyes and her hair. Or maybe the other way around. It was idealistic and it distracted them from the horrors around them. They’d fall asleep in each other’s arms with thoughts of these far-fetched futures in their dreams. Both of them knew it was all fantasy. Neither of them cared.

           But the future has the funny habit of sneaking up on people when they least expect it, which is exactly what happened to Lily and James. Lily started to feel sick, at first she thought the battles were wearing her down but the nausea and discomfort persisted. Not wanting to worry him, Lily didn’t tell James that she wasn’t feeling well.

           It was after three weeks of waking up and going through the day vomiting and hiding it that the terrifying thought burst into the back of her mind. What if she was pregnant. (She couldn’t be pregnant they were so careful and they were at war she wasn’t ready to be pregnant they couldn’t handle this Jedi aren’t supposed to have kids she can’t be pregnant.) That very first night she had a dream, or more precisely a Force vision.

The static and whirr of lightsabers meeting. The deep and daunting flash of a red blade, a Sith blade. The cries of a baby. Her baby. She knew. James falling. Dead. Her falling. Dead. The baby crying. The beautiful baby with dark hair and green eyes crying. The red blade going for him, going towards him. She has to stop it. She has to stop the Sith. Her baby. Their baby. The red glare of Voldemort’s eyes. Her baby crying. James screamed. She screamed. Dead. Dead. Dead. But the baby had to survive. She couldn’t let him die. The baby’s cries.

Her heart had never pounded in her chest harder than as she shot out of bed, the vision still fresh in her mind. Without a doubt, she knew it, she was pregnant.

Shaking James awake, Lily said, “We have to leave.”

“What?” James asked, suddenly completely alert.

“I’m pregnant,” Lily replied, “I’m pregnant and I can’t be pregnant because we’re Jedi and we’re at war and our baby is in danger, James, we have to leave.” She was shocked at the smile that spread across James’s face at her words. He whispered the word (pregnant) like it was a prayer and ghosted hand over Lily’s stomach. He looked at her with his eyes shining with joy (pregnant, his heart sang), and he agreed to leave.

           It was unheard of. The Jedi council was in an uproar. Two Jedi knights abandoning their troops and the order in the middle of the war with no warning. Nobody knew where they went, not even their closest confidants (Knights Sirius Black and Remus Lupin) or a single one of their soldiers. They were just gone.

           Safe, away from the war and the Sith, Lily and James moved into a small cottage on a small moon known as Godric HA-110. They were happy there. It became their home. James would marvel at it all. His entire life the only home he knew was the Jedi temple, there was something magical about a place where he could be himself, live how he wanted to live, and express his love with Lily in complete comfort. They spent their days in peace, Lily gradually becoming rounder with pregnancy and James adoring every moment of it. They would spend their days together, making enough money through mechanical work in the nearby village. During free time, they would walk together, being free in an innocent way they never had the luxury of living before. At night, they would sit along the banks of the nearby stream and gaze at the stars, remembering their time traveling them and being thankful for their escape.

           They married. It was small, a few kind people in the village joined them. The swell of their child was prominent with her dress but, god, she had never looked more beautiful to James than she did in that moment.

           Never had James heard Lily laugh as freely as she did on their moon. Never had Lily seen James so at ease. As time went by he did feel an itch to return to the sky and the action of the Jedi but his urge to leave was nothing compared to his desire to stay with Lily and their baby. For the first time in both their lives, the Force felt balanced.

           Having been through a war, James took pride in having no fears. Then Lily went to labor and it all went out the window. He’d been on battle fields among the dead, he heard the injured begging for help, but nothing is his life scared James more than the screams of his wife as each contraction crashed over her like heavy waves amid a storm. The midwife tried to force James from the room but he refused to leave Lily. He wouldn’t let her go through giving birth without him by her side.

           Labor seemed to take a lifetime. As the contractions grew stronger the Force seemed to vibrate through the cottage. It was as if the galaxy knew something phenomenal was happening. Early morning on the last day of the seventh month of the galactic standard calendar, the cries of new life filled the room. Lily and James were both crying, their hearts fuller than ever before as the midwife gently placed their newborn son, Harry James Potter in Lily’s arms. With a head full of his father’s dark hair and his mother’s bright green eyes, he was better than the dreams shared of future babies from days long ago.

           For one shining moment, the Force was perfectly balanced and everything was perfect.

           But that perfection couldn’t last. Only days after Harry’s birth as his parents were ragged from the nightly cries of a newborn, the news reached Godric HA-110 that the war was over. Far from the battlefront, the war had barely affected the moon, but when the initial reports reached the villages people celebrated nonetheless. But then the full story reached the people. The war was over and the Republic had fallen. Lord Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters were now in control of the newly established Galactic Empire. Deemed traitors, the Jedi were killed. All of them. Many of the deaths were public spectacles, though there was no proof of the death of Grand Master Dumbledore.

           James and Lily were horrified. How could they have abandoned the Order? If they were there could they have prevented it all? Guilt weighed down on them, yet they were thankful to have escaped before the tragedy struck, they felt blessed to have their lives and, more importantly, the baby in their arms.

           From the moment, the news broke, Lily felt haunted. She had betrayed the Order, the people who were supposed to be her family. The Order was supposed to be her home (but it never was, not really). Her visions of Voldemort felt so much closer than ever before. Every night the visions would return. Horrifying images, of her and James being struck down by that bright red blade, Harry crying like never before, and his cries fading, as if moving farther away, followed her from sleep to waking hours.

           But still, Lily lived. She treasured her time with James and Harry. Each milestone for Harry, a smile, a babble, a crawl, made her feel alive and safe. Joy radiated through the cottage. When Harry’s Force sensitivity started to present itself Lily and James couldn’t help but laugh, watching their baby call his fallen teddy bear to him or an empty bottle across the room in hopes that it had formula.

           To entertain Harry, his parents would often float toys in front of him. James’s favorite game would be to float a few colorful balls he bought from the village just out of reach of Harry’s hands. The baby would reach and giggle as his fingers would graze the edge of the ball and it would then float higher.

           It was that very game James was playing when the Force rattled with darkness. Lily sprinted into the room from the kitchen where she had been preparing lunch. James scooped up Harry into his arms, holding his now one-year-old son close to his chest. Both former Jedi knew what was happening, the Sith was coming for them.

           “Go,” James ordered, “Get Harry out of here, I’ll hold him off,” Despite neither of them having their lightsabers on them, both were ready to do everything in their ability to protect their son. He passed Harry to Lily, pulled her in for a searing kiss before pressing a soft one to the downy hair on Harry’s head. He then pushed Lily towards the back door, as he turned, as prepared for Lord Voldemort as he could be. Praying to the Force and any other possible power in the galaxy, Lily begged silently for James to survive. She sprinted from the house, down a worn-down path to the spot where a small, but efficient, modified escape pod was waiting for an emergency such as this. As Lily ran, Harry in her arms crying, she felt the unmistakable tremor in the Force. James was dead. Tears burned at the corner of Lily’s eyes, everything in her vision was coming true. Everything they did, deserting the army, abandoning the Order, and hiding on a small outer-rim moon was all for nothing. She had failed.

           Voldemort was approaching. Lily could feel it. Frantically, she set the coordinates in the pod, Harry perched on her hip wailing. As she finished, Lily heard the unmistakable purr of a lightsaber igniting. Lily’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Spinning around, Lily Force pushed Voldemort away, just as his lightsaber swung, it grazed Harry’s forehead, not nearly deep enough to kill, but a burn instantly formed. Taking the moment provided by her shove, Lily put Harry in the pod. As soon as the doors closed, the engines ignited. Voldemort screamed in outrage as Harry, maybe the last Force sensitive baby in the galaxy, jettisoned away. He struck Lily down, his red blade swiping straight through her. But it was too late, Harry Potter was safe.

           On the impeccably average and exceedingly normal mid-rim planet of Privetrive, Petunia Dursley awoke every morning expecting her natural order of life to remain unchanged. That proved to be untrue one morning when, as she stepped through her front door to pick up the daily delivery of bantha milk, her eyes fell on an escape pod wedged deep in the ground of her front yard from impact. Rushing to the pod she was shocked to find a sleeping baby inside, a burn on his forehead, and a blanket poorly wrapped around him. As she pulled him out a holomessage appeared.

           The blue image of young woman appeared and said, “Petunia, I’m not sure if you remember me. To be honest I barely remember you. But you’re my sister and I need you. This pod was programed to bring Harry, my son, to you for his protection. Please, keep him safe. I’m begging you. Petunia, you’re my only hope.” As the image flickered away, Petunia looked down at the baby, her nephew, hesitantly. She had no idea what to do. But as the baby, in his sleep, adjusted himself and smiled softly, Petunia couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. As she walked back into her house. Harry asleep in her arms, the undeniable air of hope followed her inside.

#harry potter #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #jily #james potter #lily evans #lily potter #lily evans potter #jily fic #jily fanfic #jily au #jilyfic #jilyau #harry potter fic

[godsandvillainsrpg-blog]

CHRISTIAN LEFEVRE

thirty-five ♱ capitaux lefevre cfo + benefactor ♱ lefevre

”In me burns the most Catholic of longings — to devour the divine.”

WE ARE PLAYING A GAME OF EMPIRES

Third born to the Lefevre family was Christian — a boy with a name that was perhaps an act of overcompensation for a set of parents who’d already subjected the world to a set of twins kissed by the devil himself. The legacy he’d been born into wasn’t one of empires. Along with the Lefevre name came a moderate degree of wealth and status, yes; he and his elder siblings had always had all they’d needed and more, but they were neither royals nor celestial beings. They were so very, painfully mortal. Had the boy been left to his own devices, to form goals and ambitions that were entirely his own, perhaps the life his parents were able to provide for him in Paris would’ve been enough — but fate would have it that he’d be filled with a white-hot desire for holiness, for divinity, and that desire was not born. It was planted.

Ten years the junior of his twin siblings Lucien and Celine, Christian was never able to call himself particularly close with either. Age separated them, yes, but the distance could surely be attributed to the closeness the twins shared, leaving no room for a younger brother to penetrate their bond. Still, the three of them were kin, and their bond of blood was held sacred enough — sacred enough for Christian to accept the slippery words that slid from his brother and sister’s lips as sacred decree, as law. They were not the kinds of siblings he could spill his heart to. They were the kinds of siblings whose strategic whispers worked to lift both his sense of self and his ambitions, propping him up, hissing promises of the greatness their family deserved — how the three of them deserved the world, and it was all of their responsibilities to ensure it one day bowed to them. Celine had found herself a husband that had all of England bowing to him; Lucien worked day and night to build a financial empire from scratch. When he grew old enough, it would be his turn to do whatever was necessary for the Lefevre family’s ascension. It was a mantra he would grow to live and breathe, entirely brainwashed by the influence of a brother and sister who’d assured him that he and the rest of their bloodline were entitled to more. His insatiable thirst for greatness was implanted in him by the two he trusted most, and he’d never even thought to question it.

While his ambitions had grown tenfold under their influence, he knew well enough to hide that thirst for luxury and power behind polished charms. Polite and well mannered, his smooth words greased his victims like butter. He’d branded himself a gentleman in the making, a boy of good standing that understood the fundamentals of respect, one that laughed at all of any stranger’s jokes and could win over any heart with a few well timed words and a polished smile. He had a way with that silver tongue of his, a way to make you simply want to trust him — and how could you not, when he sold every one of his lies with a convincing smile, living and breathing his ruses until you believed them too. He was calculated, but above all, he was patient — this climb upwards was a long game, one that would never truly end, and he had the endurance to keep fighting his silent fight while masked behind elegance and good graces.

The decision to attend boarding school in England was made nearly entirely for the prestige of it all. It was there he made the acquaintance of Franco Giordano, a boy in his class. Truthfully, there had never been anything about him Christian had found particularly interesting — nothing, of course, besides his last name. Celine and Lucien, in search of any connection that would allow Christian to weasel his way in with those they’d reluctantly admit were above them, had demanded a list of all those who had crossed Christian’s path — and as soon as the name Giordano hit their ears, a plot was born. This boy Franco was the key to Italy’s first family, they’d asserted, and so he became Christian’s mission. With a carefully constructed lie about his past, calling himself an orphan from the French countryside with no parents, no siblings, no family but the great aunts and extended cousins with whom he bounced from home to home, Franco took Christian in not only as a best friend, but as a brother. A trained liar and manipulator, both skills he’d learned from his siblings, Christian turned himself into whatever Franco seemed to need in a supposed best friend. He lived out his ruse day after day, allowing no one at the school to know the real Christian Lefevre, only the sad little orphan boy he pretended to be — and it had worked. His feigned brotherhood had been enough for Franco to not only accept him under his wing, but into his home.

He was welcomed into the Giordano estate as Franco’s guest, and soon enough, taken in as one of their own. Christian was invited to spend summers with the family, to tag along on holidays. As an honourary brother to Franco, he became a third son to Cassius. While he cared little for the pseudo-family bond he feigned, for he had his own blood that would do well enough on that front, he did crave something from the Giordanos — their empire; the sprawling mansion in Rome, the lavish life of luxury, the unquestioned power that came along with their name. Lucien was still working to build a company in their name back in Paris, but his reach was nothing compared to that of Cassius Giordano and the legacy that struck fear into anyone that so much as heard their name whispered in passing. Christian didn’t want to be a part of their empire. He wanted to be at the helm of his own — one that brought theirs toppling to the ground.

The social and political influence of the Giordano family had been abundantly clear, but it wasn’t until years had gone by that he’d earned enough trust to make his way into the inner circle. It was in Cassius’s good faith that he learned what the family’s true sport was, and it ignited a fascination that burned brighter than anything he’d ever known. The Giordanos, along with the help of the trusted crew wrapped around their finger. This city and all its chaos was their playground, and when it was so easy to use the world as puppets, they were right to call themselves gods. After all, what better expression of power was there than to pull the world’s strings simply because they could? This was the empire the Lefevres had always been destined to lead, though Christian knew well enough that his family had neither the notoriety nor the connections to play the same game. His position of trust within the Giordano circle, though, would be his in — and their downfall. Unlike Cassius and Vita, he was an entrepreneur, a man of opportunity. Playing this game for pleasure was one thing, but oh, was it such a waste of potential. If the ring had belonged to him, he’d be playing for gain — using those villains and scoundrels at his fingertips to advance himself, his family, his legacy; taking down competitors, building the Lefevre empire towards the sky with the help of a band ready and willing to do his bidding. Still fully under the spell of his siblings, he brought the pitch back to them — and they’d conditioned him so well over the years that Christian dared to believe he’d been the mastermind behind everything all along.

It was not a plan that would transpire overnight. To seize an empire for one’s own was a long game, and luckily, Christian was a man blessed with patience. He played his game well, earning a close position in Cassius’s esteem — arguably, more so than any of the man’s biological sons. Feigning an undying loyalty in what he’d have called the con of the century, he worked to prove himself a valuable asset, to forge relationships with those he knew he’d need to trust him if he was ever going to steal them away for an army of his own. The one to fall for his act hook, line, and sinker, though, would be Cassius’s prized daughter Aurora. The adoration in her eyes when she glanced his way was all too apparent, and even Cassius himself gave the pairing his blessing. While he viewed the girl as nothing but a silly little fool, the wickedness ingrained in the Lefevre bloodline was more than willing to take advantage of an opportunity to add insult to injury — to steal the Giordano family’s empire and destroy their precious daughter. He played the role of her prince charming, saying and doing whatever was necessary to keep the girl falling at his knees, all while choking back a wicked grin every time she looked in his eyes and earnestly whispered “I love you,” and he echoed the words back with such conviction that no one had thought to doubt his intentions.

No one except for one.

Giuliana Giordano was a creature unlike any he’d ever seen — one wished to witness the destruction nearly as much as Christian himself, and one that was able to see through his act. It had been a game he’d been playing for nearly two decades, and he’d thought he’d perfected his act long ago. In his mind, he was all but opaque — but to someone with a like mind and a similar thirst to watch Giordano blood spill, perhaps he’d been translucent at best. She’d figured him out, but she didn’t seek to expose him. No, she sought to join him, to watch her parents and siblings bleed out by his side. By now, Aurora wore his ring on her finger — but that didn’t stop him from fucking Giuliana down the hall as her sister primped herself for their engagement party. In truth, the affair was the most genuine thing he’d been a part of since his induction to the family, and while he had never truly planned on walking away from the Giordanos with a bride, Giuliana was something different altogether. They shared a dangerous thirst, and there was no other he could ever imagine ruling by his side. When his wedding day came, Giuliana, dressed in white, shoved her sister out of the way and strode down the aisle herself, and as he kissed his bride in front of a church filled with mouths agape, he crowned the queen to his king.

Their act of mutiny created a divide, and after years of planting seeds of doubt amongst Giordano loyalists, Christian brought as many of the criminals over to Lefevre loyalty as he could. As news of the plan’s completion reached Lucien and Celine’s ears, the remainder of the Lefevre family joined them in Rome, ready and willing to not only build an empire of their own, but to watch that of Cassius Giordano go down in flames. This is their game now, and he’ll be sure that his blood is the last left standing once the smoke clears.

TAKE NO PRISONERS, LEAVE NO SCARS

LOVE

He’d convinced the world that Aurora was the love of his life, but from the beginning, it had all been a ruse. Breaking her heart had never been part of the original plan, but when she’d handed it to him, she’d been a fruit hanging so low he simply couldn’t resist. He told her pretty lies, crafted an image of himself as the man of her dreams, only to smirk wickedly at her from the altar as her sister came to take her place beside him. Truthfully, Aurora never meant a thing to him — it had always been Giuliana. The physicality of their torrid affair had been electric, but beneath it all, they were two twisted souls who brought out the worst in each other in what they both considered to be the best possible way. She’s his queen, his soulmate, and now his wife — the only woman he would ever call worthy of standing by his side.

LEGACY

While Celine and Lucien were always ten years his seniors, they begun their work on him from the very beginning. Entirely unbeknownst to him, everything he is today is a product of their influence and manipulation. They planted the seeds that turned him into the snake he is today, and even still, he’s so far under their spell that he doesn’t even realize the control they hold over him. In his eyes, the three of them are royals in their own right — their own family of modern gods, destined to rule together. It wasn’t until their move to Rome that he had much interaction at all with Selena and Harland, his in-laws. Admittedly, he finds it difficult to decipher what ever drew his siblings to either of them, but he trusts Celine and Lucien’s judgment enough to assume there’s something more to them than meets the eye. While he can appreciate Selena’s complacency, Harland has made his distrust of Christian known — to which Christian reminds him who it was that spent nearly twenty years playing the con that got them all to where they are today. Kiah, Zaine, Valencia, and the newly arrived Nico, make up his nieces and nephews. While Kiah can be a handful on the best of days, he believes she harbours more potential than most in their family give her credit for. Zaine, though, missed out on every defining Lefevre trait, leaving Christian utterly perplexed as to what sort of purpose he’d ever be able to serve them. He’s dead weight, in desperate need of being hardened. Valencia possesses a myriad of traits he admires, and he’s excited to see what she could bring to their game if unleashed properly. As for Nico, he can sense the boy’s desperation to please his newly discovered blood, and much like his siblings, Christian is never one to pass up the opportunity to contort a desperate soul into a weapon.

ALLIES

While there are few beyond Giuliana that Christian would truly call his allies, he sees a great deal of value in the addition of Maximiliano to their empire. He’s one of the few that was alongside the Giordanos before Christian himself, and he brings decades worth of experience and inside information along with him. The bitterness Max feels for the family, Cassius in particular, is a weapon Christian does not intend to underestimate.

ENEMIES

His envy for the Giordano family spans twenty years. Since the beginning, he’d always craved the empire they’d had — even more so once he’d discovered the truth behind their game. Cassius and Vita call themselves a king and queen, but Christian’s greatest satisfaction would be to watch him fall at the Lefevre family’s feet. He’d been forced to spend years feigning fraternity with Franco, and oh, how good it feels to be free of the mask and finally express his distaste for the man he’d always considered boring at best. Giuliana has mentioned her brief fling with Katya to him, and while he believes his wife’s word that her heart was never in it, that doesn’t stop him from getting a thrill out of rubbing their marriage in the girl’s face.

THE REST

During his years in school with Franco, he came to make the acquaintance of Samaira. As a boy who’d dealt in ingenuity, he could smell it on her from the beginning — yet rather than warning Franco that he was about to entangle himself with a woman who was ready to use him, he sat back and allowed it to happen all too gleefully. Whether she planned to take him for what he was worth and leave or leech off of him for the long term, he didn’t particularly care. He did, however, keep her secret — and assert that she would be at his disposal for as long as he held it over her head. It was after the death of Camille Dubois that he began to sense yet another lie from Samaira, and though she never said a word about any involvement in the incident, or even any connection to Camille to begin with, he knew her tells well enough to piece a vague assumption together. Whatever her involvement was, he was sure to mock her from the shadows — which, in turn, kept Samaira silent about whatever suspicions she may have developed surrounding him. Though his secrets are now out in the open, hers still remain under his lock and key, and he doesn’t allow her to forget it.

CHRISTIAN is potrayed by JULIAN MORRIS. He is currently UNAVAILABLE for auditions.

#lsbio #crime rp #crime rpg #bio rp #bio rpg #christian #christianbio #m #t #tm

[comebeforegod]

What Criteria for Christians Choosing a Spouse Please God More?

Hello brothers and sisters of Find the Shepherd,

I’m old enough now to look for a partner in life, plus my unbeliever family members are pushing me to find a boyfriend.

 But I don’t know what kind of partner I should look for in order to be happy. When it comes to looking for a spouse, my unbelieving friends all want to choose those who are “tall, rich and handsome” or “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful,” but I see there is no real affection between them, and instead they cause each other a lot of harm. I’d like to understand how, as a Christian, we should approach love and marriage.

Sincerely yours,

Bai Xue

Sister Bai Xue:

So many feelings came up for me when I saw your message. It can be said that the issue of love and marriage is one of the major things in our lives as well as a critical juncture. The partner we choose can influence whether this life is painful or joyful. Before I believed in God, I also pursued the trends of the world along with the friends and coworkers around me, aspiring to have a fancy wedding and setting “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful” or “tall, rich and handsome” as my criteria for choosing a mate. It wasn’t until after I came to believe in God that I understood this principle of the truth; I gained a little understanding of love and marriage and then knew how to make choices in love and marriage.

What follows is what I underwent in my marriage after I gained the ideals of “tall, rich and handsome.” I hope this can provide some help and inspirations for you so that you can make the right choice for love and marriage, creating a beautiful start to your future and a happy life.

Once I got to marrying age I hoped to meet my own “charming prince on a white horse,” and with the matchmaking help of friends and family, I met a man who met my ideal of “tall, rich and handsome.” He was tall, good-looking, made good money, and came from a well-off family. The vanity within me was quite satisfied, and at the same time I also hoped we could grow old together, that we’d love each other for the rest of our days. But after less than five years of marriage, he started getting fed up with me and became hypercritical about everything. Everything I ate and wore had to be according to his own preferences, and because of the disparity between our family backgrounds, I was always seen as inferior when I was around his family. I was constantly observing their expressions, and when I did something he didn’t like, he’d pull a long face and refuse to acknowledge me, giving me the cold shoulder. I tolerated all of that, but he complained that my legs weren’t long enough, I wasn’t thin enough, and I didn’t have good skin. I didn’t figure out until later that he had betrayed me long before.

What was so hurtful and painful for me was that he was a classic atheist, and after I believed in God, he was oppressive and obstructive towards my faith. He followed me and wouldn’t allow me to go to gatherings, even raising a hand against me. We already lacked a common language in our life together. Our marriage existed in name only; we were strangers sharing a bed, and I was awash in tears. That marriage ended amidst that kind of suffering….

God has blessed me. By reading God’s words, I have understood this part of the truth and found the root of my pain. I saw these words of God, “One after another, all these trends carry an evil influence that continually degenerates man, causing them to continually lose conscience, humanity and reason, and that lowers their morals and their quality of character more and more, to the extent that we can even say the majority of people now have no integrity, no humanity, neither do they have any conscience, much less any reason. So what are these trends? You cannot see these trends with the naked eye. When the wind of a trend blows through, perhaps only a small number of people will become the trendsetters. They start off doing this kind of thing, accepting this kind of idea or this kind of perspective. The majority of people, however, in the midst of their unawareness, will still be continually infected, assimilated and attracted by this kind of trend, until they all unknowingly and involuntarily accept it, and are all submerged in and controlled by it. For man who is not of sound body and mind, who never knows what is truth, who cannot tell the difference between positive and negative things, these kinds of trends one after another make them all willingly accept these trends, the life view and values that come from Satan. They accept what Satan tells them on how to approach life and the way to live that Satan ‘bestows’ on them. They have not the strength, neither do they have the ability, much less the awareness to resist.”

I realized from God’s words that current evil trends all focus on seeking money, power, and status, and drive many people to set their standards for a partner as “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful” or “tall, rich and handsome.” On top of that, every single one of the idol dramas and youth dramas played on TV particularly reveals this kind of thinking, drawing people in to care about external appearance and status and pursue money. So-called “love” and “marriage” are permeated with the stench of greed and are replete with transactions and benefit. Those marriages are essentially rotten from early on. The hasty end to my marriage came about because I had taken the evil trends of “tall, rich and handsome” as my goals to pursue in marriage, becoming intoxicated with wealth and personal benefit. Even though I gratified my short-term vanity, after getting married, since our values were different, and our habits, preferences, and pursuits were all wildly different, getting along together was really exhausting. And, since I wasn’t up to the standard my husband held on to of being “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful,” he really looked down on me. This meant our post-marriage life wasn’t just happy, but was incredibly painful. Satan really does utilize these evil trends to corrupt and harm people, turning what should have been a happy marriage into a transaction with all sorts of additional conditions, and as soon as the other person can’t meet their desires, their relationship utterly collapses and the days of their marriage are numbered. This is the outcome of Satan’s corruption of mankind.

Because of this setback and failure, I no longer relied upon my satanic perspective on marriage or followed the trends of the world of taking “fair-skinned, rich and beautiful” or “tall, rich and handsome” as my measure when finding a partner. Instead, I considered it and approached it according to the principles of the truth.

Afterward, I saw The Sermons and Fellowship on Entry Into Life say, “Tell me, what is the most crucial consideration when looking for a partner? The most crucial consideration is what path they walk, and what type of person they are. If you are walking a different path from them, then you will spend the rest of your lives sleeping in the same bed but dreaming different dreams. Would there then be any happiness to speak of? If you don’t share a common language, then you won’t be happy. Say there is a sister who pursues the truth, and her husband pursues wealth. Can someone who pursues the truth live their life together with someone who pursues wealth? Do they share a common language? When the husband comes home, he says: ‘I’ve seen a way to get rich again today.’ And the sister says: ‘I’ve understood a little more truth today.’ You see? The moment they say these words, their minds diverge, because they are not walking the same path. Therefore, when it comes to choosing a partner, what should you choose first? It is imperative to choose someone who shares your ideals and beliefs. So on this foundation of sharing ideals and beliefs, what else must you choose? Choose someone who has a similar humanity to you. If you have a good humanity and you choose someone whose humanity is poor, then you will surely have many arguments and differences in the future; if you have a humanity that isn’t so good and you choose someone whose humanity is good, then they will benefit you and can be understanding with you—this is key, and you must consider all these aspects. As to whether someone is ultimately suitable for you or not, you must pray to God. Pray for a while, and if you see that there are no obstructions and that you feel very peaceful, and that from praying and seeking, everything goes smoothly and without difficulty, then this shows that the marriage is a good enough match. Afterward, ask your brothers and sisters to verify the marriage, and if everyone says ‘You are really suited to each other,’ and they all feel that the marriage is a suitable one, then it will be verified. … See, God has given us peace, acknowledgement, and a smooth path in the spirit. This is incredible, and it can determine the fate of a life….”

I saw from this fellowship that when looking for a partner, only looking for a like-minded one who shares our faith is in line with God’s will. This is because the two people have a shared language and pursue the same goals. When they are weak and negative, they can help and support each other; when they encounter difficulties and dilemmas, they can encourage and comfort each other, leaning on God together to stand witness for Him. That kind of companion is beneficial for the entry into life of those of us who are believers. This is just like one of my church friends—she and her husband are both believers, they share a common language, and they are both proactively working and expending themselves for God, spreading the gospel and bearing witness to God. When they encounter a truth they don’t understand they can have fellowship with each other and bolster the other’s weaknesses; when they encounter a difficulty they can encourage, help, and support each other. In their domestic interactions they also express mutual help and love as well as tolerance and forbearance. In their lives, they take the Lord’s words as their principles of practice; they live in domestic bliss. Thinking back to Job’s wife, when he encountered trials and was in great pain, not only did his wife not encourage him to lean on God, but she instead taunted him, saying “Do you still retain your integrity? curse God, and die” (Job 2:9). My own failed marriage was also a huge lesson for me. It is clear that finding a like-minded partner for marriage is absolutely critical. Just as the Bible says, “Can two walk together, except they be agreed?” (Amo 3:3). One aspect of finding a companion is having shared faith and being like-minded. Another is to pray to God and seek on this a lot; pray to God about this for a period of time to see if there’s any verification from the Holy Spirit. If you feel at peace in your heart, that is verification. If your brothers and sisters all feel it’s a good match, this comes from God’s arrangements. Only that kind of marriage is blessed by God and can bring happy days.

I hope that the above fellowship will be of help to you. God’s words are the light that shows us the way, the road sign to happiness. Only by practicing according to the principles of His words can His blessings be gained. May God bless you in finding another half that brings happiness.

Sincerely yours,

Xinling of Find the Shepherd

#Christian Testimonies #Christian Marriage #Marriage Relationship

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #85: Self Serving.

Written: 4/3/2017                                                                            Music Week Song Listened to Before Writing: Pop Group - Don’t Call Me Pain

Beatrice had worn, proudly, the label of being a political activist, but, unknown to people outside of her scene, she was generally disliked, since her motivations were anything but political, which could be interpreted from the button she always wore on her black denim jacket, which said: “Right Side of History”. If anyone had asked her for an explanation, she would use it to get on her soapbox about how the left was always on the right side of history, and that nobody could deny that what she was following was a truly just cause, but in reality it just meant that she had sided with what she had felt to be the winning team, just because it seemed to be the winning team, which was something known to plenty of the activist she had talked to, especially an organizer who only went by the name “the Mistress”, mainly due to worry that if anyone had seen news stories about her, they would start leaking all sorts of her personal information, send her threats of rape and/or murder, crudely drawn pictures of her either naked or in the middle of sexual acts, sometimes with animals, or even would, as had happened to a close friend of hers, begin to call the workplaces of her family members, making up all sorts of fabricated claims with the intent of getting the family member fired.

The Mistress was one of the few members of the group who actually interfaced with Beatrice on a regular basis, even if she did, like many others, have to hold back an instinct to slap the frustrating girl, she felt that there was a chance for the self centered activist to actually have their mind in the right place, instead of wanting glory or the opportunity to break things, which many protesters despised. “You can tell that they are not dedicated to the cause,” Beatrice had once explained, as she made sure her garish, platinum blond wig wasn’t askew, “because they decide to stick with bullshit peaceful resistance, which doesn’t work. Think about it: actions speak louder than words. Ever hear that? Of course you have, its a common phrase, its a cliche, and people repeat these kind of things for a reason, you know. They’re common truths. Facts about the way the world is.”

“I think you’re only seeing things the way that you want to see them,” the mistress had tried to explain, looking down at the short girl through her circular, rose-tinted glasses, “I don’t deny that actions speak louder than words, but isn’t that the whole point of a peaceful protest?” Slowly and calmly, hoping that would help get her point across, “Isn’t the crowd that gathers an action within itself? A large crowd voicing their discontent and their desire for change is more than just idle words, and I feel that you are minimizing what the rest of us are trying to accomplish.”

“I think you are minimizing the situation by doing nothing about it! If you are really so upset, why don’t you take real action, instead of the action of inaction? Why don’t you start doing shit that gets people to really pay attention, instead of just inconveniencing some people? Why aren’t you angry?”

“We are angry, we just don’t let our emotions get the best of us. Hate and anger only creates more anger and hate, and it is just a terrible cycle. There is nothing to be gained from fighting and destruction, when there is so much more that can work. We can’t jump to one extreme, just because we are prisoners to our emotions. Don’t you always talk about how hateful the other side is, why stoop to their level? What is there to-”

“Look, doll,” this was a pet name that Beatrice had for the older woman, who became annoyed every time she heard it, “They are hateful, so we have to be hateful too? Don’t you see?” The Mistress sighed. “Look, when the Nazi’s were taking over Germany, did passive resistance do shit to stop them? No! Anyone who thought, ‘Oh, I’ll just sit around and ask nicely for the problem to go away’, was gassed or eaten alive. There is nothing to be gained by sitting on our asses, by-”

“Okay, I have to stop you there, you really have to stop comparing everyone you don’t like to Nazis. We are not in Nazi Germany, it isn’t as bad as you keep making it out to be. Sure, there is a lot of bullshit going on, but it is nowhere near genocide, or even having the bulk of our rights taken away, and there are still checks and balances in place to make sure that the government can’t become that. I agree that things have gotten a little out of hand, but-”

“Here you go again with that, ‘I understand you but I really don’t’, bullshit. Look, these are the end times, doll, and if you can’t see that its because you’ve got your head in the sand. You’ve chosen to play by the rules that they set up for you to stay away from power, they let you do what you do because its all harmless, its a load of horse shit, and you can’t realize it because they-”

“You keep saying ‘they’ like I’m supposed to know who you’re talking about, who the hell is this group that you’re trying to pin everything on?”

“Are you slow or something, the fuckin’ Republicans! They’ve had this countries balls in a vice grip since it was founded, and they’re the ones that call the shots. They wont stop until all the gays have been shot, until-”

“You’re just saying nonsense now,” She was beginning to get red in the face, which didn’t happen very often, “you’re just letting your emotions get the best of you, you’re refusing to look at the situation for how it is, because all you want is to justify yourself and your anger.”

“Look whose talking.”

“Shut up.” Adjusting the olive, military jacket that she kept draped over her shoulders, arms outside of the sleeves, “Just shut up for one minute. Listen, just because people are on a different end of the political spectrum doesn’t mean they’re monsters, doesn’t mean they’re incompetent, that kind of thinking is a load of bullshit. You get angry about they way some of them, not all, some, treat you and spread misinformation? You’re equally bad for doing the same, and, hell, you might even be worse for wanting to smash everything in sight. There are people on the right who are also good, well intentioned people, and they want some of the same things that we do, they just have different ways of achieving those goals. The way you talk only widens the political divide, and if we want to go anywhere in this country it should be hand in hand, not hand in throat. You just refuse to see things this way, because you wan to feel as if you’re right, as if you are smarter or better than them, and in the end your politics,” her voice grew louder and louder, and two of her friends started to walk over to her, to try to cool her down,”are nothing but a way for you to pat yourself on the back, to stroke your ego. Its masturbation. You don’t give a shit about politics, you only care about yourself.”

For several seconds Beatrice was quiet, a little startled since she had never seen the woman blow up in this way, so she only stood there as the Mistress’ friends got her to walk away, trying to get her to cool off. Aroused in a strange way that had made her uncomfortable, Beatrice decided to yell, to the woman who was walking away, “Oh yeah? Well look who the angry one is! Its you!” Hoping that her response would cover up her embarrassment from her body’s reaction, she decided to go somewhere that wasn’t crawling with other activists, somewhere where people didn’t know very much about politics, and Beatrice could heal some of her injured pride.

Ending up in a smoothie shop, Beatrice was talking to a single mother who had been interested in the girl’s appearance, and had asked if it was rude if she “wanted to ask questions about what it was like to be transgender.”

“It is,” Beatrice nodded, seeing the women get embarrassed, “but I will answer anyways since the damage has already been done, and I can be pretty reasonable. What do you want to know?”

“Well, what made you realize that you were, you know? Was that something you wanted to do, or..?”

“I knew from a long time ago that I was a girl inside, so I had decided to just, you know, transition already and now I’m happy.” Beatrice had, actually, never felt that she was a woman, and only decided to hop on the transgender train when she had realized that people were taking her seriously because she had come from an area of “privilege” (a concept she still couldn’t figure out, but said about fifty times a day), so she decided that she could just don a showy wig, give herself a woman’s wig, and then people would have to start taking her more seriously, and if they didn’t she would feel like she was being oppressed (even if it wasn’t in relation to her claiming that she was trans, and was something as simple as accidentally being bumped into, or calling her out on her shit) and would use that anger to give her a reason to talk politics at the people who didn’t want to listen to her.

Awkward, but genuinely curious, “So, what does the transition, how does that work? Do you still have your, um.. Downstairs equipment?”

“Well, everyone’s journey is different, and a lot of people chose to take hormones, or get the sex reassignment surgery, but I didn’t really need to do any of that.” Actually, she had attempted to undergo hormone replacement therapy, but it ended up giving her a nasty case of gender dysphoria after a couple weeks, which made her consider suicide, and was a good reason to flush the estrogen pills and the testosterone blockers down the toilet at the mall. “See, I know that I’m a woman, and I’m confident in the body I have, because even if it is large, hairy, masculine, I still know that its a woman’s body, because my brain is calling all of the shots. Which, let me remind you, is a woman’s brain. If I grow a mustache,” which she was in the process of doing, “that is no sweat off my back, and if you ask me, a lot of other transgirls are way too needy. They think that if you want to be considered a woman, you have to look like a woman, act like a woman, but they’re just, like, falling into all of these stereotypes of what a woman actually is, you know? They fall into this consumerist trap that tells them that they need to smell like flowers, or play with barbies, or wear lipstick, grow tits, have the ‘right’”, said in air quotes, “hormones, but that’s all just something they’ve been force fed. Don’t even get me started on transguys.”

“Wait, there are transguys? Like.. Girls that turn into guys?”

“Yeah, but they’re all a bunch of traitors to women. They’re just opportunists who want to try to be on the winning side, and all of those fuckers-”

“Language!” Covering her kid’s ears, not aware of the fact that her child has said much worse in the company of their small friends, such as “suck my fucking ass” or “shit faced bitch hole”.

This reaction caused Beatrice to scowl at the woman, and she complained that, “You are impeding on my right of free speech! My right to self expression. Fucking snowflake.”

After she had left the store, Beatrice had decided that she should stop by her house in order to prepare for the day’s demonstration. Inside her living room was a large, black velvet painting of Mao Zedong, who she believed to be a great hero, a true revolutionary, a wonderful leader. She also had scattered photographs of Stalin, Castro, and Kim Jong-Il, because she believed that everything that capitalism had said was a lie, and believed that since these figures were generally reviled, they must have actually been heroes. Their propaganda also seemed as if it was enough to convince her. She also had a copy of Malcolm X’s autobiography, right on her coffee table, placed so that everyone could see it, but she hadn’t read very far in, and basically cherry picked quotes that validated her desire to use hate and force for political means, ignoring most of the actual book, especially the last section. Before she was going to head down to the protest at the library, which was hosting a lecture by a white nationalist, mainly because the library believed that anyone should be able to speak if they fill out the proper paper work, no matter what their views may be. Beatrice was hoping that she would be able to smash in the guy’s windshield.

Over at the protest, the Mistress had reluctantly showed up, and was trying to voice her conflicted feelings to a friend of hers, “I don’t know if we should be protesting or not, it seems like we might be strengthening their cause, but it also seems like we would be doing the same by letting them spew those awful ideas.”

“Well,” her friend had replied, “shouldn’t we let everyone know that these people just aren’t welcome?”

“Yeah, but it seems like the more we complain, the more that they point at our complaining and say ‘Hey, these people are trying to silence us, they’re a bunch of fascists who want to police language!’ And then people start to wonder, you know, wonder what people are so upset about. They think the people being protested seem so calm and reasonable, so what’s the issue? Why do they have to have their first amendment’s rights stepped all over?”

“That’s not what the first amendment represents, though. They have their right to voice their ideas, and we have the rights to voice our ideas about their ideas. Isn’t the fact that they want us to stop complaining and let them go on with their terrible views a way to censor us?”

“No, no, see, then you’re just looking at what they’re doing and you want to flip it around on them, you’re trying to do the same thing they’re doing. They have a right to complain about us complaining, just like we have a right to complain about them, and they have to state whatever biased facts they have about immigrants naturally having the impulse to rape women, or whatever it is that they make up. But, they still see us complaining, and they use that to strengthen their point, because it doesn’t matter that we all have the right to complain, since most people don’t look that deeply into it. So they can paint us as trying to step on their rights, just like you tried to paint them as stepping on ours, except they can use that to bring more and more people into their cause, giving them free publicity.”

“But shouldn’t we not allow all of this to go on? Shouldn’t we prove that its not okay for the right to-”

“The far-right.”

“What?”

“Its not the views of the normal right, they’re far-right views, they’re the extreme. Its important to make that distinction, because without it then they seem more normal, and their cause and comments start to become more and more acceptable.”

“So what? They’re still-”

“No, there should be no ‘so what’. Think about it, you know Beatrice and how we all pretty much hate her?”

“Yeah, she’s the worst. Not only is she annoying to be around, but she all makes us look terrible.”

“Exactly, she makes us all look bad. When she does what she does, she becomes an extreme for everyone to focus on, there only needs to be a small amount of people doing something for the rest to get overgeneralized. Same happens with the white nationalists, people like us tend to think that they represent the right, when they’re just as much as a sore as Beatrice is for us. Because, no group is truly homogeneous, nothing is black and white, everything is just fucking grey. See, you and me are talking about this right now, but that doesn’t mean that everyone shares our opinions, thinks or talks like us, has the same views. Our views aren’t the same views as everyone else in our side of the political spectrum, just like the views of Beatrice don’t really represent a lot of others, because she’s an individual. Sure, she may be a transtrender, she may be in politics for all of the wrong reasons, her views may be shitty, but that only reflects her as a person, she does not represent the whole.”

“You’re really focused on her right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I feel bad for blowing up at her.”

“Didn’t she kind of deserve it though?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Speaking of the point, why did you think that we shouldn’t protest? That was never fully explained.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, and I didn’t say that we shouldn’t protest, I just meant that it was a gray area for me, because people wont look at the gray of what we are doing, they will only look at the most surface level parts. The only people who will listen to our message are the people who already shared the same opinions, while the people who we would need to convince are going to use us to make their cause even stronger. And, I’ve wondered if it would be better to just let them exist, to stop coming out and trying to stop them, just to let them have no opposition and let people smell the bullshit, but that’s how we got here. A lot of those shitty people did get ignored, and their views weren’t challenged, and it gave them enough time to build their causes, and now the bubbles are so thick that they’re too hard to burst.”

“Its like cult members. Their ideas are so reinforced, they have this nonsensical vision of the outside world, and any idea to the contrary just makes them double down on what they’ve already believed. Its what they’ve been conditioned to do, it would be like trying to convince somebody that the moon doesn’t exist.”

“Exactly. And now I feel that, when we protest, they just use it to reinforce their delusions, and now its like actual discussion has become impossible, its just two groups trying to talk over each other about their political views, while they try to convince the other, with no intention to actually change their view points.”

“And not only that, but, like you said earlier, our side isn’t completely clear from this. People like Beatrice-

“People like her have their own bubbles, and then that gives the people in the other bubble, the far-right bubble, somebody to point to and say ‘Hey, look how delusional and out of touch with reality these people are! They’re living in a fucking media bubble, they can’t even understand any other side of the issue, we’re so much better for not being like them!’”

“And the people in the far-left bubble point and do the exact same thing, so they’ve become, like, codependent to reinforce each other’s views.”

“Yeah, and when you add in the whole black and white complex, then they start to see it as more than just far-right or far-left, they star to think that it represents all of the left or all of the right. And now, its just a huge fucking mess, and I think I’m getting tired of all of it.”

“The end times are coming.”

“No, that’s a shitty way to look at things, because this is nowhere near that bad. Its just bad for a moment, we’ve hit a sand trap. We’ll get out eventually, it always happens. A Republican comes into office and fucks things up, and then a Democrat comes in and patches things together, and it just keeps going on like that. After this term or the next, the other side are going to be the ones who are going to be the angriest, and then when they are done we’re going to come in and take their place.”

“Isn’t saying Republicans screw things up an overgeneralization?”

“The Bushes, Reagan, Ford, Nixon, Hoover, they were pretty bad. But I guess it looks at the way you view it, because there are people who believe that these were great men, while they may be the sort of people that make us a little agitated. Its all perspective.”

“If its all perspective, then is anybody right?”

“Yes, one side is more right, since neither is perfect, but a lot of people don’t care for that, they just want the side that makes them feel better. Maybe we’re the same way and don’t realize it. We live in a time where people care more about feelings then facts, and everyone thinks they’re exempt, so what changes things if we feel the same way?”

“We just have to make sure to keep our minds open then, we have to be willing to hear the other side out.”

“Yeah, but what if the other side starts saying shit like black people are genetically predisposed to crime, or that immigrants are some of the most violent people in the world, or that we should have a peaceful genocide?”

“Just because we have to be open minded, Mistress, doesn’t mean that we have to accept everything that they say. You can still be open minded and call bullshit whenever it arises. There are two sides to every story, but both sides aren’t valid.”

As the protest was going on, Beatrice had arrived with a large group, all dressed in gray, all of their faces covered, ready to join in on the protest. Without wasting any time, they began smashing car windows, throwing trash cans through store windows, they really like to hear glass break, set trash cans on fire, and generally started breaking everything that they could. People started pulling out their phones to record the chaos that had ensued, and in no time there were reports that the protests had started to become violent, even as the main and original group stayed where they were, continuing to picket and chant.

Eventually the police had intervened, and as the night grew violent, destructive, and chaotic, order was eventually restored, but a few of the violent protesters had been apprehended. One of them was the Mistress, who was cuffed when she was found, hiding from the police (she was actually trying to get away from the tear gas that was deployed, and generally unpleasant to stand in), and another was one of the gray demonstrators, who had claimed that she had a message from her group. She declared that they were anti-fascists who wanted to make it so that fascism could be outlawed, she said she was so angry that she wanted to burn down the white house, she claimed that the current administration should be shot down, she claimed that she was the leader of the group and went on a confused rant that seemed more self serving than anything else. Not only was the Mistress, who declined to say anything to the press, lumped in as an accomplice with Beatrice, but the anarchist group that Beatrice had showed up with was furious that she was caught, even madder at the fact that she got their ideology wrong, while the general protesters where dismayed by how violent everything had suddenly turned, and the speaker they protested (who believed that it would be bad for Syrian refugees to enter the country, because they would eventually enter the gene pool) had raised in popularity.

#Free Write #Short Story #Writers on Tumblr #Politics #Opinion