#and reading scriptures about how we should respond when we are wronged | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ironwoman359 · 4 years ago

Text

This is probably not the best place to ask, but you’re also a Christian woman too. I was wondering what you thought about what the Bible says about women and how we must submit to husbands and some other stuff that has me (a potential ace) Christain woman kind of terrified. I would go to my church but social anxiety and my church is pretty conservative. I don’t want to think that we’re just second rate citizens with this. Um…that’s all. You don’t have to answer. Love your Tumblr. It’s one of the main ones I look at. Thanks for countless enjoyment!

— — —

(I’m responding on the submission and not the ask because the ask refused to post properly, I think it was too long for Tumblr’s fancy)

So I know you just asked for my thoughts and not a biblical interpretation lesson, but I didn’t spend 3 months writing an exegesis in college for me to never use those skills again, so buckle up for something of a long answer! (literally, this is almost 3 thousand words, so....sorry about that) *rubs hands together* The thing we need to take into consideration when reading the bible is Interpretation; any truly honest biblical scholar would tell you it is a mistake to take every word in the bible at its literal face value, ESPECIALLY since most of us are reading translations of scripture, not the original ancient hebrew/greek/aramaic/whatever else. So when interpreting scripture, we must consider these things:

Author (Who wrote it?)

Audience (Who was it written for?)

Context (What is written around it?)

So the verses you’re referencing are Ephesians 5:22-23, and in the NIV, they read as follows:

22 Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. 23 For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. 24 Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.

Isolated from author, audience, and context, they sound pretty sexist, don’t they? And male authority figures have used these verses as justification for the oppression of women for centuries, just as white men used the passage only a few verses away, Ephesians 6:5, as justification for the oppression and ownership of black people (Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ). So let’s look at each of the points above in regards to Ephesians 5 and 6. First, who wrote it? Sometimes that can be a tricky question to answer, but in this case, it’s actually very easy (though there is still a bit of fuzziness/debate). Traditionally, Ephesians is one of the Apostle Paul’s letters to the early church. Specifically, to the body of believers in Ephesus, a Greek city that was a part of the Roman Empire at the time. According to two different study bibles I have, the letter of Ephesians was not addressing any particular problem that the church in Ephesus had (as was often the case with Paul’s letters), but was meant as an encouragement of faith and to increase his readers’ understanding of what it meant to be a follower of Christ. So now what about the Context? Why are the verses at the end of chapter 5 and beginning of chapter 6 so damning to our modern sensibilities? To answer that, we must look at the passages both in context to the verses around them, and in historical and cultural context (which is where 1 & 2 come into play again). Going back to the beginning of chapter 4, which is subtitled “Unity in the Body of Christ” (and remember, these subtitles and groupings were come up with LONG after they were written; we grouped sections together in a way we thought was most logical, which honestly for a book as short as Ephesians I would argue is barely even necessary), we can see that the letter from chapter 4 onward is about living a Holy and Godly life. Chapter 4 urges us to be “completely humble and gentle, be patient, bearing with one another in love” and warns us against living “as the Gentiles* do, in the futility of their thinking.” *Gentiles in this case meaning not neccesarily all non-Jews, but non-believers. AKA, we should live like Jesus lived, WWJD and all that jazz. If the Holy Spirit is in our hearts and our relationship with God is at the forefront of our lives, then that should show clearly in our actions. The very first verse of chapter 5 reads “Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” Chapters 5 and 6 especially are meant to act as a sort of guide for how a follower of Christ should act. There’s some stuff about obscenity, greed, sexual impurity, 5:15 sums it up pretty well basically, “Be very careful, then, how you live- not as unwise but as wise,” and then we reach the all important verse. Ephesians 5:21, “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.” That’s a full sentence, just that there. Submit to one another. The following three sections are all subsections of this point: one for Wives submitting to Husbands, one for Children submitting to Parents, and one for Slaves submitting to Masters. But when looking at all of these, bad shepherds (ie, racist, sexist assholes) like to ignore that first bit, submit to one another, just as they like to ignore 5:28, which says “husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself;” or they ignore 6:4 which says “Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord;” and they ignore 6:9, “Masters, treat your slaves in the same way. Do not threaten them, since you know that he who is both their Master and yours is in heaven, and there is no favoritism with him.” I do highly encourage you to read chapters 4, 5, and 6 in full, or at least start at 4:17, which is where Paul starts talking about “Living as Children of Light,” because it makes the intent of these apparently damning verses much more clear. Paul is stating that as Christians, we should treat everyone around us with honor and respect. According to one of my study bibles, the grammar of the original Greek suggests that the “submission” involved in all three sections is intended to be mutual submission, and is to come from a filling of the Holy Spirit. However, to be quite frank, Paul still Lived In A Society. A highly structured, patriarchal society, in which all members of a household (women, children, slaves) were expected to submit to the patriarchal head of that household. Male children until they reached adulthood, Slaves until they were freed (remember that, while by no means a purely morally good thing, the system of Roman Slavery was VASTLY DIFFERENT from the Atlantic Slave Trade that men later used this passage to justify existing), and women, unfortunately, for their whole lives. In another one of his letters, what is now the book of Galatians, Paul says in chapter 3 verse 27-29 that “You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” This would have been radical at the time. Paul is promising all people of all genders and classes that, in the eyes of God, they are Equal, One, and all “sons,” meaning that they all have a right to the Inheritance of the Father (remember, at this time and in this culture women did not get any inheritance, and younger sons got significantly less than the firstborn. Paul assures the believers that they ALL are equal receivers of the Promises of God). But this equality that Paul speaks of was, in his eyes, a spiritual equality. He was not particularly concerned with overthrowing the earthly patriarchal society that subjugated women and lower classes, but rather instructed all members of that society who also were Believers to submit equally to one another out of love and respect, for they were all Equal in God’s eyes and would be Equal in heaven. This is why he both tells women to submit to and obey their husbands, but also husbands to love, cherish, and care for their wives. Children, obey your parents, but Fathers, don’t be dicks to your kids. Slaves should obey their masters (slavery was much more like a job that you weren’t allowed to quit until your boss said so) but Masters shouldn’t abuse their slaves. There are Societal Authorities, and Paul is telling his readers “look you can’t just go around not respecting those Authorities, but also hey, if you’re the Authority? That’s not a free pass to be an asshole.” As one of my study bibles puts it, “Paul counseled all believers to submit to one another by choice…this kind of mutual submission preserves order and harmony in the family while it increases love and respect among family members.” Paul is basically saying “it’s better for everyone if we all get along, and remember that Christ had a servant’s heart, and intentionally lowered himself for us, so we should do the same for each other.” And while a patriarchal class system is still super sucky for like 80% of the people involved, at least it’s a whole lot more bearable if everyone involved is being a Nice, Good Member of that Society. You mentioned being worried about being treated like a “second rate citizen.” The fact of the matter is that when this was written, women were second rate citizens; that is the context in which Paul is writing. And while I firmly believe that that was wrong, in every sense of the word, Paul wasn’t especially concerned about challenging that aspect of society. Priority one was “Spread the Gospel” and Priority two was “Don’t Get Killed while Spreading the Gospel.” Speaking of Paul, let’s talk a little more about Saul of Tarsus, shall we? In all literary analysis, it is important to examine the author’s beliefs and what biases may have made their way into the work. And while we believe the bible to be a Holy Book, it can and should be subject to the same rules of literary analysis as non-religious texts. First, you must ask yourself, what do you believe about the bible? There are four general ways of looking at it (which are called Theories of Inspiration).

The bible is the Divine Word of God, dictated word for word across centuries directly to its human authors by God Himself.

The bible is the Divine Word of God, written across centuries by men Inspired by the Holy Spirit. While they are writing in their own words, this Inspiration means that the bible is Wholly Perfect with no errors.

The bible is the Divine Word of God, written across centuries by men Inspired by the Holy Spirit. However, because they are imperfect, fallible men, there is a possibility of errors in the text, both in the account of events that happened and in the teaching therein.

The bible is a collection of accounts written by men, with no Divine Intervention from God. It is not Holy, God’s Word, or Infallible.

I was raised to believe theory 2, but now I personally believe theory 3. And since I’m the author of this analysis, it is through the lens and bias of theory 3 that I now present my next point: Paul was sexist. I don’t think he was maliciously so (see again, Galatians 3, and the statement in Ephesians 5 that men should honor, cherish, and care for their wives), but he was a product of his time who had ingrained ideas about women and their place in society. This does not A) mean he was right about how women should act OR B) mean that we should toss out everything he had to say, about women or otherwise, because he was Problematic. Most biblical authors were, in fact, Problematic. Either by our modern standards, due to the time in which they lived, OR by the standards of their own time, because God liked to use Imperfect People (we’re all imperfect, but He liked particularly imperfect people) in His plans. David was an adulterer and murderer. Paul happily sent dozens of Christians to their deaths. Peter was hotheaded and super prejudiced against Gentiles and Samaritans. And most of them were, in one way or another, sexist, racist, and homophobic. These biases then found their way, intentionally or not, into their writings, and then other racist, sexist, homophobic men used those writings to justify systemic oppression of anyone who was not like them. Oppression that is not Christlike. So where does that leave us, in our 21st century application of scripture to our daily lives? We must examine how it was to be read at the time (which we have done), and then see what we can apply from it to our own lives. For myself in my marriage, I look again to the original grammar of Ephesians 5, that indicates the submission is to be mutual. I “submit” to my husband, and he “submits” to me. In other words, our relationship is built on Trust, Clear Communication, and Respect for one another. Sometimes we have to compromise, and I have to put aside my own desires for his sake, or he must set aside his own desires for my sake. It is a willingness to listen to one another, to approach conflicts with an open mind, to consider each other’s feelings before we speak. It is an equal, mutual submission based on love for each other, which doesn’t contradict what Paul says at all. God created all people to be equal. Humans are stupid sometimes and try to insist that we know better, try to create hierarchies and use the bible to try and justify that, but that doesn’t mean those humans are right. If your church is trying to make you feel less than because of your gender, or if you date somebody who pushes TradWife rhetoric and tries to use Ephesians as their justification, then you Run, and feel justified in doing so. (Especially if they also try to use Paul’s words to tell you why you owe your partner sex; see again, Paul was not only sexist but also lived in a patriarchal time when women were second class citizens that had very specific expectations placed on them AND he wasn’t even in a relationship himself, forgive me if I take his advice on my sex life with a grain of salt. Without doing this whole process again, a good modern reading of “don’t deprive one another” is “don’t use sex as a weapon in your relationship/withhold it for bs reasons when you’re mad at each other, etc. Like all other relationship things, sex (or a lack thereof) with your spouse should be based on mutual trust, communication, and love, not petty arguments or the standards of others.)

Trust me, as an ace woman myself, I totally get the fear. I’ve felt it myself, in the past. But God’s intentions for you are not that you become a doormat or servant to a man. If a romantic relationship (or any other partnership) is part of His plan for you, then the bible clearly states, both in Ephesians and elsewhere, that it should be one built on Love and Trust, not Subjugation and Servitude.

I hope this helped you, and again, sorry it was so long XD. Have an amazing day! <3

#christianity #biblical analysis #religion #anti trad wife #ephesians 5 #ace things #taylor talks #for a loooong time

180 notes · View notes

sketching-shark · 4 years ago

Note

LMK fandom: Oh, what do we do about this guy who has nothing but hurt Xiaotian, tried to replace Sun Wukong and his crew, hurt Tripitaka and ordered servants to cannibalize a monkey? Oh I know! We’ll turn him into our little meow meow~ he’s so innocent and Sun Wukong is obviously the villain!

What doesn’t help is this idea is perpetuated by multiple fan fic writers and artists for some reason. Especially some aus they make that turn SWK into a bastard for the sake of the story rather than considering cultural context and thinking they should be respectful.

And almost everyone lets them get away with it just because the art or fanfic is good and they get so popular that no one can point what is actually wrong without feeling like they’re going to get attacked.

I'm starting to feel like my blog is the one anons go to specifically to vent their frustrations about the Six Eared Macaque in his lego monkey show form & the associated fandom lmao. But I guess this makes sense, as I’ve had fun quasi-dragging him before & will in fact use this anon submission as an opportunity to have my own, to put it academically, bitch fest about not just this fandom's favorite protagonist-traumatizing meow meow, but about the way villains are often treated in not just fanon, but increasingly in canon works as well. But same policy as with the last anon; I'll post my opinions below the cut, and as fandoms love to say, don’t like don't read if you don't want to see me dunking on the six eared simian & common fandom tendencies towards villains.

Oh man I would say where would you even begin with this but anon you’ve pretty much started yourself with my main gripe with a lot of ways that the Six-Eared Macaque is portrayed in fandom; there seems to be this unspoken agreement that his acts of violence towards Sun Wukong, Qi Xioatian, and Qi Xioatian’s loved ones are either to be framed as somewhat or totally justified, to be immediately forgiven/excused, or to simply & completely be ignored. Like friends maybe this is just me not seeing the proper posts but while the fandom is inundated with art and fanfics of Macaque as a generally decent individual & a true member of team good guy, I have yet to see one person address the fact that this monkey literally kidnapped & mind-controlled Xiaotian’s best friend and father figures & forced them to brutalize Xiaotian while ol’ Six Ear looked on and laughed (X_X). Like this kind of fandom villain treatment is definitely not something that’s solely at work for Monkie Kid, but it is kind of nutty how fandoms will swing between yelling that people should be allowed to like villains without even mild critique, and then will just flat-out not address the villainous behavior, and will even bend over backwards to frame even characters who committed genocide as just poor innocent widdle victims who need a hug. At its worst, I’ve even seen tons of people in a fandom get really angry at other people who don’t like a villain, and will even start accusing those people of hating real-life mentally disabled or abused individuals all because they don’t like the fandom’s favorite literal war criminal. The Monkie Kid fandom is FAR more chill & better than a lot of other fandoms I’ve come across in that regard, but that is an exceedingly low bar, & the tendency to woobify certain kinds of villains-- as with Macaque and the extreme emphasis on his bad boy/sad boy thing--is very much at work.

I’ve also talked before about a kind of monoculturalization of certain character interpretations and story beats in fandoms, and one of the more popular ones that seems to be applied to Macaque a lot is the “hero actually bad, villain actually good” cliche, as observable from the general fandom assumption that Mr. Six-Ears he wasn’t even slightly lying or remembering things through a rose-tinted or skewed lens when he gave his version of his and Sun Wukong’s past. Like at this point it seems the possibility that people WILL NOT even consider is that Sun Wukong never did & still doesn't care that much about the Six Eared Macaque (in JTTW they weren’t sworn brothers & in Monkie Kid the only thing the monkey king really said to Macaque before attacking him was a pretty contemptuous "Aren't you ever going to get sick of living under my shadow?," & responds to his "beloved friend" getting blown up with "You did good, bud" to Qi Xiaotian, who did the exploding), or that their original fight may in fact have mostly been instigated by Macaque. After all, to repeat what this anon summarized & what I've said before about their original JTTW context (& in an example of the things that do feel like it's often lost in translation) is that the Six Ear Macaque was a villain not just because he beat up the Tang Monk, but because he wanted to take over Sun Wukong's entire life and identity so he could have all that glory, prestige, and power for himself. To quote the macaque himself from the Anthony C. Yu translation, "I struck the T'ang monk and I took the luggage...precisely because I want to go to the West all by myself to ask Buddha for the scriptures. When I deliver them to the Land of the East, it will be my success and no one else's. Those people of the South Jambudvipa Continent will honor me then as their patriarch and my fame will last for all posterity." And in order to do this, the Six Eared Macaque had apparently made Sun Wukong's "little ones," his monkey family, his captives through either trickery or force, and gotten a number of them to take on the appearance of Tang Sanzang and the other pilgrims. It's also made clear that in very direct contrast to Sun Wukong, he doesn't care about these monkeys beyond how they might serve him. In fact, after Sha Wujing kills the monkey posing as him the Six Eared Macaque not only all but immediately replaces him with another, but also "told his little ones to have the dead monkey skinned. Then his meat was taken to be fried and served as food along with coconut and grape wines." So this monkey is not only willing to risk the lives of a lot of other monkeys for his own personal benefit, but is also a literal cannibal. And yes yes, I know a lot of people have argued that Monkie Kid shouldn't be considered a direct sequel to JTTW & that's fair enough (for example, Sun Wukong probably shouldn't be smashing anyone into a meat patty in a children's cartoon lol). And of course, it needs to be noted that there are a buttload of really out there & really cursed pieces of media based on JTTW & that were created in China. Yet the above description is the oft-ignored in the west original facet of the Six Eared Macaque's character. And it is this selfishness, entitlement, and treatment of other individuals as tools for his own self-serving ends that is, from where I’m standing, still very much present in Monkie Kid. Like besides repeatedly going out of his way to physically and psychologically traumatize Xioatian, with the last episode Macaque seemed to be going right back to his manipulative ways. I’ve seen people frame their last conversation as Macaque softening to Xioatian a little bit, but personally that read a lot more like that common tactic among abusers where even after they’ve hurt you they’ll dangle something you want or need over your head (in Macaque’s case, the promise of desperately needed training and information about a serious looming threat), with the implication that you’ll only get it if you do what they want you to, such as, in this case, Xioatian going back to Macaque as his student even after having been so terribly hurt by this monkey, which would give Macaque power over Xiaotian and probably Sun Wukong as a result. And it is this violence and manipulation that it seems the fandom at large has tacitly decided shouldn’t even be addressed, instead leaning more towards a (and this is an exaggeration) “Six-Eared Macaque my poor meow meow Sun Wukong has always been bad & has always been wrong about literally everything” reading.

And while it is the case that I am not Chinese and feel that as such it would be best left to someone who actually comes from that background to provide more context into how common interpretations of the Six Eared Macaque from China may clash really badly with the stuff the western fandom creates, it also must be noted that, as much as we all want to have fun in fandom & in spite of all the out-there versions of JTTW from China, we westerners should recognize that there is a very long and very ugly history of western countries stripping other cultures’ important religious and literary works for parts & mashing them into their own thing while implying or even insisting that what they present provides a true understanding of the original piece. And while I trust most individuals in regards to Monkie Kid are able to step back and think “this is a lego cartoon and not a set guide for how I should understand JTTW” (especially given the insistence that JTTW and Monkie Kid should be considered there own separate works) there does nevertheless seem to be something of a tendency to take the conclusions people come to, for example, about Sun Wukong’s characteristic in his lego form & then assume that’s just reflective to Sun Wukong as a totality. I imagine a good portion of this is due to people not reading JTTW & especially to not having easy access to solid information or answers about JTTW’s many different facets (like geez awhile ago I was trying to get a clear answer on what is considered the most accurate translation of the names of Sun Wukong’s six sworn brothers & got like 5 different responses lmao), but that tendency to take a western fandom interpretation & run with it instead of doing any background research or questioning said interpretation is still very much at play. As such, & as made prominent in the way people have been interpreting the dynamic between Sun Wukong and the Six Eared Macaque in the lego monkey show, tbh it does seem kind of shitty for western creators & audience to sometimes go really out of their way to ignore all of this original cultural & narrative context for the sake of Angst (TM) in Macaque's favor, demonizing Sun Wukong, and shipping the monkey king with his evil twin (X_X).

And speaking of which, even beyond the potential inherent creepiness & revulsion that can be inspired by this specific ship given common interpretations of the og classic's original meaning (again, it's my understanding, given both summaries of translated Chinese academic texts I've been kindly provided with, my own reading of the Anthony C. Yu translation of JTTW, & vents from a number of Chinese people I've seen on this site, that the Six-Eared Macaque is commonly interpreted in China as having originated from Sun Wukong himself as a living embodiment of his worst traits, hence why only Buddha can tell the difference between them & why the monkey king is much more slow to violence after he kills the macaque), I'd argue that in the face of all the uwu poor widdle meow meow portrayals lego show Macaque is, especially if you include JTTW's events, still in the role of “Sun Wukong but worse” as he is very much a violent & selfish creep. Like he was basically running around in JTTW wearing a Sun Wukong fursuit, but there he had the sole reason of wanting to replace Sun Wukong wholesale so he could have all the good things in the monkey king's life without actually having to work as hard for them. But if you combine that with Macaque now claiming that he used to be best friend with Sun Wukong in his pre-journey days (something that's made funny from a JTTW context given that that status actually belongs to the Demon Bull King lol), his original violence has now blown into this centuries long and really unhealthy obsession with the monkey king. Like he's apparently gone from wanting to literally be Sun Wukong to being so obsessed with getting revenge on Sun Wukong that he's got basically nothing else going on in his life. Like he's only appeared in two episodes but...does he have any friends? Any family? A career or even a hobby that DOESN'T center the monkey king? Anything at all outside of his "get revenge on and/or kill Sun Wukong/use his successor as my personal punching bag” thing? Like dude! That is extremely creepy and extremely bad for everyone all around! As I’ve said before, this seeming refusal to see beyond the past or to do something that doesn’t involve Sun Wukong in some capacity is a trait that makes Macaque an interesting and somewhat tragic villain--he even seems to be working as Sun Wukong’s reflection in a mirror darkly, with lego show Sun Wukong pretty clearly not being able to heal from his own past which is hinted to be defined by one loss after another, and with Monkie Kid even kind of having these two characters somewhat follow their JTTW characterizations in that in the latter half of the journey Sun Wukong often gets sad & starts crying in the face of what seems insurmountable odds (& Monkie Kid Sun Wukong does seem to be hiding some serious depression behind a cheerful facade), whereas the Six-Eared Macaque retains a worse version of Sun Wukong’s pre-journey characteristic of getting pissed and lashing out if things don’t go his way--but it’s also what would make any current friendship or romantic relationship between these monkeys horrific. Although to be fair even the fandom seems to recognize this in an unconscious way, in that a lot of the art & fanfic seems to swing erratically between them kissing & screaming at each other in yet another example of bog-standard fandom adulation of romanticized toxic relationships lol.

At the end of the day, of course, this is nothing new. You'll find versions of this dynamic across a ton of fandoms and now even canonical work. And as such, I can only look at this kind of popularized relationship dynamic with a kind of resigned weariness whenever it pops up, & my frustrated question with the popularity of this kind of pairing is the exact same one that I have for a multitude of blatantly toxic villain/hero ships, given common fandom discourse & the tendency to either ignore or justify the villain's actions & demonize the hero: if you're THAT convinced that everything is the hero's fault, if you believe THAT much that the hero is the one in the wrong for the villain's pain and their subsequent actions, then why are you so set on them not only becoming a romantic pair, but framing this get-together as a good thing? Like I know we contain multitudes but that's waaay too many contradictions for me to wrap my head around. And it definitely doesn’t help that one branch of underlying reasoning behind this kind of pairing seems to be the ever-present “you break it, you fix it” mentality, where the assumption is that if you’re in a failing, abusive, and/or generally toxic relationship (platonically or romantically), if you put in enough time and effort & attempts to compromise, you’ll be able to restore/have the relationship you dreamed of, even with someone who hurt you really badly. And this assumption isn’t limited to fandom: I’d even argue that it’s everywhere in the culture, hence why a lot of people feel like they “failed” if they have to get a divorce or make the choice to leave an unhealthy friendship. Personally, I feel like people could really benefit from more stories about how it is not only the case that the people you hurt don’t owe you their forgiveness & you can still become a better and happier person without the one you hurt in your life, & that while it can be really hard it can also be a good thing to leave a relationship, even if it’s one that once meant a lot to you.

But in all honestly, from my own perspective this kind of pairing is starting to read far less like enemies to lovers and far more like a horrible fantasy where you can pull whatever shit you want, even on the people you "love," & never be held accountable for your terrible behavior or even have to consider that maybe you were in the wrong. It's another facet that makes me larf every time I see people insist that fandom is an inherently "transformative" or "progressive" form of storytelling like friends you are literally just taking status quo toxic monogamy & rebranding it as somehow beneficial & romantic (X_X).

But as to anon’s last frustration, it is hard to know what is the appropriate response with this kind of thing...like for my own part I’m keeping my frustrations to my blog & now increasingly to posts that you would have to click on the “read more” button to see what I have to say, but I totally get the hesitation to give even a mild critique to big names in a fandom. Like I've now seen it happen repeatedly where someone who has a big name in a fandom will make something that's kind of shitty for one reason or another, someone will message them with some version of "hey, that's kind of shitty, you shouldn't do that," and the typical response is either to blatantly ignore the issue completely, or more popularly to make a giant crying circus that seems deliberately geared towards stoking emotions on both sides of the, for example, fiction does/doesn't affect reality issue so that something that didn't even have to be that big a deal gets blown out of all proportion, with the big name often framing what often started out as a very mild critique into a long crying jag about how the initial response to their kind of shitty thing was so mean/cruel and they're just a poor innocent & that YOU'RE the true racist/sexist/bigot etc. if you don't agree with their opinion. It must of course be noted that there have also been numerous instances of people taking it too far the other way & sending not just big names but smaller creators literal deaths threats over stuff like innocuous ships which like holy hell bells people that’s a horrible thing to do. But for the big names at least, the end result of all this fighting is usually that once the dust has settled they have more attention/fame/money/power in the fandom than before, and with anyone who might have a problem with their stuff feeling afraid to voice their opinion lest they be swarmed by that person's fans. In that way fandom does often seem to increasingly be geared towards presenting an “official” fandom perspective about various facets of a piece of media instead of allowing for a multitude of interpretations, and with criticism, no matter its shape or form or how genuinely warranted it may be, being hounded out of existence. I feel like a lot of this could be made less bad if there wasn’t this constant assumption & even drive to think that a different interpretation of or criticism of your favorite work of fiction or your fanwork isn’t a direct claim that you are a thoroughly loathsome individual (& maybe also if people cultivated an enjoyment of learning things about important works from a culture outside their own, even if what you learn clashes with your own initial understandings), but I guess we’ll see if that ever happens.

So these are my general thinks about the Six Eared Macaque’s current fandom meow meow status & some of my bigger gripes with fandom tendencies as a whole. I stand by my idea that the most interesting & beneficial route for Macaque moving forward would be a kind of “redemption without forgiveness from the ones you hurt” arc--as I think was done pretty excellently with the character Grace in Infinity Train--and if for no other reason than gosh dern this monkey really needs to cultivate some sort of identity beyond his “Sun Wukong but worse” persona.

#lmk macaque #monkie kid macaque #6 eared macaque #monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #qi xiaotian #lmk monkey king #sun wukong #monkey king #journey to the west #jttw #fandom criticism #lmk

118 notes · View notes

loveerran · 4 years ago

Note

hi i'm a bi mormon and i've been struggling with the church all my life. i never felt the Spirit after baptism. i never felt a feeling of peace at the temple. i'm always bored to death by sunday school and i can't read the scriptures like everybody else bc they always read like a lengthy textbook to me. i also hate my patriarchal blessing bc it says i'll be blessed with children when i really don't want children at all. i feel like i've done everything wrong and that i'm not wanted.

Hello Anon,

I was so glad to open my inbox and see this. I also got the following ask today in my queerward discord server and think I will respond to both at the same time here. But first, you have not done everything wrong. God loves you and you are of divine worth. You are wanted. And I have included an invite for you at the end of this response as a partial demonstration of how much you are wanted :)

From @winterknightdragon:

"What exactly does it mean to act in faith, particularly when trying to receive revelation or help from God? Is it believing that the help will come, however likely it seems? Or is it something else? How do we show God that we have faith to receive answers?"

This is just such a central question for me. To me, this is the entire substance of the plan of salvation, the grand metaphor of the temple and just everything. It also directly plays to this week's Sunday School lesson from Come Follow Me (Section 88). Section 88 is a fantastic read for law and light and I highly recommend it. The following is all from me, and does not establish doctrine per se, but I believe it to be scripturally consistent. Your own study may add to it :).

The spirit, the light of Christ, is given to everyone who enters the world (DC 84:46-47, Alma 29:8 and other cross references). The spirit testifies of truth (DC 88, 93 and many others). So when we ask questions, with real intent and a penitent heart, the Lord answers. If we act on the prompting received, we receive blessings and witnesses, signs and tokens, that we are on the right path back to our heavenly home. Thus asking with real intent and a willingness to act on revelation received is an act of faith, and actually acting on the prompting that is received is an act of faith. Acting on our own volition to seek answers, and then acting on the answers received, are both acts of faith. And both are answered with revelation and blessings (DC 88:67 and cfs (cross-references)).

A favorite exercise of mine comes from Steven Covey and is one I use frequently. I can freely recommend it to @everyone as a very valuable tool. The exercise involves placing yourself in a penitent state of mind, willing to act on revelation received. Then ask these questions of the Lord about your prioritized stewardships, with intent to follow through, and allow for a period of silence. Keep something handy to write down what you receive if possible, because acting on these revelations will mean that the Lord will give you more revelation later. The Lord gives knowledge and revelation to those who will act on it. This is my list. Your list may vary depending on your current roles. Your questions may change somewhat in wording, and that is perfectly fine (but note the importance of making these actionable answers):

What is the most important thing I need to do right now to strengthen my relationship with my Father in Heaven through Jesus Christ?

What is the single most important thing I need to do to improve my relationship with my spouse?

What is the most important thing I need to do, for (each of my children by name) in my role as a parent?

What do I need to do in my role as a child and sibling with regard to my earthly family?

What do I need to do in terms of my career as I seek to be a provider for myself and others?

What do I need to study or work on in terms of my ongoing education? (note: this doesn't require full-time enrollment in formal schooling)

How should I go about magnifying my calling at church?

Asking these questions, and waiting for the responses, is a great way to invite the Spirit. And it is almost impossible to ask these questions, with real intent to act in faith, and not receive a response. Sometimes, even frequently, it may be something small. "And out of small things proceedath that which is great" (DC 64:33), for "by small and simple things are great things brought to pass" (Alma 37:6)

For the questions on patriarchal blessings, please feel free to ask for an invite to queerward from @im-mormon-and-not-straight or myself and see @ldsqueerstakeofficial. Patriarchal blessings have been and are discussed in-depth there

#queerward #queerstake #tumblrstake #LDS #Mormon #Holy Spirit #Light of Christ #Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints #Revelation #Faith #prayer #small things #answers to prayer

37 notes · View notes

blessedarethebinarybreakers · 5 years ago

Text

Wrestling with the Bible’s most disturbing stories

An excerpt from Rachel Held Evan’s book Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again

“Growing up, I noticed the ugly details in the Sunday school stories; children always do. I remember I was deeply troubled by the fact that God drowned all but two of each kind of animal in the Great Flood (to say nothing of all the people), and wondered aloud at the dinner table how God could be all-knowing and all-powerful, but also filled with regret. A friend's seven-year-old captured the angst well when she recently asked, 'Mom, is God the good guy or the bad guy in this story?'

This question of God's character haunted every scene and every act and every drama of the Bible. ...Feminist scholar Phyllis Trible aptly named these narratives 'texts of terror.'

'If art imitates life,' she wrote, 'scripture likewise reflects it in both holiness and horror.'

Rereading the texts of terror as a young woman, I kept anticipating some sort of postscript or epilogue chastising the major players for their sins, a sort of Arrested Development-style 'lesson' to wrap it all up -- 'And that's why you should always challenge the patriarchy!' But no such epilogue exists. While women are raped, killed, and divided as plunder, God stands by, mute as clay. I waited for a word from God, but none came.

...When I turned to pastors and professors for help, they urged me to set aside my objections, to simply trust that God is good and that the Bible's war stories happened as told, for reasons beyond my comprehension.

'God's ways are higher than our ways,' they insisted. 'Stop trying to know the mind of God.'

It's an understandable approach. Human beings are finite and fallible, prone to self-delusion and sentimentality. If we rely exclusively on our feelings to guide us to truth, we are bound to get lost.

When asked in 2010 about Joshua's conquest of Canaan, Reformed pastor and theologian John Piper declared, without hesitation, 'It's right for God to slaughter women and children anytime he pleases. God gives life and he takes life. Everybody who dies, dies because God wills that they die.'

Piper's dispassionate acceptance represented pure, committed faith, I was told, while mine had been infected by humanism and emotion -- 'a good example of why women should be kept from church leadership,' one acquaintance said.

And for a moment, I believed it. For a moment, I felt silly for responding so emotionally to a bunch of old war stories that left the rest of the faithful seemingly unfazed.

But this is the deleterious snare of fundamentalism: It claims that the heart is so corrupted by sin, it simply cannot be trusted to sort right from wrong, good from evil, divine from depraved. Instinct, intuition, conscience, critical thinking -- these impulses must be set aside whenever they appear to contradict the biblical text, because the good Christian never questions the 'clear teachings of Scripture'; the good Christian listens to God, not her gut.

I've watched people get so entangled in this snare they contort into shapes unrecognizable. When you can't trust your own God-given conscience to tell you what's right, or your own God-given conscience to tell you what's true, you lose the capacity to engage the world in any meaningful, authentic way, and you become an easy target for authoritarian movements eager to exploit that vacuity for their gain. I tried reading Scripture with my conscience and curiosity suspended, and I felt, quite literally, disintegrated. I felt fractured and fake.

Brené Brown warned us we can't selectively numb our emotions, and no doubt this applies to the emotions we have about our faith. If the slaughter of Canaanite children elicits only a shrug, then why not the slaughter of Pequots? Of Syrians? Of Jews? If we train ourselves not to ask hard questions about the Bible, and to emotionally distance ourselves from any potential conflicts or doubts, then where will we find the courage to challenge interpretations that justify injustice? How will we know when we've got it wrong?

'Belief in a cruel god makes a cruel man,' Thomas Paine said. If the Bible teaches that God is love, and love can look like genocide and violence and rape, then love can look like...anything. It's as much an invitation to moral relativism as you'll find anywhere.

I figured if God was real, then God didn't want the empty devotion of some shadow version of Rachel, but rather my whole, integrated self. So I decided to face the Bible's war stories head-on, mind and heart fully engaged, willing to risk the loss of faith if that's where the search led.

I listened to sermons. I read commentaries and theology books. I became a real downer at dinner parties:

'If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?' 'Have you seen any of the Oscar-nominated films this year?' 'What's your Enneagram number?' 'Do you think God condones genocide?'

The explanations came hurried and certain. Oh, God told Israel to wipe out the Canaanites because the Canaanites were super-duper evil, like the worst people ever. They worshipped idols and had orgies and sacrificed children to their gods. So God condemned the practice of child sacrifice...by slaughtering children? Well, that's just how things were back then. It was kill or be killed, tribal warfare and all that. Israel did what it had to do to survive....

I began to feel a bit like the disheveled Berenger, a character from Eugène Ionesco's play Rhinoceros, who grows increasingly bewildered as the people of his provincial French town acclimate to the sudden presence of rhinoceroses in their community. In one scene, a rhinoceros thunders through the town square, trampling a housecat. After their initial shock, the villagers get sidetracked debating whether the rhino had one horn or two, and whether its origins are Asiatic or African. And on it goes throughout the play, as the townspeople themselves transform into rhinos, one by one, arguing all the while over pointless trivialities, until only Berenger remains human.

The play is about fascism, I think, but it reminds me a bit of Christians and their Bibles. Sometimes it seems as if there are all these rhinoceroses barreling through the pages of Scripture, pooping on sidewalks and flattening housecats, but we've grown so accustomed to defending their presence we end up debating the length of their tails.

...

My questions came with consequences. We left the church in which I was raised, and rumors of my 'rebellious spirit' circulated around town, prompting more than a few well-meaning interventions. ...

But accepting the Bible's war stories without objection threatened to erase my humanity. ‘We don’t become more spiritual by becoming less human,’ Eugene Peterson said. How could I love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength while disengaging those very faculties every time I read the Bible?

So I brought my whole self into the wilderness with God – no faking, no halfway. And there we wrestled."

#rachel held evans #inspired #bible #bible study #christian books #progressive christians #reading and studying the bible #bible tag #long post #quote tag

256 notes · View notes

nerdygaymormon · 3 years ago

Note

I've been at odds with my parents since coming out and only recently have been able to make progress with my mom as far as understanding and empathy. Sometimes I get a step forward but usually very quickly end up hitting a brick wall for a net zero sum. I spoke with her recently about how I believe the Apostles are flawed beings just like the rest of us and can hold biases and prejudices that carry into their teachings and church policies. I was rebuked in response and was told that that is an apostasizing attitude and if our leaders truly said/did something untrue of God then they would be removed immediately. This came after a long discussion about Holland's "musket" speech and it frustrates and hurts me to see them shrug off his words and the hurt it brought as just being a "metaphor" and "heavenly truth". If you have any thoughts or advice, it'd be appreciated.

From your parents' point of view, church and their family were a perfect fit. Their dreams and hopes for you were/are tied up with church.

You coming out is at odds with how they understood the gospel. It's a process for them. With each step forward you take to discover and express the part of you that you hid in the closet, for them it is another step that creates dissonance they have to reconcile.

I think there should be a conversation that includes the goal is for us to understand each other. I want to be open and authentic with you, and I truly want to understand your viewpoints and where you're coming from. I think for that to happen, we can't judge or dismiss the other person's feelings.

If I say that Elder Holland's "musket" speech hurt me and here's why, that is important to me. It may seem like not a big deal to you and even seems inciteful. We can each try to understand why the other views it that way.

————————————————————

I am frustrated on your behalf that your parents expressed the idea that the apostles can't make mistakes because God wouldn't allow it. That robs our leaders of the opportunity to be authentic and real with church members, it robs them of the opportunity to learn and progress. It seems so contrary to the way God works.

There are many examples in the scriptures of apostles getting things wrong, disagreeing with each other. They also learn & grow. They aren’t denied their humanity.

There's many things we once did as a church that we changed. Do they really think it was God's will to deny priesthood & temple blessings to Black members? They are correct in that if you aren't allowed to question the apostles then it's unlikely a person will fall away from the church, but that's to deny yourself the use of your agency, intelligence, and reasoning. That's not how we learn & grow

————————————————————

You might suggest your parents read the Mackintosh's story. It's on the church's website, so that should give it some extra credibility with your parents. If they respond positively to that, they can get the book Love Boldly: Embracing Your LGBTQ Loved Ones and Your Faith by Becky Mackintosh.

I think their story is good for parents for several reasons. The Mackintoshes were initially uncomfortable when their son came out as gay, but prayed and got the answer to love him. They eventually became comfortable with the knowledge they had a gay child. With each step their son took, whether it was dating or changing his beliefs, it was hard for the Mackintoshes, and each time the answer was to love their child.

The Mackintoshes couldn't make their child not be gay, couldn't stop him from dating or changing his beliefs, that was not in their control. Their child is an adult and gets to make decisions for his life. What was in their control is how they would respond, whether they would continue to invite their son to be part of their life or to exclude him. By being willing to understand their son and acknowledge he gets to make choices for his own life, they are able to maintain a healthy relationship.

I think many parents in the church view being a good parent as their child checked off all the boxes--baptized, mission, temple marriage, and so on. That's a mindset that hard to set aside. But in reality, a parent does a great job when they prepare their children for life, raise them to be kind, helps their child develop their talents, and be a good person.

Another part of being a successful parent is allowing your adult children to be adults. Be there for advice, be there to support and encourage them, celebrate their milestones. Being friends with your children is a tremendous reward and too many parents miss out on that because they can't adjust in their role as their children grow up.

————————————————————

I know it's not easy. I am not able to have honest conversations with my parents about my life and so we have a superficial relationship. We love each other but for my own well being I no longer discuss a number of topics with them. I wish it wan't like that, but they aren't willing to accept I have different opinions and experiences from them.

I don't share with them about the conversations I have with apostles & Seventies, I don't share with them about being on podcasts or having my words printed in books. I also didn't share with them about being suicidal and going to therapy and the things I learned. They are willing to be supportive in certain areas, and so that's where I keep our relationship and they miss out on the rest.

29 notes · View notes

likesomekindofcheese · 5 years ago

Text

Promised Part 3 (The Great Mini series)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader

Word Count: 8K (more on the thicc side. So be ready)

Summary: You are bethrothed to the Russian Count Grigor Dymov in order to secure an alliance for your family and people with Russia from breaking. The day has finally arrived, your wedding day and night and all that entails

Part One//Part Two

Smut Scene for this Part (18+ only please)

Warnings: Typos!!!! mentions of sex, marriage, family, swearing, dogs, Emperor Peter being Emperor Peter, drinking, drunkenness, weddings, and religion. The fear of rape is briefly discussed.

A/N: It’s finally here! Yay for wedding fics! For a few notes, I based the wedding ceremony from Russian Orthodox practices (since that is the religion obviously in the show of the court) so if I get something wrong about anything sacred, please drag me gently. Second, the gift mentioned in the middle part is, fun fact! An actual historical practice between couples! (I just though it would enhance the story). And third, I decided not to include a smut scene for those reading this fic underage...that part will be worked on and published separately. Fourth, I am thrilled and overwhelmed with all of the love shown for this miniseries. I am having a ball writing it! Enjoy!

Russian Wedding ceremonies were making your head turn. Already there were so many things to do you wondered if you could remember them by tomorrow. And this was the only rehearsal you had.

The tall priest, who you found out was called Archie, stood before you both. He practiced speaking a monotone blessing and made the sign of the cross over you.

“Next, you’ll be given candles…” he advised, waving his hands out.

Two men walked by to hand you both a candle (“for the ceremony, they will be lit, but they aren’t. So just be careful.”) You recognized that Arkady gave Grigor his candle and the bespectacled man you have seen greeting you when you entered handed you yours.

“Thank you…uhm…sorry, I’ve seen you around, but…” you asked.

“Count Orlo, Lady Y/L/N”, he greeted, with a polite nod.

“Thank you Orlo,” you muttered.

“Of course! Well, welcome to Russia! If you need any-”

Archie glared at Orlo icily until he scurried away, head ducked in embarrassment.

“Now let us continue…”

He said a line of scripture in a way that seemed mystical, close to ecstasy, his eyes closed and hands open to the sky. After a while, the droning lost its magic pull and became dull.

You and Grigor glanced at each other, making sure Archie wasn’t able to notice in all his holiness.

“We have to practice the puppy after this- would you like to see?” you whispered.

“I’d take watching paint dry over this, of course I want to see!” Grigor replied.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Just give her a bit of chicken,” Count Arkady advised.

You and Grigor nodded. You leaned down to stroke the fur of your little gift. She had trotted over cheerfully when either your or Grigor said “come,” prancing as if she was the one who owned the little apartment you and your mother were staying in. Arkady handed a gold bowl of cold, roast chicken meat that you tossed to the puppy every time she did as you said. Yout mother sat in a corner, silently watching everything, but present to make sure nothing inappropriate was going on.

“Very good…now, what is your little one’s name again? I can never remember,” he asked, politely ducking his head to sneeze into a handkerchief.

The puppy looked up at you and smiled.

“I’m calling her Sonya. It’s the Russian version of Sophie, our Empresses old name. And she was the first friend I met here. Besides, it’s a Russian name and she’s a Russian dog,” you explained.

“Very well, Sonya- sit!” Arkady ordered, his handkerchief falling delicately from his free hand.

He held up a small bite of roast chicken clear enough where she could see it. She sat again. He handed it over to you and you tossed it to the floor. Wagging her tail, she ate it up.

“Good girl, Sonya! Good girl!” you praised.

So far Sonya had not caused too much trouble. The servant for Grigor had often took her out to do business when she needed it. She did bark, chew on everything, and leave droppings on the floor sometimes. But the first night in your apartments, you had trouble sleeping in this strange new place. Little Sonya hopped up on the bed and curled up next to you as you laid awake. Her warmth and licking kisses on your face were welcome when your anxious mind was trying to make you awake. And soon you slept with her little body nestled on top of your stomach.

“Keep this up, and soon you will have a trained dog. The secret is to reward them every time they’re good and be careful with discipline,” Arkady advised.

Grigor nodded. He leaned down to pick up the Sonya and scratch her head. You could not help but notice that the party man Georgiana warned about had a kind smile to the little animal. Maybe she was exaggerating to scare you.

Arkady walked over to where a serf held up a laundry basket and got rid of his handkerchief.

“She hasn’t been a bother, I hope,” Grigor turned to ask, seeing how your teacher was distracted.

“You’ll soon find out…I’m joking, she has been fine. Energetic, but fine. Nothing out of normal for a puppy,” You answered.

Arkady took it to the next serf, advising him on kinds of ways it should be cooked for the notabilities’ dogs next time. The serf sighed and nodded before leaving. He turned around gracefully, clapping his hands, and rubbing them loudly.

“How are you both feeling!? You do know what is happening tomorrow…” he teased.

You could not forget. And you wanted to. The wedding was already tomorrow.

“Yes, well…we’ve already rehearsed the ceremony this morning and…we’ll…we’ll be ready!” Grigor said.

“The candles? The crown? Hopefully, you are prepared to kiss in front of all of court, they’ll ask for that! My Tatyana and I kissed fifty times at ours!” Arkady added on sheepishly.

You put your hand to your face to hide it in embarrassment. The days past mostly consisted of eating at small dinners and teas at least with you, sometimes Grigor, and your mother or walking through the gardens with some small talk between the three of you. His arm was offered for you to hold when you walked together. But that was the most of touching you both had done. Those and the chaste, formal kisses on the cheek or hand.

“We’ll be ready, for everything,” Grigor answered.

He went over to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in slight worry at your silence. You felt a slight dizziness from how soon everything would be

Arkady dismissed himself and left, and your mother got up from her seat in the corner to see him out. You turned to Grigor, face feeling warm.

“Are we ready to…to kiss in front of everyone? Perhaps we can make it work…”

Although you bit the inside of your cheek and folded your hands, eyes darting from the floor to his face and back again.

“I…I don’t think I am…” he said. “It’s been, uh, a little while.”

He was careful to not mention or talk about Georgiana unless prompted and you thanked your stars for that. It felt like being a mouse under the eye of a hungry hawk with her walking by in corridors.

“I know we can make this work, at least for everyone we know and the alliance,” you said. “Maybe we can…practice. At least for the ceremony.”

As your mother turned around to see you both chatting, Sonya went up to her, to greet her with a bark and a wag of her curling tail. Grigor stepped forward to her.

“Lady Y/L/N, can I have your consent to kiss Y/F/N? I’d like to do it before dinner, so I don’t reek of onions,” he offered.

Your mother looked at you both, then nodded.

“Alright, I don’t see why not. But no tongues.”

You turned to him, a little unsure of what to do. Your mother and Sonya watching closely.

“I don’t know what to do with my arms,” you confess.

He took both of your hands.

“We can just hold hands for now…” he advised.

“Then you have to lean forward, right?” you asked.

“Right.”

Leaning your face forward, you could make out the dust of freckles across his nose. He paused a little. You kept still. Then looking at each other’s eyes, he gave you a slight nod and both of you went in for a peck on the lips. It was so quick, so light, it was like gulping air.

Your hands immediately relaxed and let go. A rush of exhaling air left both of you.

“Alright, would you like me to ring for tea? After dinner, you both cannot see each other until after the ceremony,” your mother offered.

She scooped the puppy in her arms and carried her over one shoulder.

“That…that sounds nice,” he added.

“Shouldn’t you be with the Emperor? Weren’t you going to drink with him?” you ask.

“He can wait. Velementov might be with him.”

Once the tea set arrived and all of you had a sip, you all began to talk, and not just about what the weather was like. He made jokes and listened to your mother. He broke off part of a plain biscuit to feed it to Sonya. She even hopped up to the couch and slept beside him as he stroked her fur.

“Well, tomorrow’s the big day, I bet you’re tired of hearing that.” Your mother sighed, setting down her empty plate.

“But…I’m still jittery, I have to say,” you said, taking a last sip of your sweet tea.

Suddenly you looked at Grigor and he took his hand and wrapped it around yours. It wasn’t in the sweaty awkwardness of having to practice kissing, but it was dry, soft, and comforting.

“I’m jittery, too, I guess. But…if it helps Russia, we’ll do it,” he added. “Y/F/N is a brave woman to do this, and she has a gentle soul, the way I’ve seen her with little Sonya. I could do worse.”

Smiling lightly at him, you muttered a thanks. His hands heat was slowly becoming comforting. The shots of adrenaline from his touch were slowing down through you.

“And you Grigor…you’ll do, I guess,” you responded quietly.

The clock struck for the late afternoon. Grigor looked at it with wide eyes.

“Oh shi- no. We have a meeting with Archie about church laws and Peter wants me there until dinner. Can I leave?” he asked.

A part of you stifled a laugh from the suppressed swearing. At this point you were almost desensitized to it in the Russian court.

Your mother nodded, “you may.”

“And can I kiss your daughter one last time? I just want to be ready for the ceremony?” he asked in a hurry.

She nodded again, raising an eyebrow revealing her actual thoughts.

He leaned down and kissed you, putting in a little bit of pressure. And something…different. It did not feel like a polite kiss, or a practice kiss. It felt like a lover’s kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling it linger for just a bit. Then finally, he let go and said his farewells, leaving with a slight hop in his step.

It was as if a ghost on your lips was still there as he walked away. It was the nicest kiss you have had so far in your life.

Even before you went to bed to try to sleep before the big day with your mother in the other room, you found yourself tracing where it was.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, the hours dragged on throughout. You saw only your mother since the wedding would be in the early evening. You found yourself staring at the clock a lot, sweating with each tick of the hands. You wished you could run to Grigor and just vent about your worry, but your mother told you it was always bad luck before the ceremony.

And a marriage like this could use a little less bad luck you thought.

By two hours time before the ceremony would begin, Mariol arrived with the ribbons and decorations to start doing your hair.

“I’m here, the Empresses treat!” she announced, but waving her hands and shrugging as if it was the same dull task as sweeping. She held a wooden box under her arm.

“Oh, oh thank you! How splendid!” your mother said, taking your hand.

Mariol put the wooden box on your vanity and opened it, revealing feathers, pearls, and other little accessories.

“Want a bow?” she asked.

“Not for me,” you refused.

Selecting a white ribbon, you clicked your tongue for Sonya to trot to you. Leaning down, you tied it lightly around her neck with a bow in the back.

“She has to look her best too…”

“But she’s not the bride. Come on, Y/N…it is time we fix your hair. Not going to have walk down looking like a pigsty.”

All the twirls, tucks, and pins in the world managed to be shoved in your head by the time you were through. You wanted to groan, but when Mariol heard Sonya’s yapping, her pulling in became gentler and her head turned.

“There you go! And for a bit of makeup…”

“Can I hold Sonya as you do it?” you asked, turning from the vanity.

Mariol’s eyes went wide.

“Wha-yes! Please!”

Amidst the small dabbing of rouge, she cooed in a high voice at the little puppy, sniffing your face curiously. Your mother sat in the back, admiring Mariol’s work and nodding in admiration, with a little compliment here or there.

But you could hardly breathe your response to the face you saw in the mirror when there was a knock on the door.

Sonya leaped from your lap and trailed Mariol as she opened the door. A familiar face poked his head in.

“Hello Y/N!” you father announced, putting away his tri-cornered hat.

With somewhat of a scream you and your mother both ran up to him. Behind him walked in your brother in a nice emerald suit and his new wife in a pretty golden dress.

You called their names and embraced all of them, fighting the urge to cry.

“What…what are you doing here? I didn’t know I would even see any of you again!” you asked.

“We managed to receive lodging near…we didn’t want to miss your wedding!” your brother said, leaning in for another hug.

Sonya yipped and jumped before your sister’s wife. She leaned down and petted her.

“Oh, when did you get this precious thing?” she asked.

You put Sonya into your arms and held the dog before everyone.

“She was a gift from Grigor,” you explain.

“Your…your fiancee?” your brother asked, eyebrows raised up.

“Yes! He…he’s nothing like…like you know who. He’s a good man. In spite all of this…” you explained, getting a little dizzy at the thought of being bound to him until death in an hour.

“But, what of the emperor? He approved?” your mother asked

“I spoke with him yesterday and asked to attend, at least I wanted to walk you down, and he agreed,” he answered.

He walked over to Sonya to feel the top of her head as well.

“We didn’t want to miss it either,” your brother chimed in.

“Well, we’re about to dress her. So, the men better head out. The ceremony is in an hour!” Mariol interrupted, she brushed her arms to shoo your father and brother away

Your mother leaned into your father.

“This palace is the size of the moon-you don’t know the way to the chapel!” she retorted she placed her hands on her hip.

She was wearing a blueish-green dress with only a few embellishments of lace here and there, along with a large lace fan that befitted the mother of the bride. You had to admire her. For a woman who never insisted she was beautiful and would call herself the reverse, this look proved the thought wrong.

“I thought I’d follow you! Just let me give her away! Please!”

She batted him lightly and shooed the men away.

With a gulp you let Mariol remove the buttons of your light day dress and set it away. With stays tied on and panniers attached, only the dress needed to be put on now. Then the gown waiting in your chest met its long-awaited fate.

She slipped it over your head. After a few touches to your already done makeup and hair, a few minutes passed in awed quietness. Your father and brother walked back in, astonished. Giving one of a dozen “you’re beautiful” compliments until you found yourself believing them too. They noted how elaborate the lace went along the opening of the skirt. That there were a few small pearls and jewels in the skirt here and there, especially with your pearl necklace, earrings, and a wedding veil attached to the top of your head. Mariol let the long lines of the veil fall over your face. The world you saw was now covered in a thin layer of white.

“You’re absolutely stunning, Y/N. No matter what happens after this, know that I love you,” your mother said, embracing you one last time.

It warmed your heart. A little. Even though the nerves still shot up your arms.

The hour struck six o clock. The door opened outside to see all of court looking at you.

There were a few murmurs of appreciation. You chose a nice white with faint hints of silver in a shade that was flattering to your skin. Little details-barely beads, but shinier- sparkled in the light. (you heard that Russian ladies were elaborate in dress and your visit and observations here were proven right).

Mother walking forward, you took your fathers arm and you headed through the palace. Your brother and his wife walked behind, walking Sonya on a small leash. Your view of the palace was blocked a little bit and you were glad of the guidance of your parents. Eyes and countless wigs turned as you both walked past.

At last you reached the chapel doors, full of gold and with saints gently looking down before you. There standing was Grigor and Emperor Peter, decked in cravats and with Peter wearing every medal on his coat you could count.

Grigor wore a wig that you could still smell the powder from. His coat was richly colored in a dark blue. He looked very striking and he turned to face you. There was a slight smile and he blinked rapidly.

Your father handed you to Grigor, and you took his hand. You both took one step into the chapel and paused as you saw the elaborate art and statues that covered the walls. Paintings of saints staring down between rows where even more courtiers sat to watch. You recognized Catherine and Georgiana from a brief glimpse. But you forced your eyes to stay on the black robes and beard of Archie at the altar.

Orlo and Arkady scurried forward with now lit candles. You nodded a thank you to Orlo who nodded back. You were both given a lighted candles and multiple prayers were said before and several bits of scripture. Then came the time to share the cup. The candles were set aside for now. Archie motioned to Grigor and he lifted your veil gently.

You looked up at him with…well, you did not know. And you could not describe the way he looked at you. It was soft, sweet, with reverence. Your eyes were beginning to water a little bit. But why were you crying? You liked Grigor, but…you were not sure how much. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, and everything seemed like a dream.

You both shared a cup of dry communal wine, and then Archie took a long golden piece of cloth, wrapping it around your joined hands.

Taking in a deep breath, Grigor began the vows, but he looked right at your eyes.

“I take you as my wife to be with you always-in wealth and in poverty, in disease and in health, in happiness and in grief, from this day until death separates us.”

He seemed like he meant it. It took you aback. You almost forgot your own vows but repeated them, albeit in a soft, shaky voice.

The vows said, Arkady and Orlo walked forward with two gold crowns that were placed on your heads in front of everyone watching. You both walked around the area of the altar in a circle. The cloth still tied with your hands together. Grigor and you took slow, careful steps.

Once the cloth was removed you were both given rings placed on each other’s fingers. but Grigor’s hands were gentle as he slipped the band into your finger. A tiny diamond sparkled in its center.

Archie read a last piece of scripture- a long and extremely dry one for a wedding. Breathing in a bit, you turned your head to look up at Grigor. His eyes shining and his mouth a little open.

He turned to look back at you and gave you another smile. A beautiful one. And this time you smiled back. For a few seconds you forgot the dreaded day you both signed that contract a month ago.

A final benediction was placed, and Archie finished. The crowns were removed from your heads. He made the sign of the cross over both of you and then turned to the crowd watching.

“Welcome to our court, the Count and Countess Dymov. Count Dymov, you may kiss the bride.”

As practiced, you both tilted your heads, leaned forward, and kissed. There was a slight spark to it and almost felt his free hand wander to your back to press you tighter.

It was done. Your family’s future, your people, and the alliance were safe. Part of you let out a small breath and looked over to your family with a knowing look, until you felt Grigor nudge you and you both walked out.

There was uproarious applause. The emperor was smug but Catherine beside him looked genuinely happy. She was dressed in a light yellow that made her seem a flower among all these over the top wigs and laces. Your brother and his wife clapped with the sweetest smiles on their faces. But the same could not be said of Georgiana, dressed in deep orange with the mark of a heart on her cheek and giving you a glare every time your eyes accidentally wandered to hers.

Both of you walked through the halls, hand in hand, among more applause and a few tossing of flower petals. You turned and he kissed your lips lightly.

“I’m not an eloquent man but you look like a fucking snowdrop with all this gold in the palace,” he whispered.

You stuttered, still grasping his hand, “th-thank you. You look very handsome as well.”

He let out a little smile as you both walked to a smaller room. A few trusted courtiers put a piece of parchment on a desk before you two. Both of you signed the marriage contract and waited for a serf to summon you to the dining room where the celebration would commence along with the dinner.

As the contract was rolled up by an old man as round as a peach (it may have been Velementov, Grigor taught you so many names it was hard to remember) and brought away, both of you were alone for a few minutes. There was an odd silence, then you turned to him.

“Grigor, I know you have had your heart broken recently and…I want to tell you, I’ll try to be a good wife to you. As possible. I’ll try to be understanding and I… won’t hurt you. Because I know how hard being hurt for you was. I might make mistakes, but I don’t want to hurt you,” you confided.

He shook his head a little.

“I don’t want to hurt you either…”

But speaking of hurt, there was the unspoken ghost in all this wedding talk that needed to be addressed. The one event you secretly dreaded the most. Clutching his arm and turning to him, you tried to think of a way to say it now that you were alone.

“Grigor…” you began, “Now we’re alone, we can talk. For…for uh, tonight, uhm…uh, I…”

You did not get to finish before a serf ran in. Without warning, he half pushed the both of you out. The Emperor and what seemed half of court was seated in the dining room. There was a flurry of huzzahs.

Emperor Peter jumped over the table, knocking over plates and silverware. You leaned out of the way of his flurrying and grabbed Grigor by the shoulder, with a pat on him. You took your seat close to the front and he made his way to your side. Peter leaned back in his chair which was always in the center. No matter what event was going on.

“Well, Grigor- you got yourself a girl at last! hope she gets every penny worth from you tonight!” he bellowed.

“Every penny worth?” you repeated.

He looked at you with a toothy smile and gulped down half of his wine.

“Oh, you should know! The Morgengabe! The Morning’s gift!” he cheered.

A serf poured you water and wine separately to begin with and a few musicians started playing, getting louder and louder.

“That what?” you asked over them.

“The morning, Gift. Its a German idea. Grigor, your wife is a bit of a dolt. At least her tits are decent,” he said.

“What’s the Morning’s gift?” you questioned.

Food began to be served on your plate, but your appetite was starting to decrease. You had a terrible guess at what it referred to. And you had to be sure it was right.

“It’s…uhm…” Grigor began, then he took a deep breath and turned to you, speaking so that you could understand every word.

“After we signed the contract when we were betrothed, there was a word between me, Peter, and your father. The dowry itself was covered. You’re not entering this union as a pauper and should you become a widow, you will have financial protection but…we all had to be sure the marriage was…”

He bit his lips, took in a breath, and continued.

“I gave over some money as promised by your father. It’s being kept with me. That money will be given to you the morning after the marriage is…uh, consummated. That way the alliance will be totally secure. Your family and Peter will know you weren’t just being thrown into a sham marriage that would make the contract weak. If it wasn’t complete, the alliance wouldn’t go through.”

“And the sooner the better!” Peter added, sticking his head between the two of you.

He looked at you and wiggled his eyebrows bawdily with a swirl of his goblet.

“I may just, you know- destroy your home country and chop off your family’s heads just for fun tomorrow because you haven’t fucked your husband!”

He leaned down to see your shocked expression and laughed.

“Well, money and a large cock, you have a lot to look forward to! Huzzah! Now where’s the vodka?”

As he gestured serfs forth to pour vodka into his goblet, you looked over at Grigor.

He took your hand and squeezed it.

“That’s the way it is?” You sighed.

“That’s the way it is here.” He confirmed, noting the worry on your face.

More guests came in. By the dozens. You could hardly even eat a bite or sip some wine or water because they kept wanting to talk to you. You were gladdened by your family and the few you were familiar with.

Then Orlo walked forward. Under his arms were a few books.

“Oh, here he comes again!” Grigor dismissed, rolling his eyes.

You lightly touched his arm, “no, let him speak!”

Orlo gave a slight bow in greeting.

“Why, hello there, Count and Countess Dymov! I’m here because I just wanted to give you a wedding gift…can you read, Countess?”

“I can,” you confirmed.

He handed you each two books.

“It’s mythologies, fairy tales…childish things. But since you are new here, you might find it entertaining to learn a little bit more about our culture. And so might Grigor.”

Grigor flipped through a few pages. He rested on one of a young girl walking through a forest with a branch that had a skull lit with a fire.

“Well, why read about an adventure when you can live it!” Grigor explained.

But you took the books gently and smiled at him.

“That’s very generous of you, Count Orlo! I’m sure my husband…” it was a new word with a taste as strange as their wine… “he would rather I read these to him for his entertainment than annoy him all day,” you teased, leaning over to look at the pictures as well.

“No, I don’t think you could! You’re not the type to annoy, Y/N” he replied. He smiled as he accepted a glass of vodka.

He nudged you and then hissed, “this is our tradition- watch!”

He stood up, but took your hand for you to stand up with him. Heads turned and noise was softened.

“To my new wife! And to my marriage! Huzzah!”

They all yelled “huzzah” back and you felt as if you could glow.

But he downed his vodka and threw his glass on the floor in a swift movement. The other members of court followed suit. There was a splatter of shattering glass like that of hail drops.

Occasionally there were yelps for a kiss. As if being actors on cue, you and Grigor would peck each others lips to their cheers. But not as many as Arkady said would happen.

As your family walked forward to hand you your dog, they had to tiptoe past broken glass as carefully as possible with lifted skirts and on their toes. Empress Catherine even walked from by her husband side to offer you congrats.

“You look very lovely and the ceremony was simple…”

“Oh, we only had a week to…”

“Oh no! I love simple ceremonies! Simple everything! They just mean more! And…are those books? You can read?”

“Yes, a wedding present from Orlo!” you nodded.

Both of you looked over the pages and stories, Catherine filling in with what she knew as you took bites of your dinner with relief. Serfs scurried with brooms to clean up the broken glass. A few dances were thrown and mingling was allowed. Knowing it was safe, you put Sonya in your arms and walked around.

Soon she barked and leaned forward, jumping out. She scurried, catching a bit of a dusky orange dress and chewing it with such passion, she shook it back and forth in her mouth with joy.

“Stop that!” the dress owner cried.

“Hey!” you cried, but right as you leaned down to stop her you recognized whose it was. And you froze with horror.

Georgiana looked as if she could see red as she analyzed you. Sonya panted happily in your arms, but you leaned away from her, as if to shield the creature from anything the Emperor’s mistress might do.

There was a solo violin striking up (Peter attempted to play).

“Well, look at you!” she said with a huff. She seemed only somewhat sad.

“Mademoiselle,” you acknowledged, head down in a curtsy. “Please, do not think me your enemy.”

“You are no threat to me.”

“No, how could I be? You are only our beloved Emperor's favorite. You hold so much prestige here. The ladies all prattle on how envious they are of you. I’ve heard them. I honor you, tremendously.” You started.

She looked at you straight in your eyes, expression unchanged from your words.

“You’re sweet. But so were your wedding cakes. And what do people with cakes? They chew them up into tiny pieces until they spit it out or ingest it until it’s nothing,” she spat.

“If you hurt me or my dog or my family, I will tell my husband about it. I am under the protection of the Dymov house.”

“And I am under the protection of the Emperor.” She replied.

The violin picked up and the Emperor called for a dance.

“Forget it. Let’s move past being like this. I’m not in love with Grigor. I’m only following my family’s orders.”

“That’s not what I see when you kiss him,” she finished as she strutted away.

The Emperor lead a brief speech for Grigor’s honor and to congratulate the marriage and the alliance it entailed. But your husband was having another sip of vodka, face flushing. As you returned to your seat he pulled you close.

“No, no, no…sit here, wifey,” he suggested. He put his hands on your waist and pulled you with immense strength over to his seat to sit on his lap.

You squealed at the closeness, feeling his breath and the outline of his body against yours. But he wrapped arms around you, beginning to kiss your cheek.

“Here, have some of these cakes, darling,” he offered, handing you one of the hundreds of small wedding cakes served for dessert.

Taking a bite, you could make out the density and the perfect amount of sweetness and flavoring.

“They’re…they’re scrumptious! Who made them?”

“Hmm, maybe the cooks. I just wanted to see your reaction to them,” he answered.

His pulled you a little closer, nuzzling into your head, neck, and shoulder area.

“My sweet wifey is soooo cute when she’s sooo happy!”

“Are you sure that isn’t the vodka talking, Grigor?” you retorted cheerfully, noting his glass.

He looked at you. Although his eyes were dilated from drink, he wasn’t a lost cause, at least not yet.

“If I’m not passed out on the floor, Y/N, I’m not drunk!” before taking another sip.

After a little bit longer, there were more songs. He was sobering some, the vodka wearing off as you offered him some water. He drank it as you stayed on his lap.

The songs were getting slower. Plates were clearing. And guests were drifting away. You balled your hands into fists and grabbed the skirt of your gown, trying to slow your breathing.

Your brother, sister-in-law and father excused themselves to take Sonya’s leash and lead her to Grigor’s apartments.

Oh, they’re our apartments now you silently corrected yourself.

Catherine and your mother came by. Grigor perked up and gently led you off of him.

“Y/N, Catherine offered to be with you when we lead you there,” your mother began.

Thanking with a curtsy, you left Grigor and followed them slightly behind to Dymov’s room. But looking behind, you admired Catherine glancing back at you with a smile and making small talk to her about books. She seemed so young despite the grandeur of her title. It was like she was just a friend of yours attending your big day.

They walked you over to the Dymov apartment. It seemed ominous with it’s red and the nighttime darkening everything thought the windows. The little dog barked and skipped in happiness when you walked in.

“Hello Sonya!” you said.

She wiggled her tail in greeting, little fuzz ball. Mariol walked forward, smiling. She seemed to look lighter and happier, spending time with little Sonya.

Your mother and Catherine unbuttoned you and pulled you dress over your head and removed the rolls from your hips. Mariol began to unlace your stays from behind.

“I…I’m so nervous I can hardly even think!” you confessed.

“Y/N, you have nothing to fear, really.” Catherine assured.

“It will be fine,” your mother assured, taking your hand.

“But…what if he…he hurts me. What if he…he rapes me. I’ve heard about that happening on wedding nights and…that’s what scares me the most.”

Catherine took your shoulder and squeezed it.

“You can tell me, and I’ll punish him. The Emperor won’t know and if you’re in danger, you can run to me. Wake me up in my chambers. I don’t care.”

“Does it…hurt when it happens?” you ask.

“When you’re new, sometimes. Especially when they are more...enthusiastic. But just a little. And not everyone feels pain the first time.” Your mother informed you.

Stays removed, Mariol began to undo your hair and wipe off what makeup was there with a cloth. You felt your hair fall down. Part of you wanted a blanket or a robe. You were in the Empress’s presence with only a shift on.

“What if I can’t…please him?” you asked.

Georgiana’s voice from earlier this week had haunted your mind considering tonight. If you did not perform well or even perform at all, you might be considered a failure to Grigor and even to your family, you feared.

Yet, why did the thought of Grigor, no, your husband scorning you for his past lover make your stomach burn with envy?

“Don’t worry, it will be alright. Just tell him ‘no’ or ‘yes’, be firm and clear. You don’t have please him…just enjoy being with him, getting to know him,” your mother directed.

“It will be okay,” Catherine repeated.

She guided your hand and you both sat on the edge of the bed. She grinned at you and you shyly smiled back.

A few minutes ticked by. Then male voices were right outside. Your heart leaped to your throat and you felt your legs freeze. Your hold on Catherine turned to a grip.

Then came the fateful sound.

There was a knock on the door.

The three of you jumped almost.

“Who is it?” Catherine asked.

“It’s Grigor, and the Emperor.”

Taking in a shaky breath, you said “you may come in.”

Grigor walked in next to Peter, who was flushed and stumbling a bit in his walk. Catherine handed you a deep green robe to wrap around yourself for a bit of modesty, seeing how embarrassed you already were at people seeing you in your shift. The three of you curtsied and the two men bowed, Peter staying low and then swaggering over to a chair. He flopped down on it, leg over an arm, and started blowing a little bird whistle.

You noticed Grigor was still in his wedding outfit and held a glass decanter of vodka and two large glasses

“Only a little while ago you were playing that,Grigor, when I was fucking the Empress on our wedding night, remember! Now we…we’ve fucking switched and now here we are!” Peter announced, blowing another shriek that erupted in spit across the floor.

Grigor walked forward and kissed your knuckles in greeting. It only struck you how handsome he was. He had a charming smile and the dark colors flattered him. He put an arm protectively over you and turned to the small group

“Thank you, everyone, it was a lovely ceremony,” he began.

“Count Dymov, do you need us to do anything?” your mother asked.

“No, mother,” he added, “and you may call me Grigor. For now, I hope you think of me as if I was a member of your family too.”

She grinned in return and addressed him by name.

“Phlah! Names shames,” Peter mocked, twirling the whistle with his fingers. Catherine looked at him with eyes wide and eyebrows down.

“How about we all have a toast to today!” Grigor announced, Holding up the decanter.

He handed a glass over to the emperor and then a glass between you both.

“I say our Emperor goes first, as our ruler and sovereign,” he suggested, pouring an extremely generous amount of vodka in the cup while giving his own only a dribble.

“I say yes! Hu—zaaaaah!” Peter cried, sucking up the vodka in a heartbeat. Grigor shared his glass with you so you could have a sip of the stuff before he finished it up.

Looking up at him, he gave you a glimmer in his eye. And you caught on.

“And let’s have a toast to the alliance! And our beloved Emperor for allowing it to happen. Huzzah!” you toasted, raising your glass.

On cue, Grigor poured another heap of vodka into Peter’s glass which he raised and swallowed down as if he were a thirsty beggar.

“Huzzzahhh f-for meeeeee,” Peter mumbled.

His face became even redder and he struggled to get out of his seat.

“Shit, w-why is everyone spinning! I order you to-to stay still!” he barked.

Everyone was already perfectly still. Catherine walked over and supported him over her shoulder.

“Let’s retire, shall we?”

“N-no! I want to…I want to watch G-G-Grigor f-f-f-uck her so I c-can…can have a good wank at it, a-at least, and m-m-maybe get my turntofuckher….ohmyfuckI’m going to vomit,” Peter announced. He ran out in a heartbeat and you heard him retch in the hallway outside.

And then the noise of his body falling on the floor.

“I will take him to his chambers,” Catherine offered.

Her eyes were alight and her pink lips tight from holding back laughter. Mariol placed an arm over her mouth as well and scurried out behind the empress. There were several footsteps and the huffing of serfs and you knew that Peter now had to be carried unconscious-and far away.

“I believe I must retire as well, good night,” your mother said.

They dismiss and leave. Now you were both alone. Your heart was racing, but you smiled and turned to Grigor in gratitude.

“That was brilliant.” You praised.

“I did have a feeling he’d want to do that. So I decided to do something about it. The vodka did get to me a little earlier,” he confessed. “But It’s worn up.”

You nodded, “yes, of course. I can tell.”

“Do you…need anything? Some water?”

“Of course.”

He walked over and got you a fresh glass poured from a crystalline pitcher. You washed away the bitter sting of vodka from your mouth and so did he. Both of you sat across from each other on the two chairs before the fire. At first all was quiet.

“Y/N…I know all of this had not happened the way we thought but…you have the support. My support. The Russian Crown. And my house and of the Dymov family, as well as our protection. You’re…you’re one of us now, it’s your right as a countess,” he promised.

I’m not Y/F/N Y/L/N anymore. I’m Y/F/N Dymov. You thought. Still unused to it.

“Thank you. I know I was quiet, but so much has been happening, today. I don’t know quite what to say,” you replied.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

You finished your water and he finished his. Another silence.

“You looked very handsome in your coat today, you’re a lovely man,” you complimented. He looked especially lovely with the fire’s glow against his face.

“Thank you, but I’m starting to get…a bit uncomfortable. May I take dress down to my shift?” he asked

“You may.”

He opened the door and brought the old man serf. The old man took away his shoes, stockings, coat, shirt, wig, and everything else, setting them away, until he was only in his shift and a pair of white breeches.

Though you stared away from him, focusing on the empty glass in your hand. He walked forward as soon as the old man set away the clothes and exited.

“Y/N…you’re tense. Are you…nervous?” he asked, kneeling down to be at your level.

You nodded, not even looking at him.

“Yes. I was scared you would…force yourself on me,” you voiced. “It’s what I was going to tell you earlier.”

He walked forward to you and put two of his hands on your shoulders, but not heavily.

“Y/N, I won’t do that…you can’t please a woman by forcing yourself on her and I…I didn’t want to displease you. I told you earlier, I don’t want to hurt you.” He reminded.

Your shoulders relaxed.

“I didn’t want to displease you either. Its just…I…I’ve never slept with anyone before. You’ve probably seen the file form the doctor we gave to Archie. There. The proof. And I…I’m just…I’m just nervous.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as well,” he comforted.

You thought of the Morning gift, of your duty …but you noticed the outline of his body through the shift. And every time you found your eyes go to his face, they would go back to his body.

Your eyes noticed that the books from Orlo were on a desk in the corner.

“What about these?” you said.

Grigor brought them to you. You passed a bit of time flipping through them. The illustrations, even he admitted, were lovely. You both studied it, asking which tales he was familiar with, and what stories you knew of. The tiredness got to you slightly and as you both sat on the chair as he sat down beside you, you laid your head against his shoulder a little sleepily.

Sonya slept deeply in the corner. She laid down on a soft pillow, her belly full of roast chicken from the feast, and legs twitching as if chasing something. Then she woke up a bit and wandered over to the next room to sleep.

Grigor closed the book and raised your chin to meet his face.

“I think I’d like reading more if it was with you, can we…we move to bed? You seem a little tired,” he said.

“We can.”

Both of you settled into the sheets. You sighed at the warmth of the blankets over you.

“Russia’s every bit as cold as you said,” you jested

“Then can I hold you, to keep you warm…just to make you comfortable.”

“You can.”

He wrapped his arms around you. The fire cackled in the distance and you could make out a ticking clock somewhere else in the room. Both of you laid down on your sides, looking at each other. He felt nice compared to the cold air everywhere else in the apartment.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N? I guess for…for duty. Nothing else has to happen until you’re ready.”

“You can. For our duty.”

He kissed you passionately, deeply. Something inside you made you grab him. You didn’t feel like you wanted to push him away. It was a tight embrace. You liked kissing him. Kissing him had set you on fire, something in your was waking up suddenly. You put your arms around him to deepen it.

Then you let go. You were almost afraid of this wanting. You liked touching him, almost too much. You could notice the top of his shift moving around, showing a bit of his chest.

“Let me kiss you two more times, please…for the alliance’s sake.”

“I’ll let you,” you said.

He leaned down for the first one, but instinctively rolled on top of you. You gasped.

“I…I’m sorry…am I crushing you?” he asked, shrinking away.

“No…it just surprised me. It’s not bad…”

“I don’t know what came over me.”

Then you smiled, and there was a new voice coming out of you.

“That was still one kiss, though. You own me another one.”

He kissed you again. Your hand went to his chest, lightly touching it.

“I…I’ve seen statues, but I’ve never seen a man in only his shift before…” you admitted.

“You can explore, you can touch me” he smirked.

You hands explored his neck, his shoulders, and then began tracing his chest again, and one to his back.

“Grigor…it’s for Russia but…I want you to touch me…”

His head tilted and he blinked rapidly.

“To touch you?”

“I… I…I trust you…”

“Well, if it’s for business…I will.”

You began to trace him more and he let his hands wander over you as well. You traced his neck down to around his shoulder and arm, feeling how each place rose up and went down. When you got to his hands, you put each of your fingers into the crooks of his- hands interlaced. He moved from kissing your lips to your cheeks, and then your neck. It was new and strange, tingling. But you liked it too much to push it away. And when he shifted to be more on top of you-but not his full body-you liked it too much to not stop it either. And every time you felt a small touch or kiss end, you wanted more.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once it was over, he rolled off, both of you lazily staring at the ceiling and catching your breath.

Then you looked at him with swollen lips, undone hair, and wide eyes. And he looked at you.

You began to laugh. And he laughed too in tandem.

“I was terrified of that! What was I thinking!” you said, looking over at him. The previous fear had melted away.

“It’s always terrifying when you do it first, even with a new person. But…you’re…you’re good.” Grigor commented.

The air from around felt cold. The fire was dying down and who knew what hour it was. Your two shifts remained crumpled on the floor like ghostly puddles.

“Could you…could you hold me?” you asked coquettishly, leaning towards him.

“Hmm, let me think about that...”

“Please? It’s getting cold.” you added, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles.

He leaned over to pull you close. He felt very warm, and sweaty. But you did not mind.

“I…I think we might find a way for this to work…” he murmured.

“Yes, I…I agree.”

He pulled you into his chest. Your eyes saw the small hairs and the rise and fall of his breathing.

“I remember…when I would wake up in the morning, and…I’d hate it,” he recalled, looking up at the ceiling again.

“Why?” you ask.

Tracing his chest, drawing little figures into it. He let you rest your head on his arm. It was getting darker and darker, the candles in the room were dying and giving out bit by bit.

“I’d just feel…alone…” he confessed. He looked over to you, eyes a little dark from the memory.

“Not anymore, Grigor. I’ll make sure of it. You won’t be alone with me.”

It is quiet and peaceful. You both fall asleep deeply.

At one point you wake up briefly, only to see Grigor talking to the old man serf, but he turns to you and shushes.

“It’s early-get some more sleep, Y/N. It was a long day yesterday,” he whispers to you. You see some tiredness in his eyes as well.

You lay your head back down without a word. You fall back asleep.

The light of a later part of the morning fills up the flat when you open your eyes again. Turning around, Grigor is wearing his shift, but still, fast asleep. He must have woken up, put it on, and then drift back into dreaming.

Watching him for a while, it seems he won’t be waking for some time. Even though sunlight is coming out of the windows with the strong glare of mid-morning.

You pull on your shift and your old green robe, you move over to where a tray was set with complimentary coffee in a fancy porcelain set and certain pastries with a note of congratulations from someone’s Aunt Elisabeth or other. But before you can even pour a cup or try a crumb, something catches your eye.

There is an envelope on the tray and when you open it there is some money.

You had forgotten about the morning gift completely.

Taglist: @foxinaforestofstars @iwritefanficnotprophecies @itsametaphorgwil @queenlover05 @simonedk @panagiasikelia @grigorlee @fueled-by-novocaine @stardust-killer-queen @xviiarez @vintage-and-hypnotic @raerawrrae @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night(if I forgot to add you please alert me asap!!!) @always-a-fairycat @kiainspace @gwilymleeisbae @writeroutoftime @staradorned @im-an-adult-ish @marshmxllowfluff

150 notes · View notes

smp-live · 4 years ago

Text

Man in the (Shattered) Mirror Ch. 4

AO3 First Prev Next

No TWs for this chapter!

Techno wasn’t too confident in this whole “resurrection” idea.

The writings they were basing themselves on were just so ancient, and vague, that it was hard to have faith in them to be accurate. And Techno, ever the pragmatic, wasn’t too fond of the idea of getting his hopes up over nothing. He’d been burned before, too many times to count.

But Phil had latched onto the idea like a lifeline, and Techno could see how it seemed to reinvigorate him. Wilbur’s death had crushed him, seemingly aged him 50 years, and he gained them all back in an instant at the prospect of being able to see his son again. Techno didn’t have the heart to crush his hopes.

Neither of them were any good at emotions, anyways, Techno being unwilling to express them and Phil dancing around the topic like he did Techno’s sword when they sparred. So he stayed silent, brought Phil meals as he sat engrossed in whatever scripture he was reading, and listened to him ramble on about ideas and theories. Sent him off with a wave and a small smile earlier this morning, despite his own doubts.

They should be going through with it right about now, he mused, glancing away from the historical text he was reading - based on facts and dates, thank you very much - and to the clock. Just past four p.m.

He should go and grab lunch; he hadn’t eaten yet today. The worn hardwood stairs creaked softly as he padded downstairs with the grace of a man who knew exactly where his body started and ended. No use sitting around wondering what was happening in a country miles away. It’s not like he would find out until Phil came back.

So, the last person he was expecting to see seated at his kitchen table was Wilbur.

He stared at Techno like a deer caught in the headlights, doe-brown eyes wide and startled. Skin peachy and flushed, dressed in that tacky 18th-century revolutionary outfit he’d seen hanging on the wall of Tommy’s room in Pogtopia, except this one wasn’t torn and bloody. No, it was crisply ironed, brass buttons gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the blinds.

“Technoblade?” he asked, shocked, sitting ramrod straight in his chair.

“Wilbur?” Well, he supposed this answered his question about whether the resurrection had worked. Although it didn’t explain the uniform. Or why Wilbur was in the Arctic and not with the rest, in L’Manburg.

“What the fuck are you doing here? No wait,” Wilbur said, scrambling up from his chair and to the window, “where’s here?” He frowned at his surroundings, then whirled on Techno. “This isn’t L’Manberg.”

“No, it-”

“Where’d you take me?” Wilbur accused, hand twitching to his belt for a sword as he stepped towards Techno. He barely faltered when it came up empty. Techno's lips twitched into a quick smile barely tinged with pride. He’d taught him well. “You working with Dream?”

“Nah.” He reconsidered. “Or, wait-”

That was apparently the wrong answer, because Wilbur’s face contorted in rage as he pressed up to Techno. They were the same height, he mused idly, meeting his godson’s smoldering eyes easily. Despite his height and his passion, he wasn’t worried. He could take Wilbur in a fight - he’d done it a hundred times before, after all.

“Where,” Wilbur snarled, seemingly without that same sentiment, “the fuck. Are. The others. I swear, if you’ve touched a single hair on their heads, Blade-”

“Calm down, Wilbur,” Techno said, raising his hands placatingly. Wilbur’s eyes flickered to them then back to his face, squinting. “I haven’t done anything. You’re just a bit confused.”

“I-“

Techno ignored his indignant interjection. “Let’s sit, alright?” he proposed, gesturing to the table. “We can talk. Like civil people.”

Wilbur glowered, but turned and stalked to take his seat. Techno followed, and they simply sat for a few moments, stewing in an awkward silence.

Wilbur looked better than he had, when he’d last seen him. Exhausted, yes, but a more recent, surface-level tiredness, not one that had sunk its way deep into his bones. His hands were calloused, but from guitar playing and gardening rather than weapons.

“Tea?” Techno offered.

“No,” Wilbur snapped. Welp, that was his only conversation starter. What were you supposed to say when your newly-resurrected godson appeared in your kitchen? Scratch that - when he appeared to be from over a year in the past, before he had snapped and destroyed everything he’d worked for?

Luckily for the both of them, Wilbur sighed and sank his head into his hands, rubbing at his temples.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to snap - I... I’ve just been stressed, lately. With the revolution, and all.”

Techno raised an eyebrow at that. “What revolution?” Wilbur looked at him like he was dumb.

“L’Manberg? Didn’t Phil tell you? Or Dream?” he added with a sneer, and that confirmed all of Techno’s suspicions. Gods, they had really somehow managed to bring back Wilbur from over a year ago. How did they even manage that?

“First off,” Techno started, “I’m not working with Dream. I just owe him a favour.” Wilbur opened his mouth to argue but quieted down at Techno’s raised hand in warning.

“Second...” Where did he even start with this? How exactly could he explain... everything that had happened concisely?

Before he could figure out his words, the door slammed open with a gust of wind and a swirl of snow. And in walked Phil, with a hand on his hat and a a bundle clutched in his other arm. Except - that wasn’t a bundle. It was a child, a sleeping child with an all-too familiar shock of brown hair resting on Phil’s shoulder.

Techno’s stomach clenched as he turned around from shutting the door and froze, eyes drifting from Techno himself to his son across from him.

“Phil?” Wilbur - the Wilbur at the table - squeaked, eyes wide in shock. “What are you doing here? Did you- You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

Phil just stared at him for a few seconds before looking away to hang his hat. “Hey, Wil.”

“Phil?” Techno interjected, getting up. “What’s happening? Is that... Wilbur?”

“Wait- what the fuck?”

“Yeah,” Phil said, wings slumping. “Look- I’ll explain in a minute. Can you get Wil - this Wil - to bed?” he asked, turning to Techno while running a hand gently through the kid’s hair.

Techno rolled his eyes, (soft old man,) but made to take Wilbur from his father’s arms. The kid shifted as he was transferred from one grip to another, and Techno tried to shush him as he walked up the stairs, as softly as he could. He stayed quiet until he was laid in bed.

“Tec’no?” he mumbled, lifting his head and blinking at him blearily.

“Yeah, kiddo, it’s me. Now go back to sleep or your father’ll have my neck,” Techno said quietly back, tucking a blanket tightly around him - Wilbur didn’t sleep well otherwise. The kid didn’t respond, sinking back into slumber, and that was fine by him.

Now, time for answers.

As Techno padded back down the stairs, voices drifted up.

“What the fuck do you mean, it’s January?” Wilbur asked.

“I mean,” Phil answered calmly and there was a clattering of mugs, “technically you’re in the future. Not for us, but for you.”

“About a year and a half,” Techno added as he walked into the room. Both father and son turned to look at him, exhaustion on Phil’s face and distress on Wilbur’s.

“A year and a half?” he asked, so broken and scared. Then, strengthening himself up from the moment of vulnerability, “did we win? The war, I mean.”

“Yes,” Phil said, sitting down and pushing a mug of steaming tea in front of Wilbur and one for Techno, “you did.” Wilbur’s ecstatic grin was enough to make Techno take a sip of his tea to hide his own smile. His godson’s joy had always been contagious.

“We won? We won! That’s bloody fantastic!” He nearly leapt out of his chair in excitement. “Tell me- how was it? How long did it take? Can we go see - actually, scratch that - why are we not in L’Manberg now?”

“Wil, mate,” Phil started, then sighed, wings slumping down, “a- a lot happened between then and now, and...” He trailed off, unwilling to voice it. So Techno decided to make his life a little bit easier.

“You died,” he said simply.

“I- what?”

“You died.”

“All three times?”

“Mm-hm.” Techno nodded, taking another sip from his mug. Wilbur just gaped, speechless for once in his life at the news.

“We tried to resurrect you,” Phil said, finding his voice again. “It... kinda worked? I mean,” he gestured at the Wilbur across the table, “case in point. But... Ghostbur’s still around. And there’s not just you - the Wilbur upstairs came back, too, and,” his voice cracked as he locked eyes with Techno, “Wil right before he died.”

“Oh,” Techno said. That... wasn’t good. Not for the server, finally at peace with L’Manburg gone, and not for Phil.

Wilbur before he died had been a destructive force of chaos, uncaring of who or what he hurt as he spiraled. Sure, it had helped Techno, as their goals at the time had lined up, but now? He just wanted to be at peace in his home in the arctic. Farm a little, maybe read some books.

If he was back, and in that same state of mind, well... Techno shuddered to think of what he might do to that peace.

Wilbur - Wilbur across the table - frowned, eyes flitting from one to the other. “Care to explain?”

“I’d rather not,” Phil said, “Not right now. We have no reason to believe it’s only you three that came back, and I- I don’t want to have to explain everything more than once.”

Wilbur considered that for a few seconds, head tilted like he always did when he was deep in thought. “Fair enough.”

“Besides,” Phil continued, “I’d rather someone else explain. I don’t know the whole story. You were a bit sporadic in your letters, mate.”

Wilbur winced apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Eh,” Phil waved a hand around as if to brush it away, “it’s fine. Anyways, we agreed to meet at Eret’s castle tomorrow to discuss.”

“Wait - castle? Why does Eret have a castle?” Wilbur asked. “Isn’t he a part of L’Manberg?” Oh, this wasn’t good.

“Wil,” Phil started, sympathetic, then seemed to think better of it. “nevermind. For tomorrow.”

“For tomorrow,” Wilbur echoed. “Right.”

He looked lost, hands cupped around his steaming mug of tea that clouded up the brass buttons adorning his uniform, in much the same way his eyes clouded as they stared blankly at the cabinets. Lost as in his whole world had been uprooted in just a few instants.

Which was fair; this was a lot to take in, even for Techno, and he wasn’t the one who found himself in the future where he was supposedly dead.

“Alright,” he said, getting up with a clap of his hands. That was enough emotional conversation for today. “Wilbur, I have a book on historical politics you might be interested in? To distract yourself for now?”

That seemed to jolt his godson out of his state, the life returning to his eyes. “Y-yes, of course,” he stammered out, following Techno to his feet. “You know me so well, Blade.”

Techno rolled his eyes as he clapped Phil on the shoulder. “You’re welcome to come join us,” he told him. Phil just nodded tightly with a wan smile, hands gripping his mug. He wouldn’t be, then.

“Suit yourself,” he said, then led Wilbur upstairs to his room.

If someone were to ask Fundy how he was feeling on a scale of 1-10, he’d answer a solid two. Luckily for his pride, though, nobody cared about him enough to ask.

The root of the problem was, of course, Wilbur - when was it not? His father had been the cause of pretty much every bad thing in his life ever since he’d decided to start that Prime-forsaken country. Ever since he’d gone and offed himself on a diamond sword.

He kind of mostly wanted to avoid thinking about Wilbur entirely, if he was completely honest. But both Wilbur’s ghost and Phil wanted him to be resurrected, and so he found himself going along with it. He figured he could make sure his quote-unquote father came back, didn’t immediately ruin everything, and then fuck off and never think about him again.

Except, of course that’s not what happened.

No, of course Wilbur had to fuck up something as simple as coming back to life. He just had to somehow split into different versions of himself. Because of course.

And now, there was an all-too-familiar-looking shape huddled at the end of his docks, the one place he felt at home.

He was wearing a clean white tee with a familiar-looking black cardigan thrown overtop. His feet dangled just above the water, boots shucked onto the planks next to him. Fingers tapped out a rhythm at his side as he stared out over the horizon.

Fundy recognized the melody, of course he did. An old sea shanty his father had twisted into a lullaby he’d sang every night until Fundy protested with a whined, “I’m too old, dad, stop.” He sometimes still found himself humming it, though most of the words had slipped his mind over time, replaced with more important things such as swordfighting stances, cyphers, and how to make sure a drunk man didn’t die choking on his own vomit.

Gravel crunched under Fundy’s boot as he took an involuntary step forward. The tapping stopped. Wilbur slowly turned around, both freezing as they locked eyes.

“Fundy?” his father choked out with glistening eyes. Fundy sighed.

“Hi, Wil.”

“You’re- you’re so big!” Wilbur got to his feet, a beaming smile on his face, and stumbled towards Fundy. He wanted nothing more than to run, to scream get the fuck away from me, to collapse and cry into his father’s arms. Instead, he stayed stock still.

Wilbur took his face in his hands, cradling it gently as he always did. His hand was soft and warm, gentle calluses from hours spent holding a pen or a guitar instead of a sword. Fundy had to swallow down a lump in his throat; it had been easier to ignore how much he missed this when he wasn’t staring it in the face.

But he couldn’t have this, this softness with his once-family. He’d disowned Wilbur, and his ex-father had disowned him back. Had looked his son-in-no-more-than-blood in the eyes and said, with complete honesty, “I despise you.”

That wasn’t this Wilbur, though, so maybe he could allow himself to pretend, for a bit. This Wilbur looked younger. Face rounder, limbs ganglier, eyebags less deep. Stress lines and signs of early greying gone. Little details Fundy wouldn’t even have noticed had he not just seen an older version of him.

He pulled away suddenly, eyes burning with tears, and Wilbur let him go, a concerned expression on his face. Always so fucking concerned. Until it didn’t benefit him anymore.

“Fundy? What- what’s wrong?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Fuck off,” he muttered, rubbing furiously at his eyes with his sleeve. “’m fine.”

“You’re crying-”

“I said I’m fine.” Why wouldn’t he drop it?

“Son-”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Fundy snapped, and Wilbur took a shocked step back. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”

“Fundy...” Wilbur stared at him, studying, clearly trying to piece together what he could’ve done from the look on his fox-face. Joke’s on him, he’d have to actually know Fundy in order to read him, and nobody bothered to care enough to get to that point. Wilbur of all people definitely didn’t. “What happened?”

"You died,” Fundy said bluntly. He sure as fuck wouldn’t try and soften the blow for his father. “We tried to resurrect you, and you fucked it up. Now, you’re here.” He waved his arm around them. “Welcome back, I guess.”

Wilbur gaped at him. “I- I died?” he asked, breathless.

Fundy nodded sharply. “Yup. Few months ago. Now, if you don’t mind me, I’ll be off.”

“Fundy, wait-” Frantic footsteps sounded on the dock behind him.

“Fuck off." Fundy kept stalking away.

“No, Fundy, please-”

“What?” He whirled around, snarling. “What do you want, old man?”

“Old man?” Wilbur paused, amused smile on his face. “Fundy, I’m barely nineteen.”

Fundy’s blood froze, (his father was the same age as him,) but he whirled back around and kept walking. “Not to me, you aren’t.”

“I don’t have anywhere to stay,” Wilbur all-but-whispered. Fundy didn’t even turn around, this time.

“Sucks to be you. Now stay the fuck away from me.”

#Dream SMP #Wilbur Soot #Wilbur Soot DSMP #Technoblade #Technoblade DSMP #Fundy #Fundy DSMP #Dream SMP fic #Enderwrites

6 notes · View notes

jennygirl2014 · 5 years ago

Text

White~Part 4

Summary: You learn more about the lies your father had been telling you all these years, and you start to wonder if you had known the truth, would it have changed your fate? An emotional goodbye with James Mace doesn’t end things between the two of you after he makes his intentions known. Warnings: adult themes, mentions of loss of virginity, mentions of assault.

A wave of nausea hit you, and you closed your mouth tight, clenching your teeth, just in case. Then you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat somehow remaining. James’s thumb stayed on your hand, lightly tracing across your skin, as if trying to comfort you. There was no way that everything had simply been a misunderstanding. There was no way your father could have kept a secret from you, not for all these years. But was it true?

“I snuck off the base and got my friend to drive me all the way back home,” he started to explain to you in a soft voice, “To your place. I went right up to the door and was met by your father.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did, “He told me you weren’t home… that you were staying with your aunt who lived out of town, and that I wasn’t allowed to see you, speak to you or even write you.” He paused, “I started to fight with him…but then he got his shotgun out…”

“What?” you almost jumped upon hearing this.

“Yes, your dad pulled a shotgun out from behind the door.” He shook his head, “Almost like he was expecting me to show up. But then again, he had told me to stay away from you many times before,” he started to grin a little, “And I just didn’t listen. Maybe he wanted to make sure I got the message that time.”

It couldn’t have been true. Could it? Your father did have an old shotgun, but he rarely took it out to do anything aside from clean it. You could count on one hand the number of times you had seen him with that shotgun in your entire life. At first, you couldn’t believe a man as godly as your father, the town’s pastor, would brandish a gun and point it at James. But he did despise James, he made that abundantly clear. He always told you that he was corrupt and a sinner, and that he didn’t deserve to even be in your presence. After you had confessed to your father that you were no longer a virgin, after your mother had seen the evidence in your underwear and started sobbing and panicking to the two of you over it, he immediately knew you had lost your innocence to James Mace. He screamed at you, berated you even, and made you feel like the dirtiest person on the planet. You cried your eyes out as he threw the bible at your feet where you stood and were pleading for forgiveness, he shouted so loudly that your ears were ringing. He demanded that you pray for forgiveness for your sin.

What man will marry an impure woman? You have been tainted! My daughter will not be the town harlot! Pray that God saves your soul!

The next day he dragged you to that river baptize you, again, and you weren’t convinced that he wouldn’t hold you under that current for longer than he should to punish you further. Your parents treated you differently for weeks after, your mother barely spoke to you, your father invaded all of your privacy and made you read scripture every night before going to bed. And after about a month, it was never spoken of again, but you still felt shame. Clearly, not enough shame to keep you from doing it again. Your father had a temper, and he tended to mask it in his religious preaching, you knew that now as an adult, now that you had stepped away from the church, much to the disgust of your parents. You were still a believer, but far from the devout pastor’s daughter you used to be.

You finally found words, “My father pulled a gun on you?”

He nodded, “Told me if I ever showed up on his doorstep again, he would blow my head clean off my neck.”

Yep, that sounded like your father.

“I tried writing you,” James spoke up again, “But I had a feeling he was throwing away the letters. And then your number changed… and I didn’t know what to do. I figured…you had moved on.”

Your feeling shifted from hurt to anger, maybe even rage. Your father lectured you about sin and secrets, and all this time he has hiding his own, justifying them even.

“Were you?” James suddenly spoke up again.

“Was I, what?” you were too caught up in your anger to understand his question.

“With your aunt?”

“Yes,” you sighed, “I moved in with her for about a year, shortly after you left.” You were being truthful.

“Why?” he pressed further.

That was a question you were not going to answer truthfully. You were far from ready to.

“I just…” you stopped to swallow, stalling to think of a plausible excuse, “I needed to get away from that town for a bit. Especially after what happened,” you paused, “With that guy and everything.” You lied.

“I always wondered if your parents blamed you for that guy putting his hands on you.” He spoke gently and continued to rub his thumb along the back of your hand, “I never understood religion. I just… I don’t get how you can blame the victim in those situations.”

“I shouldn’t have put myself out there like that.” You glazed over and recited the line your parents had always used.

“No,” James’s voice was shockingly stern, “That wasn’t your fault. You were the victim. He should have known better.”

“Not according to what my father says.” You sounded almost robotic.

“But you’re not your father.” His tone shocked you out of your cold and automated responses, and you looked at his face, taking in the softness he was giving you, “Angel…that was not your fault.”

He used your nickname. The one only he called you by. Your heart fluttered, and a warm feeling started to grow in the pit of your stomach. How long had it been since you heard him call you that? Your father robbed you of hearing him call you that all these years, and you didn’t even know it. James rubbed his thumb on the back of your hand some more before speaking again, interrupting your own inner dialogue of racing thoughts.

“I knew how much your father’s approval meant to you. I didn’t want to do anything further to screw that up.” And then his thumb slid further down your hand, until it rested on your engagement ring. It felt wrong, him touching it. He lifted your hand some to inspect it further, and you watched his eyes as they took in the one and a half carat diamond. You loved that ring, it was lavish compared to most of the other rings you had seen, a statement of how much your fiancé adored you, and how well off the two of you would be. People drooled over your ring, they would snatch your hand up and gasp and gush about it. But now, it felt foreign on your finger. “It’s a very pretty ring.” He finally spoke about it.

“Thanks.” You weren’t sure how to respond.

“I always thought I would get you a ring.” His statement hit you like a train, and your eyes went as wide as dinner plates. “I mean, I know I probably couldn’t get you something as nice as this but…” his voice trailed off. He let your hand slip from his, and you gently pulled it back with a shaky arm. Your limbs felt weak after hearing him say he thought he would have proposed. You had always wondered the same yourself. At one point, you tried to make the argument to your mother that sleeping with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world because you had thought he was the one. And you did. But things just didn’t play out that way. Would they have without your father getting involved the way he did?

Where did that leave you and Doug?

“We should eat.” James interrupted you thought process. He went back to his steak and you finally found the sense to start cutting into your food.

For a few minutes, the two of you were quiet, just getting to the task of eating your food. You tried not to watch him eat, but it was difficult to just keep your eyes down the entire time. You drank in his form, his hands and how thick they were, his pink lips, his strong jawline, his cheeks, his eyes, everything. It was the strangest feeling, having him so close but feeling like he was so far. And now you were second guessing everything. What if he hadn’t been sent away? What if your father hadn’t kept him from contacting you again? What if you hadn’t met Doug? Did your feelings for Doug suddenly change now that the story did?

That wouldn’t be fair to him.

Was everything that happened fair to James? Was it fair to you?

“Do you remember the time we took a rowboat out on the lake, and we started making out,” James started as he held some of his food in his cheek, “And we didn’t notice that one of the oars slipped out?” and you both started chuckling over the memory. James wiped his mouth with his napkin and swallowed before continuing, “I jumped out of the boat to try and retrieve it, but when you tried to help me back in,”

“We flipped the whole thing and we were both in the lake.” You finished his sentence and you both broke out into laughter. You kept your hand over your mouth, trying to be polite but it was hard to keep from laughing loudly. James didn’t bother hiding his laughter. When you looked up and saw the amusement and the joy in his face, it warmed you, and you found yourself laughing without a qualm as well. It felt good to laugh, it felt even better to be laughing with him.

Time passed faster than you could believe. Even after finishing your food, the two of you sat and talked for some time. You talked about all of your memories together, big and small, old friends, old enemies, your lives as teenagers and about the growing pains of becoming the adults the two of you were today. At some point, you even decided to unwind and order a glass of white wine, which turned into two glasses. Before you knew it, it was after nine o’clock and the place was getting ready to close. The two of you sat there and watched as the place emptied and waiters and waitresses started cleaning up. The thought of leaving that booth, and leaving him, was almost unbearable. You had just got him back, you had your friend back, and now it was time to leave. Suddenly, nothing else mattered but the two of you sitting there in that spot, in your own little universe. In the back of your mind, you felt guilty and sad for Doug, knowing that he had likely called your phone ten times, and you hadn’t bothered to even look. He wasn’t the one in front of you right now.

“I suppose,” James spoke and then paused, “we should probably get going.” You nodded and reached for your purse to grab your wallet. “No, it’s on me.” James leaned to one side and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, and you froze.

“I can pay for myself.” You said the typical reply of betrothed woman. Then again, a promised woman wouldn’t have met an old flame at a restaurant.

“No, no, I asked you to meet me here.” James quickly retorted and pulled out a wad of cash, enough to cover both of your meals and drinks, and a nice tip. Your mouth went dry. You didn’t want this to come off like a date. Right? “And you drove all that way, it’s the least I can do.” He added after a second.

You both slid out of the booth and pulled your coats on, and then you made your way to the exit, your feet dragging some. It was funny how you were so hesitant to go into the restaurant in the first place, and how you seemed to move in slow motion. Now you were feeling the same way about leaving. James placed his hand on the small of your back, escorting you out. You stiffened some at the feeling of his hand on you, and the warmth from his hand seeped through your coat. Maybe his hand shouldn’t have been there, but you weren’t about to tell him to remove it.

It struck you that, perhaps, all the time in your life, in the era following his disappearance, you had put on a face that was not your own. The face you wore reflected life’s tough lessons, the influence of your parents, the drive to be a successful career woman, the face of someone who was marrying within their own class and expected nothing less. But James Mace was not less. When was the last time you laughed so freely, or felt so deeply? It if was an emotion that didn’t seem useful at the time, you didn’t honor it. James was always able to pull all of those emotions out of you, rather than expecting you to stay in line or on an even note. As a psychologist, you were suddenly disappointed in yourself. You had denied yourself closure to the point of holding your breath for years. Now, it finally felt like you could take a deep, cleansing breath in, and fill your lungs completely. Yes, it hurt a bit, yes it made your eyes swell with tears, but it was freeing.

When the cold air hit you, you immediately shivered, and James’s hand slid to your side, pulling you closer to him as he put his arm around you, trying to help you brace for the chill. The two of you walked towards your car, and James made some silly comment about you driving a nicer car than he did. You turned to him after pushing the little button on your key fab, starting your car and letting it warm up. This was one of the moments in life where it felt like your feet were stuck in cement, like you would remain still forever, but time would not be on your side. You stared at him, and he stared back at you. You knew in your heart that this was going to be a painful moment.

“Well…” you tried to start a sentence, not even really sure of what you were trying to say.

“Well,” he echoed, pressing his lips into a thin line, but his eyes sparkled at you. The thought whispered into the back of your mind…

Tell him…

Suddenly there was a deep pit in your stomach, and it churned painfully. Should you?

“It was great seeing you.” James broke the silence, and he spoke so softly that it was hard to hear him over the pounding of your heart in your own ears. “Thank you for coming out and…talking about all of those things with me.”

You hesitated. “I’m glad we did.” The cloud of vapor danced in front of your face as your spoke. “It’s good to have closure.” And he nodded.

“Yeah.” He clearly didn’t know what to say. Or he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to. But then he got bold. “I knew I couldn’t leave without seeing you one last time.”

One last time, he said. The statement made your mouth go dry, and your heart sank. You looked up at the sky, seeing the stars so clearly. It was a move to avoid letting your eyes go teary again, and to avoid letting him see the sadness in your face. He looked up as well. Suddenly, looking at the sky felt different, it now meant so much more.

“You’re going to be up there soon.” You changed the subject, stating a fact you both knew. There was a long moment of silence. “You’re about to save mankind.” You made an even heavier statement, but it was true. He still didn’t answer. “I guess that makes you a hero.”

“That might be better than being a dentist.” He joked. But this was no joke, he was comparing himself to Doug, your fiancé. You saw this coming.

“He’s an orthodontist.” You scoffed, still looking up at the stars. “And in a way, you’re going up there to save him too.” You politely tried to let him know that he was pushing a boundary.

“But mostly you.” His words hit you, hard. Your head snapped back down to face him, and you saw his gaze drift back down from the sky to give you a sly look, along with a tiny, crooked smile. You gulped.

“James,” you spoke his name in almost a whisper, if it weren’t for the cloud of vapor from your lips, he might not have known you spoke at all.

“Are you really going to marry him?” his question shocked you, but only on the surface.

You stared at each other.

“Do you love him?” he questioned more. His expression now changed to one of hopelessness.

More silence.

“James… you can’t ask me to wait for you.” You finally pushed the words out, each one weighing more than the last.

“Not even if I told you I was doing this for you?”

“Don’t.” you sharply stopped him from continuing. “Don’t you put this on my shoulders.” You pursed your lips together, fighting back tears. “Please. Don’t make me carry that burden.” You blinked a few times, trying to blink away the wetness that was coming to your eyes. His eyes dug into you like daggers, and he swallowed and clenched his jaw.

“Will we ever see each other again?” he asked in a much softer voice.

You eagerly nodded, sniffling. “You come back here in one piece, okay?”

“I’ll try my best.”

A tear escaped your left eye, but you let it go. You nodded more, perhaps convincing the two of you that there was no risk, and that he definitely would be coming back. Again, the little voice rang in the back of you head. Tell him. But you refused again. You held out your arms, asking him for a hug, because you wanted nothing more than to be close to him one last time. He obliged, stepping into you and wrapping you in his arms. The embrace was warm, and it engulfed you, and then it lingered. You couldn’t remember the last time someone held you like that, so tight and so close. You weren’t sure if you were comforting him, or if he was comforting you, but you were sure you didn’t want to let him go. His hand slid up and down your back, and you tucked your face into his shoulder, he rocked you steadily, and then you broke. Your lip trembled as a small sob escaped you, and you tried to swallow it back. You stepped back from him, letting more tears fall, expecting the embrace to end, but instead his hands found their way to your face. He held you gently, looking you dead in the eye with a small smile. His thumbs caressed your cheeks and wiped your tears away. He leaned in and put his forehead to yours, and you closed your eyes, silently pleading that he wouldn’t set you ablaze with a kiss, but begging that he would.

Your breath danced between the two of you, and you could feel him hesitating. Instead of doing what both of you were thinking, he leaned to the side and gently placed a warm kiss on your upper cheek. He stepped back from you and you looked at him, disappointed but at the same time grateful that he didn’t push your limits. He was always good at breaking those boundaries, and if he had kissed you, Doug be damned, you would have welcomed it, knowing it as wrong. “You take care of yourself.” He finally found something to say, and you could only nod. His hands slipped away from your face and he stepped back, allowing you to walk towards your car. That heat between you disappeared and you hated how cold you suddenly felt.

You took a step backwards, towards your car, still looking at him, not wanting to lose the sight. But you knew it was time. With a heavy heart, you turned and made your way to the other side of the car, getting into the driver seat and closing the door. It was hot in the car, but the chill stayed in your veins, goosebumps sticking to your skin. You looked out the window at him one last time, and you saw him wave. You waved back, holding it together, until you put your car in drive and reluctantly left the curb. Your eyes found their way to the rearview mirror, and you saw him still standing there in the cold, getting smaller in the distance. The bubbling turmoil in your chest finally came out in one giant gasp, followed by a heavy sob, but you put your eyes back onto the road ahead of you, the dark void with white undertones around you taking you further away from him.

When you got to your destination, a small motel just ten minutes away, you tried your best to pull yourself together while sitting in the car before going in and getting a room. Your eyes were puffy with tears and emotion, but you made your way into the office despite it to retrieve the key you had reserved. The room was small, outdated, but warm. Your phone had vibrated countless times, and when you finally saw it, you noticed the seven missed calls and the five text messages from your fiancé. It was funny how he didn’t seem to exist that evening. You called him back, trying to sound as monotone as possible, telling him you were caught up talking to other psychologists about new theories and upcoming treatments, and that you had just lost track of time. He accepted the excuse without any issue and tried to make conversation, but you were feeling sick knowing you had lied to him. When he couldn’t get a decent conversation out of you, you simply told him you were too tired and that you wanted to go to bed, and he gave in.

But there was no way you could sleep. Not with so much on your mind, weighing you down. You opted to take a hot shower, trying to wash away all of the angst and doubt that was sitting on your chest. After your shower, you sat on the bed in your robe with a book in your hands, but you barely read it. After staring at the same page for more than fifteen minutes, you gave up, and just started staring at your ring, thinking about everything it meant. And everything it didn’t. You wondered if you should take it off.

A knock on the door shook you from your thoughts and made you jump a bit. Who would be knocking on your door so late at night? And at a motel? You got up from your spot on the bed, tossing your book onto the nightstand and tightening the knot on your robe as you approached the door. Maybe it was the owner asking you to move your car, or asking if everything was alright. Maybe it was someone in another room who had run out of toilet paper or something, but you weren’t at all expecting the sight you would see. Upon opening the door, your knees almost gave out when you saw James Mace on the other side.

“James?” you were shocked to see his face staring back at you, and his eyes slightly red, with wet lashes. “How…how did you find me?” you questioned him. But he didn’t speak. Instead, he just stepped inside, into your space. You backed up a couple steps, and he took the liberty of closing the door behind himself. “A-are you okay?” you stammered. Did he need a place to stay?

He didn’t say a word, and he didn’t have to. He reached for you, first gripping your arms, and then moving his hands up to your face again, the chill on his skin made you shiver. His lips fell onto yours with such confidence that it caught you off guard. You both knew you weren’t going to deny his kiss, you didn’t even flinch, or attempt to push him away. The contrast of the coldness on his hands and the heat on your lips made you dizzy, and you kept your eyes closed to enjoy the feeling of the room spinning around you. When he finally pulled his lips from yours, there as no air left in your lungs. The feeling was all too familiar, it was like you had stepped back in time, like there had been no lost time between the two of you. You opened your eyes and looked at him, and he looked back at you.

He was one month away from leaving Earth. You were six months away from getting married.

But none of that mattered at that moment.

#james mace #james mace x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #sunshine the movie

16 notes · View notes

thepartyponies · 4 years ago

Note

Its pretty amazing how you see a post about religous abuse and immediately frame it about how the abuse victims "did wrong" for not believing in your invisible friend. This is why christianity ends up abusing so many people. Its not about what the victim did wrong - its about what CHRISTIANS do wrong and wont stop doing

Hi, is there a specific post of mine you're referring to? If so, please let me know so I can reread what I said. I'm looking through my christianity tag and I'm not seeing anything recent that deals with religious abuse. Maybe I forgot to tag it, or is it from a while ago? If it's from a while ago, there's always a chance that I would say it differently now.

I'm always interested in learning how to better love and represent Jesus to the people around me, so I'd love to hear more about your perspective and experiences with this subject. If you or someone you love has been hurt in their experience with Christianity (which from your tone seems likely), I hope you will believe that I am truly sorry that that happened. It breaks my heart to see people hurt and have their view of God tainted in that way.

I have more to say, but I'll put the rest of my response under a readmore.

In general I do agree that victims of abuse should not bear the blame for hurts that have been done to them. However, I like to avoid blanket statements and assuming that every painful situation falls into the same neat categories of abuser vs abused. Many do, but life is often complicated, and there's nuance to every situation. Nobody's perfect, and being victimized doesn't automatically excuse someone of all responsibility. Sometimes bad people hurt other bad people, or they hurt each other.

But again, I feel like you're responding to a specific post, so I don't want to overemphasize one aspect of a conversation without being fully aware of the context of that conversation.

You mention "not believing". Well, if God is real, which he proved he is with the empty tomb among other things, then he's the rightful ruler of the universe, and there's no neutral position when it comes to his kingship. Either you accept him as king over every atom of creation, or you reject him as king.

He's a good king, far better than any other we could invent for ourselves.

I do tend to disagree with the premise that Christianity abuses people, instead I think it's more accurate to say that sometimes Christians abuse people, like you said towards the end of your message. Specific, individual, real life people, rather than the religion/institution/concept as a whole. Big difference.

Christianity is part of the story of God using broken, messed-up people like me and you to participate in his ongoing work of restoration in this world. In fact every central figure in the Bible, except Jesus, has their flaws on full display. Becoming a Christian doesn't immediately free you of all your fallen tendencies, rather it's a lifelong journey of partnering with the Holy Spirit to let yourself be transformed into the person you were always meant to be, ie someone full of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control, etc. Someone who acts like Jesus did.

Some people are farther along in this nonlinear process than others, some get lost and sidetracked along the way. I've seen and heard many people who claim the name of Christ talk and act in ways that look nothing like him. Whenever that happens, the name of Christ is profaned, and scripture tells us that such people will be held accountable, in this life and/or the next. Earlier this year I read the amazing book "Mere Christianity" by CS Lewis (which I highly recommend to everyone). In it he said that anything that has the capacity to act for good has an equal capacity to act for evil.

Humans, for example, have more capacity for both than, say, cows do. Some people, in their brokenness, will take God's primary method of reconciliation (the ekklesia or "church") and use it for their own selfish purposes, or in their zeal to do right will hurt the very people they should be trying to minister to. "Beating with a book everyone that book tells you to love" as the Brand New song lyrics say. Some will construct versions of the church that deviate from the templates and instructions given in scripture, in order to free themselves from accountability and transparency and to gain power and influence over others who should be safe in their care.

But I've seen way too much of Christianity being done right, lives being restored, people being saved and healed, to say that the abuse means that we should just give up, or that the abuse somehow redefines what Christianity is. I just met a woman today whose life-threatening ovarian cancer was miraculously healed. God is at work in this world, and in and through his people, despite our faults and shortcomings. People will often let you down, God never will. Sometimes we think he has, but that's usually because we expect things from him that he hasn't promised. Life with God won't be perfect this side of eternity, but we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

If any fellow believers read this, if you see unhealthy or abusive behavior happening with other believers, please speak up. In a bold, humble, loving, truthful, biblical way.

And with that I need to use the sleep. Goodnight.

#nonnie #replies #christianity

1 note · View note

boughtwithaprice · 4 years ago

Photo

I Kissed His Books Goodbye

Kae Salonzo Perez- Dilla

April 30, 2021

It was in 2019 when one of my favorite Christian authors shocked the Christian world by announcing his separation from his wife. It was Joshua Harris, the famous author and pastor who wrote, "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" and "Boy Meets Girl" which sold millions of copies since their publication in the 90s and made him like a Christian celebrity. I was totally heartbroken when this news popped on my IG feed. A year before this devastating news, I came across Joshua Harris on Facebook and YouTube where I learned about his recent project at that time which is also the reasn why he resurfaced. He was on some documentary film of some sort where he reevaluated his very own books mentioned earlier. I have also watched his TED Ed segment where he apologized for the lives destroyed by his book. He said that he was too young when he wrote his famous books. I was puzzled at that time which led me to do more research a.k.a stalking. I am a good stalker, you know. Kidding aside! So, from there, I started stalking the Harris couple on their social media accounts. I will not forget feeling that something was already off from their relationship since they are both absent from each other's daily activities. I do not know if that is just normal with other people but to me, it isn’t. Also, it struck me that Shannon and the Harris daughters "appear" to be highly modern and very much "in the trend" kind of way when it comes to their clothes, music, and social media posts. Given that they are in the limelight of conservative believers, this is a diversion. I was not a diehard fan of Joshua Harris and so I do not really know what happened to him after writing his books, after getting married to the girl of his prayers, and after pastoring a mega church for 17 years. However, I suddenly recalled an information he disclosed in one of his books. It was about Shannon whose inches close to starting her music career but then converted to her newfound faith and so this dream career of hers was aborted. This, I strongly recalled when I found lots of her IG post informing the world that she is about to release her music albums -which her songs don’t have the slightest expression of her love for God. For a preacher’s wife, for a Christian woman, so to speak, her recent project gave me another major what-in-the-world-is-happening moment. These findings surprised me! That's why I'm not really taken aback when Joshua Harris announced that he and his wife, Shannon, are eventually divorcing. Perhaps something bigger is afoot since then.

I know I am very late to make a fuss about Joshua Harris and his chosen path today, but I just want to express my thoughts since I kept seeing him lately. I was instantly reminded that I followed him on IG! And now I think about unfollowing him so I would be free from another stress. So, following his separation from his wife in 2019, more of his announcements on the social media just got more terrible as time pass by. He then denounced his Christian faith and joined an LGBTQ parade publicly. What worst could happen now? He has been posting his personal criticism on “Christianity" and against people "in the faith" with the notion of man's freedom being suppressed by God's will. He makes obedience to God appear so vexing and that it’s the very thing that stifle man from enjoying earthly pleasures. He just twisted the truth about ‘love the sinner but hate the sin’. God is angry at the wicked every day and so we were all once hated by God until he shows us His grace (Psalms 7: 11). But tolerating a sinner could never equate to any form of love. Unless man sees himself as a sinner, he will never repent and seek God. Harris has numerous posts about this particular topic! As I see it, one could assume that it is his way of answering back to the spiteful comments he keeps on receiving from the Christian group. He’s making the believers look like a group of unbelievable people for hurting him with God’s truths. The truth will surely hurt him.

There is no denying of the fact that Joshua Harris is still a hot issue among Christians today. Every time Christians talk about relationships, Joshua and his books are brought into place. Before the declaration of his newfound path away from Christ, his books were said to be the "Bible" of Christian romance. Decades ago, Joshua and his books were often referred to when Christians tend to look for godly relationships to pattern theirs. I personally and seriously took note of the contents of his books since I was in a relationship when I read them back then. Just like the other Harris loyalists, I would always mention his name and the things I have learned from his books when giving advice to my friends both in and out of the church during girl talks. It's such a shame that I have to evaluate my old self and admit that I have passed onto others the words of Harris more than God's. This, I humbly ask forgiveness from the Lord. And so, fast forward to the present time, look at how events have turned now. No one knows what really happened between Joshua and Shannon, but I'm pretty sure that whatever hit their relationship is a reflection of their individual relationship with God which have finally come in fruition in time. The book of Jeremiah says in chapter 7 verse 24, But they hearkened not, nor inclined their ear, but walked in the counsels and in the imagination of their evil heart, and went backward, and not forward. Whilst spending years and years of their life in the ministry, I could not help but wonder, was God really there "in" them? Frankly, although no man is in the position, it’s hard not to question their salvation thinking about what happened to them.

Joshua Harris have said in an interview that he excommunicated himself from his church because he failed to follow the standards required by the scriptures. In his words, he sounded like he was the victim more than the traitor. To add, one of his videos on YouTube showed live reactions from the offended readers of his books. I personally think that was a clear picture answering the question of why he ended up retracting his beliefs in public. He responded to those people in oppose to what Christians should be doing when being persecuted. He wanted to please them so bad to the point where he just decided to abandon his post, leave his God or god and follow them as if that was the best decision to reach out to them. His mindset is just so disappointing. At some point, did he blame God for earning his haters? Is that why he went after people he doesn’t personally know and has no relationship with God? Was he supposed to reevaluate through the Bible or through people’s lenses? How many were Christians in that pool of readers? It was just necessary to apologize for the wrong points that resulted to misguided readers, but why leave the faith? It’s true that it takes lots of courage to face the music but I don’t see the part where leaving your faith is a new definition of bravery.

When a Christian is found to be challenged, he ought to thrive. What happened to standing fast in the faith written in 1 Corinthians 16:13? But instead, Joshua Harris allowed the enemy to overpower him. He heard the wrong side. Well, to start with, he's probably not a genuine Christian. We don't want to judge him but again, we have been warned in Ephesians 4:14 That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive; A Youtuber also commented that a Christian should never find his life in the Lord burdensome. Sadly, Harris has put down his cross, got tired and stopped following the Savior. A believer's walk with Christ was never promised to go through an easy road but we will always find ourselves consistently rejoicing in His grace despite the way. Otherwise, those who are just pretending to understand the gospel will soon be revealed and will simply walk away because they were not meant to be in the fold of Christ in the first place.

Just recently, not only Harris have denounced his faith in Christ. There were others. Although this is not new anymore because there were others even before Harris’s time, but in this age of social media, issues like this have great impact in the Christian society perceived in various wavelength. And this case has left Christiandom a question-- what do we do with the learnings gained from such persons? It is fitting to know where the line should be drawn when reading Christian books. The Lord has commanded us to daily seek Him in prayer and in the scriptures. Even the prophets enquired and searched diligently (1 Peter 1: 10). Hence, to check if the materials we read carry God’s truth in them, they must be aligned to what the Bible says. God’s words should affirm the ideas being offered to us by other books whether they appear new or not. I believe that the things I learned from Joshua’s books really helped me assess my former relationship and double check if it indeed glorifies the Lord. But I do not give credit to the author because most of the concepts of the godly dating he presented were extracted from the Bible and were inspired by the people around him that were ‘in Christ’, and Lord willing, still walking with Him until now. Joshua Harris have miserably left his once professed faith and no wonder when ‘his followers’ do the same too. The Lord only revealed the impending danger of following leaders and prominent individuals with such devotion that should only belong to God. We should be vigilant and be fully aware of where and with whom do we pour our faith into. 2 Peter 3:17, KJV: "Ye therefore, beloved, seeing ye know these things before, beware lest ye also, being led away with the error of the wicked, fall from your own steadfastness."

The books written by Joshua Harris have heavily influenced his Christian readers. However, more than those pages that illuminated his beliefs before, what would really speak for himself is the life he chose to live today. I have kissed dating goodbye long time ago, not because of his books, but because God has been gracious to me and provided me a godly man to marry. I won’t recommend Joshua’s books but I will be keeping them. If people see them on my shelf one day, I know significant lessons could be drawn from them --more than courtship and dating, but particularly about a Christian’s walk with Christ.

We are in the end times and we are witnessing the falling away of man as said in 2 Thessalonians 2:3. But by God’s grace, His true children will persevere until His glorious return. The sad story of Joshua Harris just proved that our God is a perfect God who is solely worthy of receiving man’s adoration and trust. Not that He needs any of it, but it’s just crystal clear that no one else does. And that no earthly relationship should we model ours after except that of Christ and His love for the church which we could learn nowhere else but from the scriptures.

Isaiah 40:25-31

To whom then will ye liken me, or shall I be equal? saith the Holy One.

Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these things, that bringeth out their host by number: he calleth them all by names by the greatness of his might, for that he is strong in power; not one faileth.

Why sayest thou, O Jacob, and speakest, O Israel, My way is hid from the LORD, and my judgment is passed over from my God?

Hast thou not known? hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? there is no searching of his understanding.

He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.

Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall:

But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

#joshuaharris #ikisseddatingggoodbye #joshuaharrisbooks #boymeetsgirl #kaperanggot #dating #courtship #christian #christianity #christianromance #godlydating #romance #christianlove

3 notes · View notes