#for the sake of a world where injustice would no longer be able to run rampant under the apathetic bureaucracy of the republic

[theotherrichardpapen]

[unohanadaydreams]

How would the captains react to catching their partner cheating on them? I’m feeling angst tonight

Finally some good fucking food. Angst; it’s what’s for dinner and I’m chowing down with you, anon.

Features: angst. Some violence and torture with Gin and Mayuri.

How The Original Captains React To Being Cheated On:

Genryusai Yamamoto:

There’s little to no reaction. You wouldn’t be the first and won’t be the last to use him for status or money or petty bragging rights. Just another day.

Quietly, behind closed doors, he does mourn. Not for the loss of you, but for the prospect of starting again. He caresses the pretty things he’s bought you, each touch a vote for or against bothering.

If you come to him, apologetic and willing to repent, he’ll look past the transgression. Less work for him to undertake, in the end, and the power of demanding this is that in the name of forgiveness suits him.

Shunsui Kyoraku:

He can’t help but laugh. All those years chasing girls and washing his hands of the consequences come to catch him now that he’s standing still with just one hand holding his.

Business goes on as usual, but he’s sloppier around the edges—spilling sake on paper work, falling asleep against Jushiro’s grave, and forsaking the frequent partying he’s known for in lieu of furiously scribbling down the perfect love story he didn’t get.

Honestly, he’s willing to forgive if it wasn’t done out of love for the other person and there’s a willingness to work on the relationship. Shunsui has played the unfaithful lover more times than he can remember; being black out drunk more often than sober will do that to you.

Soi Fon:

She can’t speak and doesn’t bother. Throat closed with anger, she lets her body tell you where your relationship lies—thrown off the bed and kicked outside.

There’s nothing but hatred for you and humiliation for herself. Not just personally, but professionally; a leader of the 2nd division being caught unawares is irony at the cost of her reputation.

People are always leaving her behind once she trusts them. After weeks, she’ll ask you why. Because that’s always the question burning in her chest. Why can’t she be a person someone stays for.

Gin Ichimaru:

Cute, how you think you can shuffle off and away from him after getting caught. He doesn’t flinch, talking with conversational tones. Hey, sweetie, who’s your little friend? Aww, they don’t talk or some thin’?

There’s two options; submit to grueling public humiliation or die. Gin loves to have fun, after all. And, isn’t it fun having to watch the person you cheated with get toyed with like a mouse under kitty claws? Aren’t you having fun kissing the corpse? Wasn’t your silly mistake worth it?

Gin has never forgiven, forgotten, or turned down an opportunity to make someone who cares about him regret feeling so. Your life is hell and the jailor can’t decide whether to keep your head under boiling water or kill you. Fun!

Retsu Unohana:

The impulse to leave as the only one alive is temptation incarnate. She is firm, restrained, and digs into her cheeks until her teeth pop through.

She keeps waiting to calm, for the situation to become objective instead of the turmoil in her gut. Retsu is especially brusque with everyone while working, making every stitch job a painful one. Why is there always something. Why can’t all the change finally stick; why is she still glad to feel the pain so she can inflict it back?

The betrayal was the end and there’s years of coping methods that keep you from spilling your guts on a sword, but it feels like a very near thing to her. Professionally, she’s less kind, and your next set of wounds healed by the 4th get infected. Poor thing.

Sosuke Aizen:

As far as you know, he’s stricken with heartbreak and disappointment. His voice is a touch too loud when telling you off—others hear. And disapprove greatly. He asks any bystanders for their discretion towards his privacy, adding a tear or two for effect.

Your relationship being over matters little; dime a dozen are the people who’ll fall over themselves to be his. The audacity of treating him, your better, with such unfairness? Affects him like an itch under skin.

Of course, he forgives you. He makes a show of it and the number of people out for your unhappiness grows. How could you cheat on such a gracious, loving man? You are punished with little action from himself, the many shinigami who view him with starry-eyes doing their work without needing explicit instruction.

Byakuya Kuchiki:

There’s little to say or do outside of making it clear he wants you gone in a permanent way. Reaction is the thief of dignity, so he saves any emotion for when he’s alone.

Self flagellation is his favorite dessert and he is convinced the bitter taste reflects his character somehow. In a way, it speaks to his lack of care and dignity as a clan leader; what fully aware man could let this happen?

For you, there aren’t any chances let alone forgiveness. You’ve stung his pride in multiple ways and only social norms keep you from dying in a duel over it. But as a shinigami—as a captain—he has avenues to vent his vindication until he feels the crime has been payed for. Too bad for you that pride is worth it’s weight in gold for a Kuchiki.

Sajin Komamura:

He runs away from the situation as soon as possible. Of course you cheated on him; how foolish to think anyone would not. At least he knows now and can get back to his normal.

Being alone isn’t all bad. There’s more time for his pets, his company, and his training. Comforting, familiar, he can pretend this is how it always was. Just him, alone.

His lack of self-esteem outweighs his want for justice. It was unfair to subject anyone to…himself, anyway. He can’t blame you for wanting someone untouched by the curse of the beast.

Kaname Tosen:

There’s more anger than even you expect. Injustice in anything, especially something so personal, enrages him. But he has the self control and sense to only send you packing.

Still, it’s all he can think about. Better to be consumed by this than the glacial pace his better world is taking. You’re one of the people holding that goal back, he’s sure. He insists on a talk that’s really just a long, painful lecture.

People like you, who disregard what’s right, don’t deserve forgiveness and the upset within him darkens. Maybe there is a way you can make things right. They’re so close to perfecting the Arrancar and he’d like to see how you’ve contributed once his eyes open, finally able to see.

Toshiro Hitsugaya:

There aren’t any dramatics or punishments or even words to give you other than ‘goodbye’. He sees the break and he cuts it cleanly. There’s no need for anything else.

Largely he copes by doing what he always does—working, training, meditating. There are a few sips of alcohol and punches to his pillow, but you’re no longer someone he cares about. The ice has holed over the spot you took just fine.

You don’t exist to him anymore. If you try to apologize, his eyes will pass over you and he’ll remind you once before ignoring you again: He’s a captain and he’s closed the conversation and now he’s getting back to work. Goodbye.

Kenpachi Zaraki:

So you’re fucking somebody. Is that a big deal or something? Should he be hurt? Because all he can muster is annoyance.

And then he thinks about it. He lets it sink in that somebody was touching you while you’re his. Kenpachi understands the want to play, but isn’t love when someone is the best in your heart and only them? Like, strength but more fucking confusing.

He’s still undecided if there’s anything to forgive. He tells you to give it another go with him in the mix and likes the feeling better than walking in uninvited. So maybe it was just play…and maybe he’s more rough with you two than intended. But he leaves more content than he came, so he figures everything’s fine. He can always kill somebody later, once he’s figured it out for good.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi:

You’re knocked unconscious and so is the person you were in bed with. That’s the last you see of them or the world beyond one lab room.

Congratulations, you are now confined to a pill that is swallowed by gigai after gigai designed in your likeness. Isn’t he generous, letting you take part in his research still? Don’t you feel honored to still feel any part of his touch as he takes you apart somehow more painfully than the time before?

Because it is just research. He didn’t care about you enough to still feel enraged about it. This is purely out of principle, a logical response to your base actions. Don’t worry, it’s just forever.

Jushiro Ukitake:

The discovery is emotional and he struggles keep his dignity, especially when a coughing fit starts soon after. He can’t even tell you off without sickness leaking into the moment.

The spiral begins. You’re awful one moment and justified the next. He’s the victim, then the one who should’ve known. There was no good reason and then he coughs again and there’s one.

He could forgive you if you’re genuine and forthright with a reason that isn’t the weight which holds him under blankets or pushes blood past his lips. As long as the illness isn’t what poisoned the relationship, he could forgive you.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

I’m probably parrotting to the wrong choir here, but at least part of the truth about liking villains vs. condemning villains is...I don’t consume villain content in order to find healthy coping strategies and genuine life advice. I don’t look for healthy coping strategies in sci-fi films and fantasy books or on ao3 in the first place, because 99% of all that input is not produced by people that a) intent or b) are qualified to give meaningful life advice.

 Sometimes things we read or watch can be detrimental to our mental health or can make us happier or mean a lot to us. And that is also why it is important to tag, warn, and summarise content: So that people can avoid things that are bad for them and find things that comfort them. But what popular fiction never is, is a clear, intentional, professional, and universal guide.

 We already talked about how even the most horrible people will read novels where they resemble the bad guys and identify with the good guys instead rather than reflecting their own behaviour. That is, because narratives need stakes. The hero needs to be David, not Goliath. And we too see ourselves as Goliath, in our lives. Because there are always things that are bigger than us. And because we know that David will win.

 But sometimes...sometimes it is quite nice to feel like the giant. Especially when we’re used to feeling small.

 Sure “I like this villain because villains get to do things we want to but can’t” might seem like a tiny brained answer, but if you expand a little, there is truth to it: Sometimes I want to see someone go bloody ape-shit in response to trauma, injustice, being underestimated or forgotten. Sometimes I want to see someone just care about themselves and burn the whole place down and look fabulous doing it, because I know, that in real-life, very often it is sympathy and empathy holding me back for even insisting on minor and very rational things, simply because I don’t want to be a burden on others and because I prioritise other people very highly. There is catharsis in that; in seeing someone getting it out of their system in the most violent way possible just like there is catharsis in going for a run or punching the hell out of a punching bag when you’re frustrated even though you would never chase down and beat up a person.

Because even when see characters standing up for themselves - think of the infamous internet rage over Captain Marvel stealing that bike from the dude that harassed her – their actions are usually centred around punishing the culprit, not the emotions of the party that was wronged. But people got angry. Not because she stole a car, or because she stole it from a men even – but because her acting in response to sexual harassment connected the scene with deep roots of social context and political opinions and expectations.

And, despite hundreds, maybe thousands of films in existence where a white male protagonist steals a car or bike or anything else to save the day, she is read as a villain here simply for doing the rational thing. Much less could she have killed him and burnt down his house, because she is a hero and it doesn’t serve the plot and that would not be the thing a hero does.

A villain burning the whole joint down because someone looked at them funny is acting selfishly, self-centred. But what are you going to do, call them a villain? Duh. Complain about how what they’re doing is wrong? Well, yes.

 The lane of their actions is not narrowed by the actions of the culprit on the one side (heroes have to react appropriately and proportionally) and the expectations of the good-guy on the other (they have to act in accordance with forwarding the plot). Which means putting up with an asshole sidekick or apologising if they undergo character development that makes them a ‘better’ person and requires them to forgive someone). You might have your odd Logan who will throw a punch when he’s pissed – but here we already venture into the territory of an anti-hero.

And personally, our anger, our disappointment, all that will always be much more contained than any fictional space - by our financial situation, the people we depend on, our job, our studies, or family, our social circle. We live in a web of social expectations that we depend on every moment of our life.

Fiction itself also exists in a web of social context: What influence does it have on the audience? Will it sell? What implications does it have? How does it present its characters? Who is the author and what do they stand for? - but the fictional space, aka the world constructed in a novel, is wholly separate:

If I write a novel where I state that every Canadian person likes the colour blue and wears funny hats, then this is true in the universe of that novel, no matter what any Canadian reader might feel about it. This means two things:

1.       As writers, producers, and even as producers of fan-content, we have to be critical about what we put into the world, because by creating a fictional space, we create characters who cannot stand up against the things we say about them or make them do. Just like the superheroine in the skimpy outfit who gets her powers through the sun shining down on her nipples cannot have an authentic discussion about her body. And when young girls read our comic and see that all the male heroes are clothed and the heroine isn’t, then we are the one that came up with the sunshine-nipples.

2.       Our very own, personal interpretation of the novel – even our own - and the way we relate to it is our own. The feelings we project on the characters are individual, personal, and shaped by us.

And yes, villains usually see their comeuppance. And the thing is, many people argue here: “Well, it’s okay if the villain does x, as long as they’re punished for it.” But...that’s a difficult subject. A piece of fiction can condemn the actions of the villain without seeing them lose – the challenge to the writer is to still form a satisfying narrative, because the villain winning is the ‘likely’-seeming thing that every narrative subverts when the hero levels up and returns with her new friends to kick the villain’s ass. But even if you sympathise with the villain, seeing them win would still be an unsatisfying narrative, most of the time.

Because the whole point of an actual evil villain - and sympathising with an actual villain - is that what they’re doing is unjust. Malicious. Selfish. And projecting your desire to strike back or stand up on a villain and seeking catharsis through seeing them go wild and tear down the city needs the pushback. For them burning down the house to be satisfying, you need to see the house burn. For them to blow up the house of parliament to be satisfying – you must see the explosion.

And watching them lose provides the ultimate, necessary gravitas. Watching Team Rocket fly off with Pikachu and live happily ever after on Team Rocket money would not be satisfying. Watching our super-villain burn the world to a crisp with their death-laser would not be satisfying if they just end up getting their rocket and flying off while drinking space-mojitos.

Whether they end up being redeemed or not: The initial moment that someone fights back and defeats them at the height of their immorality and prevents the suffering of innocents is the moment that their willingness and readiness to commit violence is put to the test.

 We know the hero goes through a journey of their own - one that requires sacrifice and steels their commitment until they are ready to take on the villain. And knowing that someone is willing to make sacrifices to be able to take the villain down is the ultimate acknowledgement of the transgressive act the villain committed. Without it, it would be empty. Like watching someone punch the air.

But the truth is also that when you recreate the fictional space in another, secondary space – fanfiction, fan content, fanart – you decide what to focus on. Like, we all enjoy hurt/comfort stories, but they have a different intention than something focussed on action or the growth of the hero – because that requires for us to see the villain go down. The focus is no longer the transgressive acts of the villain – but to lay bare the pain that caused them. It is no longer about beating them down for the sake of justice.

Like, when I make a post about Frankenstein’s monster living happily ever after and people tell me that hey, the monster killed a lot of people - then we have a different premise. Because me not adding a line about the evil things the monster did to my post was based on the premise that you knew that random tumblr user langernameohnebedeutung does not condone the crime of murder because she posts about a 200-year-old book. And the #fact that my point doesn’t construct an ending where the monster stands in front of a judge and is sentenced to a certain time in jail or punished by a more heroic person is because I have daddy issues and seeing a giant creature go on a rampage through Europe to get back at its asshole Dad in a way I never could makes me quite happy the novel focussing on its acts of violence already did this and my post clearly had a different intention.

[peacehopeandrats]

Granted Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Wishverse Belle/Wishverse Rumplestiltskin, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Aslan (Narnia)

Additional Tags: Angst, Afterlife, Post-Series, Wishverse (Once Upon a Time), stayhomewrimo

Summary: The last thing Wish Rumple knew, he was being turned to dust and whisked away, but an instant later he realizes he is in an empty realm and hears a very familiar voice.

An afterlife fic because Wish Rumple and Wish Belle need some closure for fk sake.

Read on AO3

First came the sensation of crumbling, an ultimate coming apart that simply could not be undone. He remembered idly thinking he would be no more. How could he, if each particle of him was pulling from the others? There would be no going back from that. Had he spoken it aloud? He couldn't recall.

The fire came next, the orange light, absolute heat and roar of enclosed flames. Every particle of his being experienced it, as if his toes could see and his neck could hear, even though they weren't his toes or his neck any longer. He drifted and rushed to the flames and wondered idly how he could know it was happening at all.

Then there was the flash, a pure whiteness that lasted for less time than could be counted. Again he wondered how he experienced the sensation of it. On top of that, how could he know what was happening if he shouldn't be able to know anything at all? He was no more. And yet...

Pure darkness enveloped him, a black as total and complete as could never possibly be experienced. Somehow the parts of him had found a void and somehow he was conscious of it. Was this to be his eternity? He thought of every deed he had done, each flooding back at once, layer upon layer in one complicated compilation of a memory. He deserved nothing else, he realized. In fact, he probably deserved much worse than the fate he found himself bound to now. Besides, it was better than the fire.

“Please!” Somewhere in the darkness a distant cry lingered, the sound coming to him the way a mist would feel, wispy and intangible. “PLEASE!” It came again and he knew it at once.

Belle.

Oh the beauty of that sound! No matter how pained, her voice was a balm, the tone a melody that left him feeling adrift, light as air and dancing in some imaginary wind. Her pleas seemed to lighten the darkness, brighten his being and made him feel whole again, even as he was caught in this current that was impossible to feel.

It was the sound of crying that finally stilled him. His dried and dusty heart crumbled twice over again to know she was hurting and he was unable stop it. He imagined the sobs were the cries of a woman starved, the cluster of bones coming to his mind, making him want to scream into the void against the injustices she suffered. Belle never deserved this.

Rumplestiltskin turned to seek out the origin of the audible pain, then realized that he could turn and froze where he stood. He hadn't thought to try and move in this place, since there wasn't a body to move with. It was dust, the very essence of nothingness. He lifted a hand and stared in awe, wiggling his fingers. They were pale compared to what he remembered and the sight startled him until he realized what he was seeing. It was his own skin, a skin lost long ago to the darkness.

Briefly he put his hand to his face, feeling for bumps and scales, but found none. His hair, too, had returned to the mild wave and smooth texture that he had almost forgotten.

“Goodbye, my love,” Belle whispered and Rumple spun on his heel, the sound so close it was almost deafening. It mingled with another, oh so familiar comfort, the trickle of water becoming clear as what he wanted most in all the realms was suddenly in his view, as if he had simply strode up from the castle doors. He smiled when he saw her gazing down into a perfect replica of their garden fountain, and whispered her name.

Belle stilled, eyes peering down into the water, the ripples the only movement around them other than the rolling fog that he now realized surrounded his feet. Oh, how he wanted to run to her, to lift her in his arms and kiss her, ravage her and never let her go. But he couldn't. She had to be a figment of his torments in this world, a creation meant to make him suffer as he had made others suffer.

Could it be? He could hear the water, he had heard her cries, her cheeks glistened with tears, but certainly any of those things could be an illusion. “Belle...?” He had to know. He had to be certain.

She turned, her eyes widening as they found him. “You're real... you're here...” She said hesitantly, pushing away from the fountain and staggering to her feet. Slowly she stumbled in his direction and he resisted the urge to reach for her, terrified that his hand would pass through her form and prove that it was made of the same intangible mist that surrounded his feet.. He nodded at her, the motion all he could allow himself in the fear of losing her to a single breath.

“Rumple? It's you... It's really you?” The words came with a touch. An actual sensation that he could feel and it nearly broke him all over again.

He nodded a second time, feeling his body quiver with the joy at having found her. “Yes, Belle. It's me.” Somehow he managed a steady tone.

Her eyes blinked up at him, then drifted over his form, filling with confusion as she studied him.“But how?”

“I... I don't know,” he said flatly, honestly, as confused about his existence as she was. “In one breath I was gone, the next, in a blaze of light, I was here.”

He wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her. He wanted to wrap himself around her and pull her to his chest and never, ever let go of her. His muscles... His body? His form. Perhaps that was the best idea, the thought... All of him wanted to feel all of her in a way that was pure love, pure togetherness, more a longing than a lust, though the lust, he was sure, would certainly come.

Rumple swallowed when he realized she must know everything. She had been crying over him. She must have seen it all. The things he had done, the monster he had truly become. She could never want him now the way she had in the castle.

As if she could read his thoughts, Belle moved forward, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him tightly against herself. Her lips sought his and met them with a passion born of a long-awaited reunion. The intensity made him pause, stunning him so purely that he found not a thought in his own mind until it suddenly didn't matter any more. His doubts and fears washing away as he responded, at first on instinct and then with an equal passion.

In that moment everything around them flashed with the most brilliant light that was all colors at once and yet no color at all, joy filling him in a way he had never thought possible.

True love's kiss, he realized. He was finally home.

When they parted, Belle looked into his eyes, her smile as full of love and joy as he knew his own must be showing. “Come with me,” she said, “There's someone I want you to meet.”

[thekitchensnk]

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 9)

Rating: T Warnings: Violent imagery, trauma, allusions to potential past sexual violence Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 “They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

They carried out her plan to sell their fruit in town. They had so much that summer that it was close to spoiling on the tree, filling the garden with a sweet, pungent smell.

They filled a bag each to the brim, and set out, once again, for town. It was a sign of how many times they had done this that her legs no longer shook on the walk and she could make the journey both ways now without the need for an impromptu piggyback.

Nevertheless, the bags were heavy, and she complained vociferously the whole way.

"-and it's bad for our backs!" she rambled fiercely, getting into her stride. He shook his head fondly.

"This wasn't my idea," he said reproachfully. "What should we do with the extra money?" he asked in a bid to stop her rant early, before it could really get going.

That caught her out.

"I... Don't actually know." she paused. "We could do anything." A gleam entered her eye. "We could buy a servant."

He sniggered. "We won't have enough for a servant," he said. "And anyways, what do ya' want with a servant? Ya've got me."

"You're not my servant," she laughed.

"I dunno," he said. "I look after the garden, I sweep, and I sew up ya' clothin'." He swept into a low bow, and the fruit in his bag almost spilled over the top in his silliness.

"Hey!" she objected heatedly. "I cook! And I clean! And you stabbed me when you patched up my yukata, so you'd be a useless servant anyway." She pouted.

"I catch us fish," he insisted with a grin.

"Be serious," she giggled.

"I could carry ya' everywhere in one of those fancy boxes," he said, caught up in making mischief, "wash ya' feet and say 'Yes ma'am' and 'No ma'am' and 'three bags full ma'am."

She gave up. "And you'd do up my beautiful kimono every day and cook me dinners- at least thirty eight courses, otherwise I'd have your head chopped off. And you’d bring me sweets from town. And I'd make you sing songs without any dirty bits."

He feigned horror. "Choppin' a man's head off is one thing, Ran-chan, but makin' him take the dirty bits out of songs? Ya' cruel."

She gave him a smug smile and poked him in the arm. "See? You can’t call your mistress cruel. You'd be a useless servant. Too much backchat. You can't keep your mouth shut."

It could not be disputed, but he tried anyway.

"Me?" he said innocently. "I'm the picture of a quiet, obedient servant. Look me up in one of those books, and there I’ll be. Barely even hear a peep from me." It was a bare-faced lie, and even he was impressed that he managed to keep a straight face saying it.

She just snorted at him and bashed his leg with her bag. 

"And ya' a perfect, polite lady," he finished, grinning widely.

"Watch your mouth, you!" she protested, but there was a smile on her face too.

“What would ya’ do if ya’ were rich?” he asked, swinging his bag.

“Hire servants who don’t make all their songs rude and who can sew up a sleeve without stabbing me.”

He gave her a wounded look. “Very funny.”

She pondered a moment.

“I’d spend all my money. I’d buy fancy kimono, and sweets, and sake, and I’d have parties, and a giant mansion, with a garden and one of those wooden things the rich people have- y’know, the ones that go ‘bonk’.” She waved her hands around as she talked, and then paused. “I’d give money to poor children here too.” She sighed. “That would be the life, wouldn’t it? Comfort. Riches. Servants.”

As they walked, their feet picked up the dust of the road. She paused to try and rub some of the dirt from her feet. “What would you do?”

The question threw him.

There was nothing much in life that he really wanted- or at least, not much in the way of material things that money could buy. There were people he would like to see dead, and certain injustices put to rights, and money could potentially buy assassins to do it for him. But it would take the satisfaction of achieving them by his own hand out of the equation. How could he tell her that he revelled in the fear in men’s faces and felt a sick excitement at their pain- that his wants were simple- to have her, their garden, and to watch the theatre of misery and play out his part in it?

“I dunno either. Probably I’d buy ya’ that mansion and that feather bed and those kimono,” he said vaguely, scratching at his head. He’d like that at the very least, he thought, to be able to look after her and buy her what she wanted- to make her happy.

“And the sweets?”

“And the sweets.”

“You could buy a whole forest of persimmon trees,” she suggested.

The thought was a nice one.

“A bigger garden, maybe,” he said.

“Is that all?” She sounded disappointed.

He looked at her in confusion. “Got everythin’ I want right here. What else do I need?”

They both fell silent.

He paused and looked around. The streets were curiously busy, and he found it deeply suspicious. “Is it just me, or does town seem noisier today?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He grabbed her hand suddenly, and started running in the direction of the bar. She had no choice but to follow. It caught her off-balance, and she almost fell.

"Hey! Hey!" she shouted in protest, but he only grinned in response. He ran like the silvery wind, dragging her along in his wake, and he leapt and bounded over all the rubbish in the street, and she staggered after. He was so quick and moved so effortlessly that it was almost unfair. He was not even out of breath when they arrived at their destination, and he grinned as she panted.

The square that the bar fronted was filled with people and the air was thick with chatter and laughter. People looked on curiously and occasionally craned their necks, as if they were waiting for something to happen.

Alcohol flowed freely, and for once, people only seldomly remembered to check their possessions out of fear of pickpockets. A few in the crowd were better dressed than usual. The whores who had makeup had used some, despite its rarity, and they mingled freely in the crowd, giggling and hanging on; the gangsters strutted about with puffed out chests and polished knives.

"What's going on?" Rangiku asked in fascination.

Gin could only shake his head suspiciously. "No idea. World's gone mad. Have ya’ seen this lot?"

She spotted a familiar youthful face at the bar with its greying hair. “One moment,” she told him. It was her turn to drag him around, persimmons still heavy in her bag.

"Hey!" she called out loudly, marching towards the bar in determination. "Hey!"

It was the whore who had accosted her the first time she had walked with him into town.

Kanae's head whipped around, and she froze initially when she saw who it was. Her lip curled into her ever-present expression of irritated disgust, and her eyes rolled in annoyance, but she beckoned them forward anyway.

"So polite," Gin remarked cheerfully, though who it was aimed at- Rangiku, who thought “Hey!” was an acceptable greeting, or the ever scowling Kanae- no one could tell.

Kanae eyed him warily. "Watch it, brat," she spat. She turned to Rangiku and spoke abruptly. "What?"

Gin could not contain himself. "I've always admired ya' way with people."

Kanae glared daggers at him, and turned towards the bar again in an exaggerated, slow fashion, conspicuously ignoring the two children. Rangiku shot him a disgruntled look.

"Wait! He's sorry- he didn't mean it. He's just messing around. 

Gin rarely meant half of what he said, but he never let that stop him. He enjoyed prodding at people, seeing whether he could get a rise out of them. It was a game to him, to play with other people's feelings. He rarely dwelt on the impact of his actions.

"What do you want?" she said icily.

"We wanted to know-" Rangiku said eagerly, "what's happening? What's going on? Why are people here?"

Kanae laughed nastily. "On the last one, I couldn't possibly tell ya'. They’re idiots, milling around. Who knows why they’re here? I, on the other hand, am here because it'll be a good business day. People are boozin' and laughin' and partyin'. For once, I might have enough money to pay my rent and my bar tab."

"Why are they partying? What's happening?"

"Why is ya' hair going grey if ya' don't have wrinkles?" Gin interjected. Rangiku glared at him and gave him a wallop.

“Shush you!” she hissed.

Kanae sneered at him. "It's the stress of havin' ta' live in a world with brats like ya’. Given how sick ya’ all make me, it's a miracle I have any hair left."

Rangiku felt the conversation rapidly sliding out of her grasp, and so she made one last bid to find out what was going on.

"Why are people here?" she asked again loudly and slowly, ignoring the animosity between the other two.

Kanae gave her a sideways look. "Are you always so obnoxious?" Gin's expression darkened, and his hands curled into fists, but Rangiku stepped between them. Kanae sighed in resignation, giving in. "There's a weddin'."

Rangiku gave Gin a look of confusion, and he paused and gave her a half-shrug in reply. "We don’t know what that is,” she informed the whore. “What's a wedding?"

"Obnoxious and ignorant. Wonderful." Kanae slammed her bottle on the counter. She drew in a deep breath. "A weddin', brats, is an empty sham where people put on clothes they can't afford and make promises they can't keep before gods that don't exist, givin' everyone an excuse to get drunk off their faces before fallin' into bed with perfect strangers and- hopefully- whores. Are we done yet? Anythin’ more? Will ya' leave me alone now?"

Rangiku paused, digesting the new information. "What kind of promises?"

Kanae's knuckles went white. "To share joy and sorrow together. To live peacefully together. To make a home together. To provide for each other. To honor the gods. Bullshit,” she sneered.

Beside her, Gin had fallen silent in thought.

"Okay," Rangiku said. "One last question, then I promise we'll leave you alone, Kanae-san. Whose wedding is this?"

"Nakamura and his whore," Kanae said with an ugly smile. Gin's face suddenly perked up in interest, and a slow, gleeful smile crossed his face too, which Rangiku did not miss. She elbowed him and gave him a look.

"Thanks for explaining everything to us, Kanae-san," Rangiku said. "We're very grateful." An idea suddenly occurred to her, and she began to rummage through her bag. "Here- you should have some of these. We have plenty."

Kanae gave her a searching look, and then her hand shot out to grab the persimmons Rangiku had offered. Rangiku looked at her pensively before turning to leave. Kanae paid them no more attention, tearing into the first persimmon, and did not look at them at all as they left.

"Why did ya' do that?" Gin asked curiously. “We could have sold that.”

"Did you see her?" Rangiku said pityingly. "Food is so expensive here. I think that might have been the first time she's had food in years."

He looked at her blankly. "So what?"

She turned to him sharply. "You gave me food. I remember what it was like to go without."

"That was different though," he said. "Ya'd have starved to death without it."

"They still crave it, even if they won't starve. It hurts to be denied what you want over and over again. She’ll get more pleasure out of it than I ever would have. And anyways," she looked at him curiously, "there are plenty of people about who have a small amount of power. They starve. Did you ever give any of them food?"

He hadn't, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she knew that, given how she was looking at him.

(How could he even begin to explain how she differed from everyone else? How his initial curiosity had transformed and evolved into something deeper, something so alien and so strange but so tender? He couldn’t. He couldn’t even explain it to himself.)

"We should set up shop on the corner," he decided, avoiding the question. "Too close to the bar, and people will ignore us in favour of buying booze. Too far and no one will bother."

She gave him a knowing look, but if she had something to say, she wasn't saying it.

The sun was beginning to set, filling the square with a hazy golden light, and paper lanterns were beginning to be lit when he hum of voices in the square suddenly escalated into a dull roar, and all of a sudden, people were whooping and cheering and stamping their feet.

Rangiku looked up in alarm, and he snorted at her reaction. "It's just the weddin'," he told her. "Nakamura-san and Mr Shop Keep's old girl are at the other end of the square. Guess she's just Nakamura-san's girl now, though." He paused. "How do you think he's keepin'? Should we pay him a visit?"

He sounded hopeful.

"Don't be mean," she chided. She arched her neck in a bid to get a look at the newlywed. "I can't see them." She sounded disappointed.

He sighed theatrically. "Guess it can't be helped," he said. He crouched and patted his shoulders. "Up ya' get."

She looked at him with wide eyes.

"I'll squash you!" she objected. "I'm too heavy for that now."

He grinned. "Then I'll be the most brilliant pancake that ever lived. Hop on.”

"You weren't supposed to agree, you!" She pouted at him, but a hidden smile played about her lips.

"Mou, how was I supposed to read ya' mind?" he complained. "Okay, alright- 'You'll never be too heavy for me to carry, Ran-chan!'” he said in a saccharine voice. “There, ya' happy now? Climb on."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

She got on to his back, and sat clumsily on his shoulders. His knees wobbled and they swayed ominously, and she clung to his head in panic, pulling at his hair. He grasped at her legs.

"Hang on, hang on," he gritted his teeth, and soon enough they were steady again.

She looked out, and her eyes were bright.

The district was too poverty stricken for even the bride and groom to wear new clothes, but they had done their best. The bride's hood had been sewn neatly together from whatever white fabric she could find, but from a distance, no one would ever be able to tell; her lips were a dusty red, and her hair had been pinned up. The groom laughed and smiled and bantered with his friends, but every so often he would look back at his wife, and his gaze was soft.

"They're beautiful," she breathed quietly.

He could not see her face, but he knew exactly the sort of expression she'd be wearing, and because he could not see it, he imagined it- lips parted in gentle wonder, eyes bright and sparkling, avid fascination written on her face.

He had no impulse towards empathy, but he could not help but feel the reflection of it. Nakamura and Mr Shop Keep's former girl meant nothing to him. He could quite easily run them through with a knife today, bury the bodies tomorrow, and eat his rice with no qualms the day after that with a clear and untroubled conscience.

But this, this warmth, this reflected wonder which she gave to him so freely, which played in his ribcage and which somehow sparked a warmth of his own, this meant the world. He would do anything to keep it safe.

But his legs were beginning to ache.

"Time to come down, Ran-chan," he said regretfully, and he crouched down to let her off. She slid down his back, and her yukata hitched up inelegantly as she did so, baring her legs. She quickly rearranged her clothes.

They hawked and shouted and bartered and their supply of persimmons began to dwindle quickly. Kanae had been right- weddings were good for business, and food was a rarity in this district. People were keen to celebrate, and when word of cheap, fresh fruit spread, demand quickly outstripped supply, and they had to beat back thieves.

The men, deep in their cups, cat-called and made lewd suggestions and undressed her with their eyes, and he glared and showed his knife. But she was in high spirits regardless, and paid little attention. In truth, the wedding had done a great deal of good for everyone; for once, the mood across town was light and festive, and its inhabitants, usually driven to rob and cheat each other from desperation, embraced each other and laughter rang in the air like bells.

To share joy and sorrow together, he thought absent-mindedly. To live peacefully together. To make a home together. To provide for each other. That was what Kanae had told them.

He did all of that for her already. It wasn’t much- if that was all it was, then they were practically wedded already, he decided.

When she smiled, he smiled; when she woke with nightmares, he got rid of them. They sat together in the evening in front of the fire, and did not even need to share a word, because they knew what the other was thinking. He tended the garden where they grew their food, and she cooked their lunch and their dinner. What was home without her? There was no such thing; in the simplest sense, wherever she was would be home, always and forever.

"Ne, Rangiku?" he asked curiously. "Would you like a weddin’?” 

She laughed at him, as if what he had suggested was absurd. “What a weird question!”

“It isn’t,” he insisted.

“Yes it is!”

“It isn’t.”

“Yes it is!”

They squabbled back and forth for a few moments childishly.

“I don’t know!” she said in exasperation, throwing her hands up in the air. “Maybe! One day! I’d need to find someone who would want to marry me though.” She crossed her arms and leant against the wall in a huff.

His eyes narrowed. He had not considered even for an instant that someone else might marry her, and now that the thought had occurred to him, he did not like it one bit. He seethed quietly for a moment, and kicked a stone down the road.

“I don’t think it’s any different from how things are already,” he announced arrogantly.

She did a strange thing then, and gave him a scathing look. “What?” she growled.

He gave her an odd sideways glance. “It’s just what we do already, but they’ve put on fancy clothes and thrown a party.”

“It is different,” she insisted loudly.

“How?”

“It just is!”

There was a strange tension brewing in the air between them.

“How?”

“It just is!”

“How?” he pressed insistently, unaware that he was poking at a tender spot.

“Because he’s never going to leave!” she shouted, rounding on him. Her voice had cracked half way through the sentence, to her shame, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

It was like he had been punched in the stomach.

If he loved basking in the reflected glow of her happiness, then this was its terrible shadow, the painful ache that he felt in his chest whenever tears came to her eyes, and the dreadful, clumsy knowledge that he would do anything to make it stop. It was the price he paid for happiness. No matter how he had looked at it and analysed it, he could not extricate the one from the other. If he was to feel her happiness, then he would also feel her pain and he would have to let himself suffer it.

It made him writhe inside with a horrible discomfort and a muted horror. She and her feelings and the feelings she provoked- they were a weakness and he could not afford weaknesses, not here, not in this cruel and brutal place, and maybe nowhere else besides. He had spent long enough here to have that lesson carved into his bones. Her existence made him so-

(vulnerable.)

No signs of softness, no signs of weakness; never let them know where your heart lies, he had been told as a child.

He had never thought it a problem, because he had always been sure that he didn’t have a heart.

Her eyes were furious.

The pain was tinged with the shame of knowing that he was the cause of those tears, that he had been their instigator.

(And he would be again. And again, and again.)

He had to leave. No matter how much it would hurt her.

(No matter how much it would hurt him).

“Yeah,” he said blankly. “Guess ya’ right, Rangiku. Sorry.”

She fell silent.

They did not speak the entire way home.

The sun set, and the golden haze of the day retreated leaving behind a black and starless sky. They had no moon by which to light the way, and he walked on ahead, leaving her to stumble after him.

In the darkness, she could barely make out his shoulders.

He was gone when she woke up.

[samscns-blog]

      *    𝖎𝖋   ur  ready  to  two  step  into  some  absolute  BULLSHIT  tomfoolery  ,  ya  girl  𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧  is  ready  for  u  with  my  lil  firecrotch  son  ,  𝖘𝖆𝖒𝖘𝖔𝖓  .  strong  silent  type  ,  ABSOLUTE  buffoon  ,  barely  keeping  it  together  so  hopefully  by  the  time  we’re  done  w  him  he’s  still  in  something  resembling  one  piece  :’)  all  my  love  to  u  and  u  cute  asses  !  i’m  so  excited  to  get  this  all  poppin  !

⋆  ╰  another   year   at   hollingsworth   ,  another   year   of   the  big   six rivalry   .   i   hear   that  SAMSON  MAILOTO   is   ensuring  SIGMA  ALPHA  NU   gets   a   solid   pledge   class   and   stays   at   the   top   of   the   ranks   .  oh   ,   you’re   not   familiar   with  HIM  ?  SAM   is   the  KJ  APA   look   alike   from  THE  BRONX   ,   NEW  YORK   .   a  part   of   PC  ‘16   ,  he  is   majoring   in  KINESIOLOGY   and   has   plans   to  ENTER  THE  MMA  AND  ESCAPE  FROM  THE  PUBLIC  EYE   after   undergrad   .   it   makes   sense   they   pledged   their   house   ,   their  PHLEGMATIC   &  SOLICITOUS   attributes   make   them   perfect   matches   .   however   ,   their  TREPIDATIOUS   &  AUSTERE   attributes   keep   their   name   alive   on  greek   rank   .   if   you   don’t   catch   them   dancing   to  BLEACH   -   BROCKHAMPTON   at   a   fraternity   band   party   this   year   ,   you’ll   be   sure   to   catch   them   nursing   their   morning   hangover   at  THE  SNU  HOUSE   .  cheers   to   another   wild   semester  !

⋆ ╰   𝑺 𝑻 𝑨 𝑻 𝑰 𝑺 𝑻 𝑰 𝑪 𝑺  .

𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍    𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 :     samson  ioaleki  mailoto

𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬     :    sam  ,  sammy  

𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆    /    𝒂𝒈𝒆 :    february  4    ,    twenty

𝒛𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒄     :    aquarius

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓    𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒚    /    𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔     :     cismale  identifying    with    he  /  him  /  his  pronouns    

𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏     :     heteroflexible  and  pansexual  ;  he’s  never  actively  considered  himself  as  lgbtq+  but  has  also  never  given  it  much  thought  ddjdjdjdkjdk

𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏    :    kinesiology  major  at  hu  ,  aspiring  welterweight  mma  fighter  ,  us  olympic  representitive  for  men’s  boxing  in  the  2020  olympics

𝒉𝒐𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔    𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆    :    gryffindor

𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏    𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅    𝒃𝒚     :     eliot  alder  from  mr  robot  ,  kylo  ren  from  the  new  star  wars  series  ,  detective  elliot  stabler  from  law  and  order  svu  ,  steve  rogers  from  the  mcu  

𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔    :    -    trepidatious  ,  austere  ,  apprehensive  ,  hesitant  ,  antisocial  ,  hostile  ,  bellicose  .

+        phlegmatic  ,  solicitous  ,  benevolent  ,  rational  ,  stalwart  ,  loyal  ,  reliable  ,  optimistic  .

𝑃𝐼𝑁𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑇  located  here  !

⋆ ╰    𝑨 𝑵 𝑻 𝑬 𝑪 𝑬 𝑫 𝑬 𝑵 𝑻 .

bullet  points  for  the  win  bc  who  has  time  for  all  the  tomfoolery  i  could  spew  from  my  ass  !

sammy’s  mom  was  a  housekeeper  in  upper  manhattan  for  some  fancy  dancy  homes  who  needed  their  gold  toilet  seat  covers  sanitized  3x  a  day  ,  u  know  the  type 🙄

samson  grew  up  in  a  run  down  apartment  in  a  small  samoan  community  in  the  bronx  and  has  always  been  a  lil  antisocial  weirdo  since  those  warm  dark  eyes  came  into  the  light  .  he  rlly  minded  his  own  business  n  wasn’t  really  curious  about  literally  anything  besides  running  and  wrestling  w  his  cousins  .  his  mom  struggled  to  keep  him  fed  and  housed  and  dressed  and  worked  relentless  hours  but  never  left  sam  needing  anything  ,  a  literal  fucking  legend  of  a  woman  and  he’s  proud  to  carry  her  last  name  !

sammy  always  felt  the  weight  of  never  wanting  to  be  an  extra  burden  to  his  mother  and  learned  to  really  be  self-sufficient  ,  likely  explaining  his  satisfaction  with  being  so  alone  

he  vaguely  remembers  the  night  his  life  changed  in  middle  school  ,  the  hushed  strained  whisper  from  the  living  room  ,  he’s  your  god  damned  son  too  ,  think  about  him  for  once  in  your  fucking  life  .  it  hit  like  a  fucking  train  once  the  story  picked  up  ,  5  time  nfl  superbowl  champ  father  to  secret  love  child  .  think  arnold  schwarznegger’s  secret  son  level  scandal  !  suddenly  his  shithead  of  a  dead  is  trying  to  salvage  his  image  ,  fighting  for  split  custody  arrangements  ,  telling  the  press  how  much  in  child  support  he  payed  ,  anything  to  save  his  ass

this  is  the  first  time  samson  remembers  being  fueled  by  rage  in  his  life  ,  as  a  relatively  well-tempered  child  ,  the  injustice  of  having  this  near-stranger  try  to  be  a  “  DAD  ” to  him  while  shitting  all  over  his  mother’s  name  made  his  fucking  blood  boil  and  becomes  a  theme  for  his  future

he  spends  the  next  chapters  of  his  life  going  to  the  fancy  private  schools  in  new  york  his  dad  picks  for  him  and  tearing  his  tie  off  on  the  ratty  bus  ride  into  the  bronx  to  go  home  to  his  mom  .  he  hates  having  to  haul  ass  back  and  forth  ,  wishing  he  could  stay  with  the  only  family  he’s  actually  given  a  shit  about  ,  but  bears  it  for  the  sake  of  not  causing  his  mom  any  more  torment  .  his  father  is  as  awful  as  could  be  imagined  ,  and  samson  hates  every  second  of  existing  with  him  ,  the  snarky  little  comments  at  school  and  in  the  ritzy  wealthy  circles  that  make  him  feel  more  of  a  black  sheep  than  he  ever  asked  to  be

this  becomes  the  root  of  his  anxiety  ,  bearing  the  weight  of  the  world’s  expectations  on  his  young  shoulders  and  repressing  his  own  needs  and  desires  as  a  result  .  he  goes  into  every  sport  imaginable  ,  his  father’s  DNA  being  increasingly  difficult  to  deny  ,  but  finds  a  particular  talent  with  fighting  and  takes  on  as  many  fighting  styles  as  he’s  able  to  master

turning  18  should  mean  freedom  for  sam  ,  but  nothing  is  ever  as  simple  as  he  could  ask  in  his  life  .  in  order  to  keep  the  child  support  payments  that  admittedly  help  keep  his  mother  afloat  ,  his  father  asks  one  more  thing  of  samson  :  hold  off  on  his  pro  mma  dreams  for  just  a  little  longer  in  order  to  attend  his  alma  matter  ,  hollingsworth  university  ,  as  a  publicity  move  and  then  he’ll  be  out  of  sam’s  life  in  every  way  except  financially  .  with  the  dream  of  completing  college  like  his  mom  always  aspired  for  him  ,  sam  agreed  and  went  on  to  appease  the  man  one  last  time  ,  joining  his  former  fraternity  to  sweeten  the  deal  (  and  secure  a  lovely  brownstone  in  his  childhood  neighborhood  signed  in  his  mother’s  name  )  and  is  a  year  out  from  graduating  and  letting  mma  be  the  only  reason  his  name  would  ever  appear  in  the  tabloids  .

⋆ ╰    𝑨 𝑵 𝑨 𝑳 𝒀 𝑺 𝑰 𝑺 .

personality  wise  ,  i  describe  sam  as  the  stupid  bitch  w  big  npc  energy  ,  if  u  want  him  to  talk  u  gotta  talk  to  him  first  and  even  then  he  might  just  give  u  that  hostile  stare  and  just  .. . .  remain  silent  KSDFSDF

he’s  about  as  NOT  a  people  person  as  physically  possible  ,  would  really  be  content  just  sticking  to  his  inner  circle  for  like  the  rest  of  his  life  without  concern  .  he  seems  like  this  rude  stand-offish  dick  but  the  truth  is  he’s  PAINFULLY  SHY  and  has  a  p  severe  case  of  generalized  anxiety  disorder  so  interactions  ?  w  new  ppl  ?  are  a  HARD  pass

did  i  mention  he’s  on  steriods  bc  that  def  adds  to  his  anxiety  and  hostility  !  lmao  !  he  started  juicing  in  high  school  when  his  dad  kept  pressuring  him  for  football  and  how  he  was  “  twice  your  size ”   at  that  age  ,  n  he  HATES  the  dude  but  he’s  also  lowkey  insecure  abt  his  lack  of  a  father  figure  so  ?  used  daddy’s  money  to  start  his  first  cycle  and  pay  off  to  test  clean  and  now  he’s  been  hooked  on  and  off  .  he’s  currently  starting  a  new  cycle  to  bulk  up  for  the  new  season  and  prep  for  the  2020  olympics  but  swears  he  wont  be  on  them  forever  :/

they  make  him  SUPER  aggressive  when  set  off  ,  it’s  a  decent  thing  that  sam’s  so  monotone  and  shy  that  he’s  also  pretty  laid  back  and  kinda  hard  to  rile  up  .  he  really  doesn’t  take  much  personally  and  won’t  do  a  huge  “  chest  pumped  bro  lets  do  this ”  show  bc  he  ?  thinks  all  those  guys  who  do  that  are  tools  LMAO  but  find  the  right  button  to  push  n  he’ll  become  the  very  thing  he  despises  !

if  u  can  get  past  the  literal  awkward  silence  and  resting  bitch  face  ,  sammy  is  actually  really  well  known  for  being  just  a  generally  decent  guy  .  the  perception  is  often  that  he’s  a  dick  bc  he  think’s  he’s  better  than  a  lot  of  ppl  ,  but  the  truth  is  he’s  just  too  nervous  to  start  conversations  n  most  ppl  assume  its  an  ego  thing  vs  a  “  i’m  about  to  piss  myself  thinking  abt  all  the  ways  this  convo  can  go  wrong  so  i’ll  just  not  talk  and  glare  @  u  instead  ”  thing

if  he  had  his  shit  together  he  would  definitely  qualify  as  a  dad  type  ,  but  since  he  doesn’t  ,  he  won’t  SSHSHSHSH  but  he’s  really  just  a  softie  deep  down  ,  he  has  a  stupid  as  HELL  sense  of  humor  and  is  really  objective  and  level  headed  .  the  gryffindor  in  him  is  DEEPLY  loyal  ,  like  to  the  death  ,  but  he’s  got  lots  of  hufflepuff  in  the  sense  that  he’s  really  willing  to  get  his  hands  dirty  to  help  those  in  need  .  u  need  help  moving  ?  someone  to  keep  u  company  while  u  babysit  ?  feel  nervous  walking  alone  after  class  at  night  ?  sammy  might  leave  u  on  read  if  u  text  him  bc  he’s  a  Dumb  Bitch  like  that  but  he’ll  show  up  on  the  dot  ,  hands  in  pockets  ,  exactly  where  u  asked  him  to  be  ready  to  do  what  u  asked  him  to  do  .  the  mans  is  a  super  hard  worker

he  def  still  feels  kinda  weird  at  uni  ?  he’s  p  smart  but  some  of  the  classes  unrelated  to  athletics  and  anatomy  have  given  him  a  REALLY  tough  time  (  dance  appreciation  for  his  fine  arts  credit  almost  tanked  his  gpa  LMAO  )  and  he’s  not  top  of  his  class  or  anything  but  ppl  still  try  to  talk  to  him  bc  of  the  whole  “  famous  dad  ,  future  olympian  ”  thing  ,  which  he  can  pick  up  from  a  mile  a  way  and  makes  him  super  uncomfortable  .  even  being  in  a  frat  w  a  bunch  of  old  money  rich  boys  makes  him  DEF  feel  like  the  odd  one  out  ,  and  he’s  just  counting  down  the  days  until  he’s  OUT  OF  HERE

in  conclusion  :  i  love  u  all  .  lets  suffer  together  .  :~)

[annewithagee]

Know Love When You See It (2)

“I can’t do this, Gil. I can’t open this door. What it it’s too late? What if we came all this way only to find it was all for naught, because she… she…“ A story in which Gilbert’s health remains perfectly fine, but that’s not enough to bring Anne peace. Alternate ending to AotI. Shirbert.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Chapter 2 Enters Gilbert

The smile died on her lips as soon as she had read the first lines.

“Dearest Anne...”

It could not be true.

“I wish I could start this letter from a reassurance...”

It could not.

“I wish I could say: don’t be alarmed by the unusual date of its arrival – for I very much hope you have received it early – or by the hurry behind such a change. Alas, I cannot. The news is as urgent as it is serious, so even though there is no reason to panic just yet, I must ask you to regard the matter as such.”

“Anne, are you alright?” she heard Priscilla ask with concern but made no answer, her eyes gliding over the letter as she devoured the words she did not dare to comprehend. Priscilla stepped closer. “Anne, you’re white as chalk and barely breathing at all! What is it, darling?”

The red-haired girl glanced up at her friend and opened her mouth in the vain attempt to explain her state, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. The lump in her throat was enough to make her success unlikely – with the trembling of her lips and the tears fogging her eyes, it became impossible.

“I’ll get some water,” Phil announced evenly and left the room, while Stella crossed it and sat quietly by Anne’s side. Priscilla remained where she was, watching the scene attentively.

Anne drew a sharp breath.

“It’s Marilla,” she said eventually, when she finally felt she could say anything at all – if only to feel her voice crack as soon as she did. She shook her head. “She’s unwell. Very, very, very unwell.”

She failed to explain anything more as the sobbing she had been trying to fight had finally taken over her. Her shoulders shook violently and a few heavy drops fell down her cheeks, disappearing under the fingers she pressed against her mouth. One or two of her tears came through and fell on the letter she was holding – and the realisation of that little detail only made her want to cry more.

Never in her life had she cried so vehemently.

“Anne, dearest!” Stella exclaimed and embraced her friend tightly, the gesture more meaningful than anything she could say. Anne appreciated it too, and yet, she couldn’t help but edge away as soon as she had found the strength to do it.

“Mrs Lynde says it looked like nothing but a cold at first,” she stammered in between her sobs. “Of course, for someone Marilla’s age even a cold can be dangerous, especially if they refuse to rest properly – but Mrs Rachel clearly said that it was the one time when she managed to persuade Marilla to take a real break before it escalates! Oh, that itself should have been a sign enough!”

She covered her mouth with her hand once more, closing her eyes as she pondered over the threat that had so unexpectedly entered her life. Phil, who had walked into the room seconds earlier, gave her miserable friend a scrutinising glare.

“I know that look, Queen Anne,” she said as she took her place on the other side of the sofa; she handed Anne the glass she had brought with her, but Anne disregarded the offer with another shake of her head. Phil, however, was not one to give up easily. “You think that if you had been there, you would have paid attention to that ‘sign’ as you call it and saved Marilla from the complications. You wouldn’t have.”

“How can you know that?”

“If Rachel Lynde failed to notice the danger, you would have done the same. I might not have met her in person, but everything you’ve told me so far only proves that she is not a woman who would miss anything easily.”

“But she doesn’t know Marilla as I do!” Anne protested again, even more fiercely now.

“Are you really so sure about that? I’m not saying that there aren’t some ways in which you really do understand her better, but you’re doing Mrs Lynde injustice. You have known Marilla for barely a decade, while she has for her entire, much longer life. She raised ten children who, I am sure, fell ill at all ages; and she had had an elderly husband to look after until very recently. You couldn’t wish for a better nurse for your guardian.”

Anne lowered her gaze at the letter once more and closed her eyes right after.

“I still should have been there for her,” she whispered somewhat calmed, even though she had never stopped trembling. “Maybe if I had been there to look after her, it wouldn’t have gone so far and the danger wouldn’t be so great!”

“How great is it now?” asked Priss.

“Pneumonia,” Anne answered before giving in to her weeping again, too weak to control it for longer than those few short moments. Phil reached out and stroke her hair, and this time Anne felt too tired to protest against it in any way at all.

All she could do was sit where she was, with her face hidden in her hands and shivers running through her young, exhausted body.

“Pneumonia is not a death sentence, Anne,” Priscilla remarked eventually, finally sitting herself on a nearby chair. “It’s dangerous, of course – but Mrs Lynde is right about there being no need to panic. We both know she would have told you straight away if there was. And my own mother went through pneumonia last year, and you know that she’s as strong as ever now!”

“Oh, don’t tell me about your mother!” Anne cried out, jerking her head up, her eyes green with anger and despair. “She has nothing to do with it – you can’t compare her to Marilla! And you cannot compare the situations, either!”

“Anne, for goodness’ sake, calm down!” Phil answered the outburst immediately and caught her companion’s arm, hoping to at least prevent her from jumping to her feet then and there and perhaps leaving the room right after. Anne freed herself from the clasp easily, however, and stood up regardless of Phil’s tries.

“Don’t talk to me about staying calm, Phil,” she said hollowly. “You can’t imagine what I am feeling right now. You can’t know what it is like to have someone like Marilla – sick… It’s not like seeing your mother fall ill, because that’s not what Marilla is to me. She is the one who chose to love me and take care of me, against her plans and her neighbours’ advice, against her own doubts, against her better judgment. And she’s not your mother’s age, Priscilla; she’s older and she’s weaker, no matter how much she tries to ignore it sometimes. I will not calm down.”

“You won’t help her in such state,” Stella attempted to reason; but Anne would not be moved.

“I won’t help her no matter what state I’m in,” she opposed a little more meekly, sinking on the sofa again. “No, my dears, as long as I am here, there is nothing I can do. So please, just for now, let me be miserable. It’s one of the few moment of my life when I truly have a reason to be.”

She remained silent for the shortest of moments before rising again, startling her friends with her abrupt movement. “Oh, but I can’t! I can’t sit here, pitying myself when she is so sick and certainly in need of attention. Mrs Lynde might be there but she can’t look after her and the twins alone. I must leave Kingsport as soon as possible and go back to Green Gables, somehow… Oh, but I need to clear my head first!”

And before anyone could stop her, she sprang from her place and ran towards the door, paying no mind to her friends’ astonishment, nor or her own tears that now flowed down her cheeks freely. She still held the fateful letter in a tight grasp – and she was not going to put it away any time soon.

Thus agitated, she did not hear the gentle knocking on the door, nor the quiet creak it gave when the person on the other side pushed it open – nor did she have the time to react when the person appeared right before her eyes.

She ran straight into his chest and barely comprehended that she had at all.

“Goodness me, Anne, that sure is a way to welcome a fellow,” she heard him ask with the smallest hint of humour and realised with shock it was Gilbert she had run into. She took a step back at once and looked up, barely able tot recognise his features through the mist of her tears.

She swallowed and sniffed, and wiped some of them away.

“I’m sorry, Gilbert, I didn’t notice you,” she apologised quickly, her eyes fleeing to the door behind his back. “But please, excuse me. I need some fresh air, immediately.”

Gilbert’s eyes grew wide in surprised, the mirth in his eyes replaced with worry as he took in her appearance.

“What is it, Anne?” he asked again, his voice so full of fear that Anne could not help but glance at him again; and yet, she knew she needed to leave before she did something incredibly silly, like throwing herself onto him, if only because he was the only person in the world who had any idea how much Marilla meant to her.

So she shook her head, again, and waved a hand at him, hoping against hope that it would be enough to make him let her through.

Of course, she was a fool to ever believe that.

“Anne, please, look at me,” he urged her, but she didn’t listen to him. Gilbert sighed deeply and put his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to steady her at least. “Listen, I know I have no right to make inquiries, and I’m not going to make any. But you’re clearly not fit for going anywhere alone.”

“It’s home, Gil,” she whispered, not sure what she was saying, and certainly not capable of realising it was the first time in months since she had last called him by this name. “Home, Green Gables… it’s… Marilla...”

She did something silly then, namely the one thing she had promised herself not to do; but she was too unhappy to care about anything other than her most pressing worries – and in a way, Gilbert was holding her already.

She collapsed into his arms without giving the matter a second thought.

To say that Gilbert was surprised would be like calling the storm a drizzle. He blinked, astonished by her sudden closeness, but did not pull away, as Anne half expected he would. He noticed Phil coming from the other room and hesitated, simultaneously giving the girl a questioning look, to which he received no clear answer.

“Anne, whatever it is, I promise we’ll get you through it,” he muttered into her ear as he finally embraced her trembling form, holding her closer than ever before and yet, unable to draw the slightest satisfaction from the feeling it gave.

He could never be content when she was hurting like this.

“You need to sit down,” he went on, ignoring the sudden wince she gave at his words. “You don’t have to say anything, but I won’t let you out of Patty’s Place until I see you can stand firmly on your own. Come on, Anne, listen to me. For old times’ sake.”

He pulled away then and gave her a small smile, which Anne could not return. She wanted to protest, but Gilbert granted her no time, stirring her gently towards the parlour, ignoring the curious glances the rest of the girls gave them.

Anne walked quietly, with her eyes fixed on the floor before her, too distraught to notice anything at all.

Consciously or nor, Gilbert made her sit on the exact same spot she had occupied before and took his place next to her. The glass Phil had brought was now standing on the tea table; he wasted no time reaching for it and offering it to her.

Anne glared at him grudgingly. “I don’t want to drink, Gilbert.”

“I still think you should,” he insisted with the same gentleness that had marked his actions from the start. “Believe it or not, but clear water can do wonders. It will make you feel better, too. Come, for -”

“Don’t you finish it,” she interrupted him, taking the glass from his clasp. “You’re making it sound as if I had listened to you before.”

Gilbert wisely refrained from any remark that could come to his mind and simply nodded in acknowledgement, watching her sip the drink in perfect silence.

He took the glass away the moment she had finished.

“Thank you,” she responded to his action with sudden shyness, as if the cure he had prescribed her had made her calm down enough for her to realise the impropriety of the situation. Determined not to meet his eye again, she fixed her own on the letter which had caused her distress in the first place – and shivered as yet another wave of hopelessness washed over her at the memory of its contents.

“I’m guessing this is a Green Gables letter,” Gilbert stated rather than asked, nodding towards the creased, damped paper.

Anne confirmed with a nod of her own.

“May I?”

His words took her aback entirely and once again, she was too surprised not to look at him in response. Her eyes soon shifted from his face to his extended hand and she frowned as she tried to comprehend what the gesture could mean. He smiled weakly and brushed his fingers against the letter.

Anne’s eyes grew even bigger now.

“You want to read it?” she asked with disbelief.

“Only if you want me to,” Gilbert reassured her hastily. “But I can tell it is the reason of your current state and more importantly, I am quite sure its not something you’d like to recount. So unless Mrs Lynde is telling you secrets I should not know about...”

“It’s all about Marilla,” Anne explained quickly and handed him the letter. If Gilbert was disappointed by the coolness of her answer, he showed no sign of it.

All he did was take the letter and read it as attentively as the situation allowed.

Anne’s gaze lingered over his focused countenance for a few moment befores she once again realised how inappropriate it was to stare at him like this, especially after everything that had happened between them in the course of the two preceding years. No matter how much she wished otherwise, Gilbert was no longer her old school chum – and as this realisation came, she almost regretted showing him the letter in the first place.

It was too late to change her mind, however, and it was something Anne realised as well.

She looked away then, and fixed her eyes on the floor before her; only to look up at Gilbert again when she felt him shift next to her. His attention was still on the letter, and Anne turned her head away, somewhat embarrassed by her own restlessness. She shifted her sight in the search of her girl friends, expecting to be met by their curious glances and maybe a wiggle or two of their eyebrows, directed at their unexpected guest – and found with astonishment that none of them was present in the room any longer. She tensed visibly after the discovery and yet, it only made her wish to appear calmer than she ever was. With no little difficulty, she refrained from casting another glance at Gilbert, resolving to content herself with only observing him in the corner of her eye.

Her hands were clasped tightly on her lap now and unconsciously, Anne began to fidget with her own fingers; and when that wasn’t enough, she did the same with the soft, creamy fabric of her dress. She closed her eyes in pain, no longer knowing on which to bestow them… and opened them again in shock, feeling the pressure of another, stronger hand covering and squeezing her white, trembling ones.

She looked up at Gilbert in bewilderment, only to discover that he was just as focused on her letter as before, frowning over it with obvious concern which, however, had nothing to do with her momentary agitation.

As if sitting in her shared living room, reading her correspondence and holding her hand had been the most natural things for him to do.

“I’m almost done,” he murmured before she’d had a chance to object or hasten him with any other comment. “Try to sit still for a moment and I’ll manage to finish even sooner.”

He let go of her hand then and came back to the letter with doubled attentiveness. Anne flinched a little at the change, trying to ignore the strange longing for the contact that came over her as soon as it had ended – and quietly scolding herself for even stopping to think of such nonsense when so much more was presently at stake.

Fiddlesticks, she thought to herself, recalling the crisp manner in which Marilla had always spoke while making a comment of this sort. Anne felt her lip tremble and bit it, looking away and sighing for what seemed like a hundredth time that day.

She almost made up her mind to leave the sofa and search for her friends when she heard Gilbert move again, folding the letter he apparently had just finished reading. She turned towards him a little hesitantly.

“When did you get this?” he once again beat her to her question, asking his own. His hazel eyes glowed with determination Anne couldn’t yet understand.

She shook her head. “Just before you came. I’m so sorry, Gilbert, I never would have behaved like this – but we had no warning. No one said anything about Marilla being unwell in their last letter, even though she must have been if it’s so serious now – but I didn’t know. And then you came, also by surprise -”

“Anne, it’s alright,” he disrupted he, his voice warm but firm. He made a small movement towards her, as if he had wanted to take her hand in his again but changed his mind at the very last moment. “You don’t have to apologise for showing your emotions, especially when it’s Marilla you’re concerned about. And I certainly don’t want you to think that you should be hiding them from me.”

Anne tried to answer his words with a grateful smile but only managed to grimace at him instead.

“I’m not sure whether I’m happy or vexed that it was you who came,” she admitted quietly, resting her tormented gaze back on her hands.

Gilbert’s jaw tightened at her words. “I’m sorry if you see it as an intrusion. I have never meant it to be.”

“No, Gil, that’s not what I meant!” she protested, amazed that her words could be understood in this way. It was her who almost reached for his hand this time. “Please, believe me. It’s just… No one here really knows Marilla – Priscilla might have met her, but she doesn’t know her… But you do. And as comforting as it is to have someone else from Avonlea with me now, it also makes it all so much more real. And… and it’s terrifying.”

Gilbert relaxed visibly and nodded in understanding before allowing himself a little, crooked smile.

He leaned towards his distressed friend and tilted his head so he could look at her directly. “Should I perhaps get you some other Avonlea inhabitant to assist you? Maybe Charlie Sloan’s presence could bring you some comfort without necessarily reminding you of the reality? He seems to be the most practical young man, but you and I both know how skilled he is at turning every conversation into something quite abstract.”

“I wish all of you just stopped mentioning Charlie today – really, it is rather unnerving.” Anne huffed with some of her usual fire back. “And how can you joke about any of this right now?”

“It seemed like a good way to distract you from all that sobbing,” he answered with a calm, confident smile. “I’m sorry if I appear unfeeling, but you know that I’m not; and I need you to calm down before we move on to anything else.”

“But I don’t want to calm down! I’ve told the girls that and I’m standing by it while talking to you.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to if you want to make any decisions today, and I’m fairly certain that you do.”

Anne’s brow rose high, as if Gilbert had suddenly started speaking Chinese.

“Decisions?” she asked, abashed. “I can’t make any decisions from here and I don’t think I could do anything to -”

“You want to come back, though, don’t you?” he interrupted her chaotic explanation with a hurry. “And if I know you at all, you’ve been thinking about getting there since the moment you first learned about Marilla’s sickness. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not,” she admitted, fighting yet another set of tears coming to cloud her eyes. “I have to go back and as soon as I can, but -”

“But she can’t do it now,” Phil finished the sentence for her as she walked into the room with a tea tray. “Oh, don’t you look at me like that, Queen Anne. I wasn’t eavesdropping; I simply thought you two could use some fortification during a talk like this. The point remains, however; Anne is not in a state for travelling and I dare say she won’t be any time soon.”

“I’d be fine, Phil, really,” the other girl opposed weakly and then turned back to Gilbert again. “But I would have to travel alone and as used as I am to it by now, I don’t think it would be wise to do it when I’m in ‘such state’.”

Gilbert shook his head impatiently. “I don’t think you should travel such a long distance alone even in a perfect health, Anne. But I never said that’s what you should do now, either.”

“I can’t ask the girls to come with me, Gil,” Anne explained softly, even though it was apparent how much it hurt her to accept such unfortunate circumstances. “They have their own obligations and responsibilities here at Redmond. Don’t you deny it, Phil,” she added quickly, raising her hand. “I’ve discussed all of these plans with you – I know you can’t afford leaving now. None of you can.”

Silence fell on the room, disturbed with nothing but Anne’s desperate, uneven breathing and the purring of Rusty, who suddenly appeared next to her legs. It didn’t last long, however, as Gilbert soon cleared his throat, straightening up in a confident manner.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” he said candidly, before turning towards the girl he had once pledged his love and life to, and looking into her eyes with perfect honesty, he promptly said, “I will take you there.”

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

What I’ve Been Reading #2

Hey People of Earth!

I recently started a new series on this blog (titled above), where I reflect on the last few books I’ve read. I’m doing this mostly to keep myself accountable because I’m notoriously bad at committing myself to reading. So far, reading has been far greater than it’s been in the past--I’m definitely getting into the rhythm of things. I read some amaaaazing books this time around (since approx. November), and these are them:

1. The Darkest Legacy by Alexandra Bracken

This is book four in The Darkest Minds series, and was just recently released (last summer). Whilst I’ve drifted from YA in the last few years, this series was such a huge favourite of mine when I was younger, and I thought I’d give this book a go for nostalgia’s sake. Also, I truly admire Alex as an author, and wanted to support her! Here’s the summary:

Five years after the destruction of the so-called rehabilitation camps that imprisoned her and countless other Psi kids, seventeen-year-old Suzume "Zu" Kimura has assumed the role of spokesperson for the interim government, fighting for the rights of Psi kids against a growing tide of misinformation and prejudice. But when she is accused of committing a horrifying act, she is forced to go on the run once more in order to stay alive. Determined to clear her name, Zu finds herself in an uncomfortable alliance with Roman and Priyanka, two mysterious Psi who could either help her prove her innocence or betray her before she gets the chance. But as they travel in search of safety and answers, and Zu grows closer to the people she knows she shouldn't trust, they uncover even darker things roiling beneath the veneer of the country's recovery. With her future-and the future of all Psi-on the line, Zu must use her powerful voice to fight back against forces that seek to drive the Psi into the shadows and save the friends who were once her protectors.

What drew me to it: Like I mentioned, its mother series was a mega favourite of mine in grade 8, and whilst I’ve grown out of YA, I was curious to see where the story went, five years in the future. I read about 60% of it on page, and listened to the rest on and of over the course of a few months. I started it in August, and finished it on New Year’s Eve. Not the fault of the book, that’s totally me being Very Bad at commitment. I’ve really enjoyed Alex’s novels in audiobook format, and this one was no exception (I think, if I were to read it again, I’d listen to the audiobook: it’s like listening to a television show!)

My rating: 3/5

Why: This is really due to the fact that I no longer am very interested in YA. In all truths, I got into YA early, and got out of it even earlier because apparently I am a sixty year old woman?? I started my journey with YA in grade seven, and it ended around the end of grade eight. After that, I had trouble finding YA books I could enjoy/relate to, not that the books were any less, or bad because of this, but because I was just an injustice to them (I’ve always been a strange reader). This is why I don’t really read YA anymore because I feel like I rate them unfairly because I’m not super big on the category anymore. It just (rightfully) didn’t give me what I’m most currently interested in in books (horrible people; horrible relationships; morally grey protagonists), because of course the category is different to what I read now! With that said, I think, if I’d read this book in my Peak YA Moment (grade 7-8), I’d definitely have given it a 5 star rating. It was super entertaining and funny and nostalgic, and made me miss a series so pivotal in my writing journey. If you love YA, and this series, I think this book is definitely worth the read! That was a thiccccc tangent. 

2. Past Lives, Future Bodies by Kristin Chang

This is a really quick poetry collection (that I spoiler: looooved). This is the summary:

PAST LIVES, FUTURE BODIES is a knife-sharp and nimble examination of migration, motherhood, and the malignant legacies of racism. In this collection, family forms both a unit of survival and a framework for history, agency, and recovery. Chang undertakes a visceral exploration of the historical and unfolding paths of lineage and what it means to haunt body and country. These poems traverse not only the circularity of trauma but the promise of regeneration—what grows from violence and hatches from healing—as Chang embodies each of her ghosts and invites the specter to speak. 

What drew me to it: @shaelinwrites rec’d it to me on my last update, and I fell in love with the premise. I’m *cheap* so was very excited to be gifted it by my Grandma for Christmas. (I actually read it on Christmas!)

My rating: 5/5

Why: Kristin Chang is literally so skilled with her use of the line break? I was shook? This is my second collection of poetry that I’ve read, following (no shade) Rupi Kaur’s The Sun and Her Flowers, which, I felt kinda made the line break feel gimmicky? So this collection definitely reinvented it for me. Her poems are so punchy, and thoughtful, and you can truly feel the experience built into the backbone of every one of them. When I panic wrote some poetry for my writing class, I used it as comfort reference and was amazed at how deliberate she is with her words. I also found so much of its commentary on race so relatable. It’s definitely a collection I’ll keep re-reading. I’d recommend this if, like me, you’re just starting out in poetry--a perfect way to acclimate yourself to a new form!

3. God of Shadows by Lorna Crozier

*Rachel vigorously trying to diversify her reading.* The summary:

The poet Lorna Crozier has always been brilliant at fusing the ordinary with the other-worldly in strange and surprising ways. Now the Governor General's Literary Award-winning author of Inventing the Hawk returns with God of Shadows, a wryly wise book that offers a polytheistic gallery of the gods we never knew existed and didn't know we needed. To read these poems is to be ready to offer your own prayers to the god of shadows, the god of quirks, and the god of vacant houses. Sing new votive hymns to the gods of horses, birds, cats, rats, and insects. And give thanks at the altars of the gods of doubt, guilt, and forgetting. What life-affirming questions have these deities come to ask? Perhaps it is simply this: How can poems be at once so profound, original and lively, and also so much fun?

What drew me to it: At this point I’m just stalking @shaelinwrites​’ Goodreads because her reading taste is on pointttt. I’ve also been dying to read more poetry, and branch out into different forms of writing, so I can be a little *prepared* for school, so I thought I’d take a peek at this collection. 

My rating: 5/5

Why: This collection is so beautiful! I read it super quickly, and fell in love with the concept immediately. I think Crozier explored such unique ideas with super unique language, and I live for it. This collection gave me perspective on ‘gods’ I’d never even thought about. I’d definitely recommend it if you’re looking into reading some prose poetry!

4. The Immortalists by Chloe Benjamin

I finished this book today, and now have trust issues and feel like I’m in a constant state of wanting to cry. Here’s the summary:

If you knew the date of your death, how would you live your life?

It's 1969 in New York City's Lower East Side, and word has spread of the arrival of a mystical woman, a traveling psychic who claims to be able to tell anyone the day they will die. The Gold children—four adolescents on the cusp of self-awareness—sneak out to hear their fortunes.

The prophecies inform their next five decades. Golden-boy Simon escapes to the West Coast, searching for love in '80s San Francisco; dreamy Klara becomes a Las Vegas magician, obsessed with blurring reality and fantasy; eldest son Daniel seeks security as an army doctor post-9/11; and bookish Varya throws herself into longevity research, where she tests the boundary between science and immortality.

A sweeping novel of remarkable ambition and depth, The Immortalists probes the line between destiny and choice, reality and illusion, this world and the next. It is a deeply moving testament to the power of story, the nature of belief, and the unrelenting pull of familial bonds.

What drew me to it: I actually don’t know?? I put it on hold at my library in October, and was loaned it in January (looooong waitlist). So I can’t remember why I wanted to read it, probably because 1969 was in the premise lmao. I actually completely forgot about placing a hold on it because it’d been two months, so by the time I got the email notification, I’d forgotten what it was about. Oftentimes, I’m Bad, and leave my loans for weeks, forgetting about them, but I was intrigued by seeing I’d received this loan because I couldn’t remember placing it/why I placed it. I quickly re-read the summary, and immediately started reading because it reminded me a lot of the Haunting of Hill House sibling dynamic, and I was on board!

My rating: 5/5 stars soaked in all my tears

Why: This book is SO good, I literally can’t think about it too much because I will cry, lol. I’m not one to get emotional over books, but this book touched me in a place I didn’t know existed?? Like I didn’t know I had emotions before reading this book?? Apparently I do?? It also left me feeling stunned with a whole bucket of life lessons, and similarly to getting emotional, I’m not a reader to really take away a whole new worldview after reading something, but this book was like NOPE, here’s some THOUGHTS. I think I might’ve loved it so much because the four siblings it follows remind me a lot of my siblings (tag yourself I’m Klara, @sarahkelsiwrites is Varya). I too am a sibling of four with a similar composition to the novel’s (two boys, two girls), so the actual heartbreak of realizing that one day, there ain’t always gonna be four of us struck me so hard I was not prepared?? The characters are BEAUTIFUL, and my heart aches so much after finishing this, I almost don’t know what to do with myself... If you liked the sibling dynamic in the Haunting of Hill House (me!!), you’ll probably dig this book. Benjamin’s writing is also gorgeous; straightforward, but so detailed and lush at the same time. I don’t often see books in third present, so this was a delight for me to read. Also: I’m no expert on any of the topics in this book, but to me, a Fool, this book felt so well researched? This isn’t something I ever notice in books, but it surprisingly really added to the reading experience. 

TL;DR: I’m literally an emotional wreck because of this book and have a whole new perspective on life, if you too want to be an emotional wreck, defs join in on the fUN.

So that’s it for this reading update! All of these books in this update were wonderful! Making me antsy to read more for sure! I’m currently attempting to read more short story collections, so if anyone has recs, hit me up! ‘Scuse me while I go sob!

--Rachel

[masshirohebi-moved]

"I'll tell ya what. For somebody who reads so much...you can be a right awful fool."

a series of unfortunate events, book the first: the bad beginning.The glass in their hand sways briefly, the contents running from one side of the cup to the other. Thankfully, sake never stayed long in their glass, and it does not risk spilling despite their carelessness. They had always found it quite amusing when others tried to berate them, when others acted arrogantly and without fear. It was so rare that people stood up to the serpent, let alone tried to mock them. But as it would turn out, it was possible to have ‘too much of a good thing’, and they no longer found it quite as amusing these days.At least, they didn’t when it came from her. Because as it stood, they found her ridiculing them more and more. And it would always result in the same aftermath, her taunts, their threats, a spat, and then both fumbling about in the terror of being alone, then cowardly pretending it didn’t happen. Simply due to the fact that neither of them knew how to call this mad dynamic quits.They roll their eyes at her jab, there was a list of reasons they could think up for why she was saying this, a short one nonetheless. However they don’t even bother to decipher which one it is. Does it matter? They won’t be able to explain their logic, or justify their lack thereof should it truly have been a foolish act or idea. If she wanted to be spiteful this evening, then they would simply play the same hand back.“And I’ll tell you what, for someone who cries at the smallest injustice in the world, and constantly preaches about the good, kind and fair, you can be quite the callous bitch,” they say, a smile (ever so false) coming to their lips. They don’t even try and act like they are genuinely amused. She knows their sarcastic expressions by now. For in all honesty, the serpent would always be the cattier one between them, even if it is what they will accuse her of being.

They’re not one for profanity, but how many times did they find themself falling in to the trap of hurling something nasty just for the sake of defending their pride against this woman. With the way they bickered, strangers may very much think them some sort of broken married couple, or two rivals that were leaning in to enemy territory.And even now, the eyes nearby have strayed to watch the two. For the viper had been pleasantly playing the role of someone far more mannerly. Daintily sitting in their corner, quick with their words, but elegant in their diction. Impressing a few with speech alone, manipulating the situation to catch the interest of whoever they deemed interesting. Which right now, had been a man with a particular bloodline they found worth prying about. The shinobi blindly thinking himself a marvel, blissfully unaware that the golden eyed stranger may not be fluffing his ego, but determining whether or not he was worth killing for such a power.Upon her arrival however, they transformed in to someone far more vicious and lowborn. Their nails tap irritably on the table, before they decide to ignore whatever it is she has to say back, getting up after abandoning the rather surprised man, and practically shove the remainder of the their drink in to her hand upon passing her.“But this my dear, is a bar, a place where people come to forget about the uglier and messier parts of themselves. So instead of soberly standing around and pointing out the flaws of others, why not have a drink instead? If it will keep you from patronizing me all night, I’d even be so generous as to buy you your first round.”

[drivingsideways]

Could you eleborate on your tags in this post? I really like your metas! If it's not too much trouble! /post/163702439009/do-you-think-flint-enjoys-violence

Hi anon! Well, I’m going to try and keep this short, but it’s about Flint. SO. :D 

I think @sidewaystime did a wonderful job of talking about how Flint’s relationship to violence is a complicated thing. What I was responding to was a post series Discourse that seems to be divided at the moment along whether Silver was ‘right’ to do what he did to stop the war or not. A lot of the argument for the “yes” side of that argument seems to rely on painting Flint as someone whose anger was entirely (a) born of reasons personal and (b) completely out of control. 

So let’s address (b) first. There are examples where Flint’s rage *is * out of control: Charlestown comes to mind, the Maria Aleyne, post Charlestown murders. In fact, post Charlestown and until the Maroon Island [i.e. until he resolves something within himself with the help of Dream-Miranda] is the closest I see him as being completely batshit insane with rage/sorrow/despair. But as I see it: at no point during this time is he unaware of the consequences of what he is feeling/ doing either to himself or other people. I bring this up because I think there’s a tendency to read Flint as unaware of his own True Motives. Some of this comes from the Miranda/Flint fight in 2.05  What she says (yells!), is that he hasn’t been “clear” about his goals TO OTHER PEOPLE. A corollary to that is that he hasn’t been open about what led him to this goal. And this is absolutely true. Flint discusses his grand plans with exactly two people before that- Gates and Eleanor, both of whom remain unaware of the tragedy that drove Flint to Nassau. Miranda is saying that without communication he is closing every door to achieving his goal except the one that leads to more violence. And this is where she says -paraphrased- [you are fighting for the sake of fighting, because that’s the only state you can function in]. And I think people have taken that and run with it as though it was an Eternal, Unchanging Truth about James. Although the very next thing that happens in the plot is that he listens to her and chooses a less violent path. 

And that’s the kind of thing I feel gets missed out: all the times he doesn’t choose a violent option even though it exists. Btw, that is a thing he has done from the first episode. Yes, he kills Singleton brutally, but hey, remember the literal first dialogue that we hear from him in the entire series is him putting a stop to his crew murdering someone? He listens to Eleanor, agrees to a dialogue with Vane in S2. He listens to Miranda about Ashe. Eleanor, again, in S4, in the middle of the freaking war, he allows himself to be taken hostage if it means there may be a chance to win the war without excessive bloodshed, even when that decision is hotly contested by his own people. 

This is not a man who is incapable of not choosing violence, it is a man who deploys violence strategically. This is a man capable of swallowing his pride and anger, if he sees a way to achieve his goal without violence. Is the Peaceful Way his first instinct? NO. But is he incapable of taking that path? NO. 

Here’s Flint in 3.10 telling his back story to Silver: 

Flint: Madness is such a hard thing to define, which makes it such an easy label to affix to one’s enemies. Once it had been applied to Thomas, once our relationship had been exposed, defiled, scandalized… everything ended. There were times that I was persuaded to sue for peace since then, but that was the day that on some level I knew… that England was broken… and that sooner or later a good man must resist it. [emphasis mine]

Ok, let’s back up a bit. Earlier in S3, Flint has a chance to end a war before it even starts, an offer he absolutely refuses.  Why does he? 

3.07, On the beach with Governor Rogers: 

Woodes Rogers: Lord Thomas Hamilton. I didn’t know him, but I understand you did. Miss Guthrie tells me you were part of the first effort with Lord Hamilton and Peter Ashe to introduce the pardon to Nassau. As with most things, the men first into the breach bear the heaviest casualties. But in the hindsight of victory, they were the ones whose sacrifice made it possible. Without Lord Hamilton’s efforts, your efforts, it’s likely I wouldn’t have been successful in my efforts to finally secure the pardon. All I have done here is finish what you began. I am now what you were then. And without you, there would be no me.

Flint: Clever.

Woodes Rogers:  Thank you.

Flint: So that’s what this is. We’re all reasonable men, we all want the same thing. You offer me a pardon, I accept it, this all ends? 

Woodes Rogers: Maybe. The pardons are on the table. No one is being hanged. No one’s even being tried. They’ve all been forgiven, just as you wanted. Just as Thomas Hamilton wanted. So what is it that you’re fighting for that I’m not already offering?

Flint: Thomas Hamilton fought to introduce the pardons to make a point. To seek to change England. And he was killed for it. His wife and I went to Charles Town to argue for the pardons, to make peace with England, and she was killed for it.England has shown herself to me. Gnarled and gray… and spiteful of anyone who would find happiness under her rule. [emphasis mine]

So here we go: Flint listens to Woodes Rogers’ proposal- which sounds exactly like what they were working toward just a few months ago?? But this time he refuses it. Because he sees right through it, and he recognizes that there is no possibility of reconciliation that does not include absolute surrender to England’s [”civilization’s”] Rules. The Rules that include continued slavery. That include men like him being condemned and ostracized. Woodes Rogers’ proposal sounds exactly like Thomas Hamilton’s- except that the intent was completely different- Thomas wanted to change the status quo and Rogers intends to preserve it. 

And you know what? He’s fucking right. Because literally the next fucking thing that happens when Flint refuses, is that Woodes Rogers ceases being “reasonable” and  ALSO tries the oldest trick in the book: gaslighting. 

Woodes Rogers: “ Then let us be very clear about something. I am reasonable in seeking peace. But if you insist upon making me your villain, I’ll play the part. So let us assume that, as of this moment, the unqualified pardon is no more. From this moment on, any man participating in the act of high seas piracy will be presumed to be one of your men, an enemy of the state. I will hunt him, I will catch him, and I will hang him. And while I am aware of your feelings on the subject, I am no backwater magistrate cowering in fear of you. You know where to find me. [emphasis mine]

Right: because somehow demanding freedom from slavery is “making [you] a villain”. 

What I mean to say in the above is that: Flint’s refusal to arrive at a compromise with England is not because he’s “out of control”, it’s because he is clear sighted about how systems of power work. He’s cut through all the bs that is “civilization” as per a colonial power and has found it to be rotten to the core. And that is what he pitches to the Maroon Queen: the absolute truth, not just about England (which she knows already) but also about the consequences. There is no certainty about anything- but trying is better than not. 

And now coming back to (a) which is that Flint’s anger is entirely personal. To which my answer is: of course it is. There are people who can devote themselves to larger causes and fight oppressions that they do not themselves experience personally, and I think those kind of people have amazing empathy, and may we all be more like them.

 But the sad truth is a large number of us do not wake up to systemic injustice until we experience it personally. And then what? Are we supposed to sit on our hands and say, ok, this anger of mine is really selfish because it has its beginnings in something awful that happened to me, and now that i recognize it doesn’t just happen to me, it happens to a whole lot of people both like and unlike me, but I’m not going to do anything about it-because maybe I’m playing out my own issues? 

But (i hear you say), this isn’t just about filing a petition on change.org, it’s literally starting a war. 

Ok, first off: I’ve said it before- the war is already on. Slavery is an act of war. Imprisonment of  “sexual deviants” is an act of war by the State on the individual (and larger queer community). Flint and Madi were attempting to change the terms of it. And secondly, let’s give rest to the idea that it was Flint alone who wanted a war. 

Mr.Scott to Madi: 

Mr.Scott: “ I wish you and I had not been so separate all those years.I wish I could have found a way to be a better father to you. But over time, I was determined to leave you something behind, to give you the one thing that no one could ever take away and that would make you strong enough to understand their world, interact with their world, wage war on their world. But if their identity lies in their stories, I wanted you to know them so that when we are ready to call them enemies, you would be ready for it.”  [emphasis mine]

This is an absolute recognition of what I was saying before: the war was ongoing. Mr.Scott and the Maroon Queen have spent a lifetime to prepare Madi to respond to the war on their people. In Flint, the Maroons had finally found an ally that could actually help them get somewhere. 

And as for Flint, the discovery of the Maroon Island led to another realization: and that was he no longer has to wage war alone. That there is solidarity to be had.  And that came at the end of the period where he was at his most self-destructively lonely. And having found himself on relatively stable ground again, he’s able to both articulate the effect and the use of rage/hatred. 

Here’s a conversation with Silver, in 3.09 about the punishment meted to Dobbs (over attacking one of the Maroon Crew)

Flint: That’s not why you did it.

Silver: Really? Would you like to tell me why I did it, then? 

Flint: Well, I wasn’t there, but, um, I’d hazard the guess that you learned of what had happened, told him how fucking stupid he was, and in that moment, he gave you a look that amounted to something less than contrite. And in that moment, you felt it. 

Silver: Felt what? 

Flint: Darkness. Hate. Showing indifference to the authority that you sacrificed so much to acquire, disdain for refusing to acknowledge that his actions, had you not intervened, would have led to an outcome that he would have held you responsible for reversing. Pride. Questioning what kind of man you are if you don’t seek retribution for the offense.

Silver:  So what are you saying? You saying I went too far with him?

Flint:  Maybe you went too far. Maybe you didn’t go far enough. Maybe you did it just right. The point is that while you were doing it, you heard a voice telling you that disciplining him would prevent him from repeating the offense, a voice that sounded like reason, and there was reason to it, as the most compelling lies are comprised almost entirely of the truth. But that’s what it does. Cloaks itself in whatever it must to move you to action. And the more you deny its presence, the more powerful it gets, and the more likely it is to consume you entirely without you ever even knowing it was there. Now, if you and I are to lead these men together, you must learn to know its presence well so that you may use it… Rather than it use you.  [emphasis mine]

Silver: You have some experience with this, I imagine, living in fear of such a thing within you? 

Flint: Yeah, I do.

Silver:  I can’t tell if this was a warning or a welcome.

To repeat: this is not a man who is wandering around in blind, selfish rage that’s indiscriminately targeted and can only be quenched by blood. This is a man who’s been through hell and come out on the other side, and then says “I cannot believe we’re as poorly made as that”. Which makes me want to burst into tears, even as I type this. 

 OK WOW. I NEED TO STOP. I’m not sure if this is what you wanted to hear, anon. :) 

[recklessmoon]

@juniperblooded

“...and they lived happily ever after.” 

März finishes the story, closing the cover of the book and looks down to the sleeping form snug against him. He watches Wolfram’s breathing rhythmically going up and down, his long eyelashes flutter every now and then. Placing the old book off to the side, fluidly the conductor scoops the toddler into his arms, and presses him against his chest.

Thankfully, Wolfram is an easy child to please, so it didn’t take him long to lulled him to sleep. He steps away from the pews and summons forth members of his entourage with a flick of his wrist. They heed his command, swiftly joining his side.

“He’s finally fallen asleep, Herr von Friedhof?” A woman asks, who adorns a dress with shades of red and black her face hidden by a feathery mask. 

“Indeed, he has,” A nod follows, while he side eyes her, “may you assist me to putting the pews together?”

“Why not use the upper quarters?” suggests a man in a black suit, wearing a similar feathery mask, “it should be a lot more comfortable upstairs, no?”

“I’d prefer for him to be downstairs, he’ll be safer and more accessible to me.” It’s a shorter distance, it’d take less time to go through double doors than to run from there up a flight of steps. “Now would you mind....?”

“Not at all,” they reply in unison and with little effort they fix the pews, pushing them together to form a makeshift bed. The lady disappears and reappears fetching the blanket from another part of the sanctuary while the man has gotten a pillow from upstairs. 

“Thank you again,” März then steps forward to the bed, laying his son inside and places the blanket on top of him. He leans forward to kiss his forehead, then moves back, “Vatti will be back soon, alright....? Sweet dreams, mein schatz.”

He turns toward his nameless assistants again, then smiles. “Now, would you mind watching over him tonight? In case he awakens.”

They immediately oblige, watching their lord turn on his heel who summons forth his baton for another long night. 

Wolfram never felt unloved, he’s always been drowned in it, he’s always been catered to. He knows his parents love him, even though they’re usually away. That’s why Father found Friedrich and gave him to him as a friend at the (very) tender age of six months so he wouldn’t be lonely. Wolfram knows his parents mean well, he learned to accept it.

Besides, he isn’t entirely alone, every now and then he’d catch the wisps of red and black from his peripheral vision, watching over him from the distance. A few times he mistook some of his Vatti’s entourage for him, because they dressed in a familiar black and red. 

(Perhaps it’s because he yearned for his Vatti’s affections, his touch, to hear his gentle voice when he felt lonely. But that’s selfish isn’t it?). 

Vatti’s assistants are nameless, their identities buried underneath the sands of time. However, he’s able to identify some of them for their talents. One knew how to sew, another knew how to child rear, and one of them knew a thing or two about playing a stringed instrument. In times when Friedrich would become a little overbearing they’d appear before him, and distract him with some menial task. 

Even though they are physically with him, Wolfram can’t help but feel lonelier because of their aloofness. They were close, but far away; they were companions to Wolfram’s loneliness when neither his cousin Vanessa or his Vatti or Father were with him. 

“How long has Vatti been doing this?” Wolfram asked the more masculine appearing assistant once, they sat inside the church as Wolfram skimmed one of the books for the umpteenth time.

“Quite long.” He answers, “before your birth, of course.”

“Do you...know why Herr?” Wolfram asks. 

“To help others,” The man answers simply, “there is too much injustice in this world, and we–” He refers to the rest of his father’s assistants, how many more were there? “are the prime result of that.”

Wolfram nods wordlessly, going back to contents from the book. It was always like this. But Vatti was doing this for others, this was the right thing to do. And Wolfram loses himself between the pages again, evading the creeping loneliness in his heart. Eventually goes to bed, arranging the pews into a bed and falls into a deep slumber hoping to dream of his family.

“The child has been restless lately.”

“I wouldn’t blame him, after what he’s gone through.”

“But doesn’t he feel familiar? There’s something more nostalgic about him now.”

The unfortunate accident between his former client and son caused a disruption of peace. An ancient power swelled in his son, and honestly März wasn’t sure of how to confront it. Wolfram had drawn into himself, putting up barriers to prevent the unimaginable for everyone’s sake. But that only made everyone else worry for his well being; it was a cruel cycle, he wanted to break it somehow. 

How much longer would his own sins harm his family? He doesn’t go a night without thinking that, but it appeared he was dealt some divine punishment in some shape or form. The chatter of his attendants overlap with his own thoughts, as they ready themselves for another long night.

( “Drowned underneath the ethereal moon, a cursed princess dealt with a cruel fate. Why have you remained at the boundary? Please sing for me.” ) 

While they have achieved another small victory, his duties as a revenge conductor do not distract him. Instead of this I should be looking for leads for Wolfram, März thinks as he watches Odette and Siegfried ruin Rothbart. They were given another chance, but not his son. He purses his lip together as the revenge tragedy concludes and they make their way home, returning back to the entrance of the church. 

The moment he enters the church, he feels his body suddenly feel heavier. He groans, while he pushes on ahead, stumbling through the threshold. It’s then a voice he didn’t want to hear emerges.

“Having difficulties, boy?”

“Of course not, I know what I must do. I know what I’m doing.”

Id laughs mockingly at him, it echoes in his skull which causes März to frown.

“I might just have the answer you may need.” Id tempts him.

“That’s a bunch of nonsense and you know it.” März curtly replies in his mind, while making his way into the sanctuary. He looks around for familiar violet and black colors, but they aren’t here. “Since when were your ideas ever good?”

“Till that broad ruined everything.” It answered back.

“Don’t bring Elisabeth into your twisted games.” 

“Ha ha, well, you were having a grand ole time before she woke you up, didn’t you?”

März feels bile rising up his throat and he physically shakes his head. He runs his fingers through his messy strands of hair. He deeply inhales then exhales, now else where could he be? Hm.

“It might’ve been your fault, by your hand,” Id continues on, März can hear the smirk in its voice, “think about it, everyone involved made contact with us at some point and requested a revenge tragedy. Whose to say your son isn’t any different? He is the outlier here.”

März tries to ignores Id as he makes his way toward the kitchen, speeding up his gait with every passing word. Where was Wolfram anyway? He notes how the door is ajar and he gently pressing his palm against it, the door creaks open and Wolfram is there. März sighs with relief, then steps inside. Wolfram’s back is toward him, but he watches his shoulders shake for a moment and fumble with something in front of him

“Wolfram...? Why are you still awake?”

“U-Um, I....Vatti...g-guten abend, I was just...getting some water to drink before going back to sleep.” Wolfram reluctantly turns around, there’s a glass of water in his hands. His son smiles sheepishly, “W-welcome home...how did things go...?”

“They went well,” März replies shortly, he shortens the distance between them and places his hand gently onto his shoulder. “and how was your day?”

“It was fine.” Don’t burden him, Wolfram thinks to himself, the atmosphere is suffocating him and that knife he was eying earlier was awfully tempting, “I’m glad it went smoothly though...um...Father came home earlier. He, uh...made an sexual innuendo about you before and seemed sad that he just missed you before returning to help grandfather with something.”

Only Amethystos would. März feels annoyance spring up in him, but it subsides when he hears the rest. At least he came home to visit Wolfram, it made him happy to know that he wasn’t left alone for small time. With a guiding hand, März proceeds to lead him outside of the kitchen.

“Let’s go to bed....together...like before,” März begins, while rubbing his son’s shoulder gently, he watches his son’s eyes shine like they did before...before this whole mess started. “Would you be okay with that?”

“Y...yes!” Wolfram replies eagerly, but he realizes that and then says with a sheepish afterthought, “um, if you do not mind of course...Vatti.”

With a smile, März leads his son upstairs to where he and his mother used to sleep. It took some persuading because Wolfram felt funny about it, but in the end he were able to procced without any problems. As he lays side by side Wolfram, while gently rubbing the top of his head – he tries to ignore the annoying voice of Id and the troubles that may arise later with this child known as die Ashenprinz.

Fairytales truly do have happy endings. 

März had been cynical of them since being denied his own happiness once. But with dawn emerging above the horizon, it meant a new future was opening up to the newer generation. 

His son made his first friend, a boy who came from the future. He had saved him from the recesses of his mind and guided his son out of the realm of the darkness. 

His son was able to find the love of his life, while the child who gave them a hard time finally remembered who he was. What else did the future hold? The golden boy whom his son met was the pinnacle of light < love > that he often dreamed about. And his son was able to meet that, without succumbing to the darkness. They were able to triumph together, successfully.

And as a father, it made him the happiest that he could have been.

Perhaps that’s what his own mother, Therese meant when she’d be the last to bear the darkness so he’d be able to go into the light. It seemed like the torch had been passed onto him now, but he didn’t regret a single thing.

Even if Id continued to bother him about his son’s happy ending, he would never give in and allow its thoughts to plague his mind. 

The darkness from his hair begins to ebb away, allowing for the moon to finally be able to seen again. With a sigh of relief, März gives Wolfram a smile when he turns toward him. 

Wolfram’s smile blinds him, it’s the happiest he’s ever seen him.

And the moon reflects it back, showing its true colors. 

“The light is so warm, Vatti.” 

[pamphletstoinspire]

Part 5 - On Catholic Social Teaching: Subsidiarity, Part 2

As we saw last time, the principle of subsidiarity means that, as a general rule, the people closest to a particular need or problem should generally respond to it first. We don’t, as we noted, phone the White House demanding that the library parking-lot pothole be fixed. Work done by ordinary people close to the situation is preferred, not intrusions by large, fat-fingered bureaucracies 3,000 miles away. Therefore, says the Compendium of Catholic Social Teaching, the principle of subsidiarity is opposed to “certain forms of centralization, bureaucratization and welfare assistance and to the unjustified and excessive presence of the state in public mechanisms.”

Note, however, the all-important word “certain,” not “all.” The Church is as keenly aware as the most ardent libertarian that, “by intervening directly and depriving society of its responsibility, the social-assistance state leads to a loss of human energies and an inordinate increase of public agencies, which are dominated more by bureaucratic ways of thinking than by concern for serving their clients and which are accompanied by an enormous increase in spending.” It really gets that.

But it also gets something else: Sometimes the people and institutions closest to the problem can’t handle the problem. Suppose the library board is locked in chaos because the head of the library suspects the treasurer is having an affair with her husband. She vengefully refuses to fix the pothole because she is scheming to make the treasurer look incompetent. The pothole gets bigger. Patrons are having severe tire damage. Nothing gets done. Then what?

Then you go up the ladder of authority by “going over the heads” of the squabbling library board. That still doesn’t mean you phone the White House, of course. But maybe you go to the city council and ask them to make the library get it in gear and fix the pothole (and replace the incompetents running the library). The point remains the same: Stay as close to the local and the small as you can to get the job done. Only go up the ladder of authority when you really need to. Small is beautiful. Keep it simple; keep it local. Keep as much of the work and love to be done in the hands of real people, with faces and hearts, and only call on an increasingly faceless upper-echelon bureaucracy when you absolutely have to.

Again, this doesn’t mean there’s no place for the state and even the huge state of a world power such as the United States, or a super-state, in Catholic political thought. Recall that the Church was born in a world that was controlled by a super-state called the Roman Empire. And even when that empire was ruled by a demented maniac called Nero, who butchered Christians and slaughtered apostles, the apostle he slaughtered, St. Paul, said:

“Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore, he who resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment. For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear of him who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain; he is the servant of God to execute his wrath on the wrongdoer. Therefore, one must be subject, not only to avoid God’s wrath, but also for the sake of conscience. For the same reason you also pay taxes, for the authorities are ministers of God, attending to this very thing. Pay all of them their dues, taxes to whom taxes are due, revenue to whom revenue is due, respect to whom respect is due, honor to whom honor is due” (Romans 13:1-7).

Paul thought the common good and civil peace so important that, like Jesus, he urges believers to pay their taxes and pay their respects to the state — even when the state is run by a psychopath like Nero.

This does not, of course, mean that we are obliged to endure tyranny when we can change the state. Its rights are not absolute. But it does mean that theories that tell us that the state has, effectively, no role in the common good are bunk. The purpose of the higher authority and power is to protect the lower powers, and all exist in order to serve the greatest good: the dignity of each and every human person.

This explains how the Church organizes herself, too. There is not only the universal Church. There is also the particular Church: that is, each diocese in the world. This is normatively ruled, not by the pope, but by the local bishop. The pope doesn’t micromanage the new paint job your parish needs. Indeed, even the local bishop doesn’t do that, unless the parish budget is such a mess that your priest can’t get it together and get the job done. Normally, the bishop would only step in if the local parish was bankrupting itself on the paint job. And, normally, the pope only steps into a diocese if the bishop is letting things go to utter rack and ruin. Again, problems are handled by those close to the problem, and problems only get bumped upstairs when those at lower levels of authority can’t deal with them.

That said, the Church does, in fact, say that the nation-state and even some kind of super-state can well have real roles to play:

“Various circumstances may make it advisable that the state step in to supply certain functions. One may think, for example, of situations in which it is necessary for the state itself to stimulate the economy because it is impossible for civil society to support initiatives on its own. One may also envision the reality of serious social imbalance or injustice where only the intervention of the public authority can create conditions of greater equality, justice and peace. In light of the principle of subsidiarity, however, this institutional substitution must not continue any longer than is absolutely necessary, since justification for such intervention is found only in the exceptional nature of the situation” (Compendium, 188).

The instinct, then, is always toward giving as much responsibility and power to the smallest rather than the mighty. Indeed, the mighty have power, in such a vision, precisely for the sake of little. For the entire purpose of the greater power is not to acquire more power, but to ensure that the little and weak are able to participate to the extent they are able in the good of the earth, the work of human beings and, ultimately, in the life of the Blessed Trinity.

That’s really what subsidiarity is all about: participation. Therefore, the Church tends to favor systems that are democratic. This is nothing new, by the way. The oldest democratic institution on the face of the earth is the Dominican order, which makes its decisions with the full participation of all its members. It was medieval Catholic Europe that invented both the Magna Carta (written by a Catholic cardinal) and the English Parliamentary system, not to mention the guilds in which common folk increasingly ordered their own affairs. The Church’s habit is not to micromanage, but to leave people to figure out how to organize their own lives according to their best light, in the assumption that the Holy Spirit really will provide us with the wits and resources to do it ourselves.

Therefore, the Church speaks with hostility of totalitarian regimes: “where the fundamental right to participate in public life is denied at its origin, since it is considered a threat to the state itself. In some countries where this right is only formally proclaimed, while in reality it cannot be concretely exercised; while, in still other countries the burgeoning bureaucracy de facto denies citizens the possibility of taking active part in social and political life” (Compendium, 191).

In the end, the Church, in the overwhelming number of cases, wants people to have the freedom to work out their own affairs and exercise maximum creativity and love personally, rather than leave it to some bureaucracy or corporation to do it for us — yet to be cognizant of the fact that those who are weak, poor or wounded will need the help and protection of both the private sector and the state at times.

To this rule, there is one major exception, illustrated by a friend of mine from New York City. My friend had a chum. One day, as they were leaving work, my friend overheard his chum talking to his roommate on the phone. As he hung up, he said to his roomie, “And don’t forget to feed the burglar.”

Intrigued, my friend asked what he meant. The chum explained that he and his roommate had come home and surprised a burglar in their apartment. Reasoning that the city of New York wouldn’t punish him to their satisfaction, they decided to hold court in their apartment and mete out a punishment they felt was appropriate. So they found him guilty of burglary and sentenced him to 30 days in their closet. They figured, “Who will believe him once we let him out?” So there he stayed, with a mattress, a bucket, some books and three squares a day for a month, at which point they let him go. According to the chum, the robber was an impressive trophy for women they brought back to the apartment and always gamely waved “hi” when they opened the closet and showed him off.

An intensely New York story, to be sure. But here’s the thing: The technical term for what the roommates did is “kidnapping,” and they would have rightly gone to prison for years, had they been caught. The reason for that is simple: Subsidiarity tends to hold true with one huge exception — the use of force and violence. In that case, the Church’s teaching tends to kick things as far up the ladder of subsidiarity as it can. Roommates don’t get to lock up burglars. Only the state gets to do that. Similarly, only the state is permitted to go around arresting, cuffing and (if necessary) beating or even killing people. Hatfields and McCoys are not allowed to inflict death penalties on each other. Lynch mobs are not enterprising individuals with pluck and self-starting initiative: They are criminals taking the law into their own hands, and they should themselves be punished by the state.

Moreover, the bigger the act of violence, the more difficult the Church makes it, even for the state to commit. If Kobe, Japan, police are corrupt and beat up poor people, the mayor of Seattle — Kobe’s sister city — doesn’t have the right to launch missiles in reprisal. If Korean trade policies injure Seattle’s business, the state of Washington cannot assemble an invading armada and attack Korea. The authority to inflict the violence of war gets kicked even higher up the ladder to the federal government.

And if the Church had its way, war would get kicked up the ladder even further. We saw this, for instance, in the ramp-up to the war in Iraq, when Rome consistently urged the nation-state called the United States to concede to the United Nations the authority on whether or not to declare war. The U.S., for its part, wobbled on this, simultaneously invoking U.N. Resolution 1441 (and, therefore, the U.N. as a competent authority) in making the case for war, yet denying the U.N.’s authority when it said, “Don’t attack Iraq.”

The point is simply this: Precisely because the infliction of violence tends to wreak havoc on the dignity of the human person, the common good and solidarity, the Church’s habit is to make the infliction of violence as hard as possible by taking away from individuals the right to inflict it, except in very rare cases of justifiable self-defense, etc. The purpose of subsidiarity is to make us saints who “take things into our own hands” as much as possible in the work of loving God and neighbor, not in the work of joining a vigilante mob. It is ordered toward helping us use our powers to love our neighbors to the fullest extent of our abilities — and therefore to grow in solidarity with all the other sons and daughters of Adam and Eve.

BY: MARK SHEA

From: https://www.pamphletstoinspire.com/

[embhm]

Chapter 191: A JOURNEY OF LOVE

NO SPOILERS PLEASE!!! in the comments or anywhere on this account. We have not finished reading the novel. No copy/paste and all that other shenanigans either. Votes/likes/comments are highly appreciated.

While reading, if available, please read the footnotes at the end of the chapter for clarification.

THANK YOU SIENNA for translating this super long chapter!! <3

Note–> Sae: Should I force you to add a witty note?  Alec: Does it have to be witty? Just add yours! I liked your notes! 😝 Sae: Because it’s cute XD. [actually, it’s because I’m too lazy to write a proper one.] Also, JS! Look what you’ve done to me. T^T 

Translator: Sienna            Editor: Sae + Alec

As always, THANK YOU for reading and enjoying the start of a NEW ADVENTURE with our boys:

GU HAI & BAI LUO YIN

《你丫上瘾了》

Chapter 191: A JOURNEY OF LOVE

During the first day inside the dark and cold tunnel, Gu Yang secretly prayed that Gu Wei Ting would not discover his existence too early. In this way, not only would it give Gu Hai a bit more time to fight his way out but the two could also escape without any hindrance.

Once the second day arrived, Gu Yang found it slightly difficult to endure the harsh conditions. Simply put, this tunnel was not meant for a human being to stay in. For someone like Gu Yang, it felt like he was being cooked in pot of cold stew. If it was just a matter of it being the cold weather, then he could easily handle it. But, the main problem was the dampness. Since Gu Yang has sensitive skin, it took only about ten hours for the painful itches to form and spread throughout the surface of his body. When the itches became too unbearable, Gu Yang would frequently untie the rope around his wrists and scratch his skin to relieve himself. Nonetheless, even as he suffered, he still prayed to the Heaven that Gu Wei Ting would come down a little later. This way, Gu Hai could run a bit further.

When the third day finally rolled in, Gu Yang started to curse in anger.

Gu Wei Ting, you ruthless fascist! Gu Hai is your son! He’s been in the tunnel for eight days already!! Think about it, eight full days without eating, drinking or sleeping; don’t mention a human being, even Superman would die!! Even if you’re ready to punish your own family for justice, can’t you at least look at your son’s corpse? Don’t tell me that you want to save some expenses on cremation, so you resorted to directly burying your son down here like this, is that it?

With resentment, Gu Yang picked up the water bottle beside him but before he managed to take a sip, he discovered that it was already empty.

Gu Yang’s body had long been ridden with frostbites that seemed to have drilled into his bones, leaving him numb… Aside from his stomach, he has lost all feeling in all the other vital organs in his body. Even worse, the only food supply that could possibly keep him alive was also scarce.

With each passing minute, Gu Yang’s admiration towards Gu Hai increased to a whole new level. He couldn’t even start to imagine how Gu Hai could endure such a dreadful situation without any water for the past five days. Not only that, he was still able to walk properly after being pulled out of the tunnel!

What a fucking capable person!  

But when Gu Yang pondered on it a bit longer, there was something else that influenced him to be such a capable person.

Someone like Gu Hai was able to survive under these harsh conditions was purely due to an unprecedented sense of willpower and motivation that drove him forward. Inadvertently, it was worth it for him to endure all these hardships. But what the hell am I doing here? Is it for the sake of protecting their love? What does their love have to do with me? Haven’t I been against their relationship the entire time?

Poor, pitiful Gu Yang. Even after enduring this senseless torment for three days, he still doesn’t know why he let himself be reeled into it.

One hour…I’m going to give you only one more hour. If you don’t save me in an hour, I’ll!!… I’ll climb up by myself!

During this entire ordeal, there was one other person experiencing this torment with Gu Yang. This person was none other than Sun Jingwei. Every single night as he closed his eyes and allowed sleep to overtake him, he suffered from horrible nightmares. In these dreams, Gu Hai would struggle and cry out for help with tears–that have been mixed with dirt–rolling down his face.

For the last three days, Sun Jingwei’s complexion has gradually changed from a somewhat healthy wheat-colored tone into an unsightly sallow shade of brown. Unsurprisingly, even his spirit was subjected to an agonizing torment. His tolerance toward this cruel act has been completely destroyed, leaving behind only sympathy to riddle his mind. For him, nothing is more important than a human life. He would rather be demoted than look on without helping as a child lay dying beneath his room.

As a matter of fact, an hour before, Gu Yang had already prepared to climb out. However, his hands and feet were bound. During the past two days, he could untie the ropes with much ease. But unfortunately, he was met with complete disaster today. This time around, both his hands have already gone numb, and as a result, he couldn’t even summon an ounce of strength to tear at the rope. Nevertheless, it was also thanks to his inability to untie the ropes that the time was delayed, or else his efforts for the last two days would have been in vain.

Meanwhile, Sun Jingwei had removed the floorboard and proceeded to make his way into the tunnel.

In that moment, Gu Yang had already wriggled himself towards this opening of the tunnel. In turn, this would allow the unaware Sun Jingwei to have a much better chance of finding him. Once Sun Jingwei came close to where Gu Yang was laying, Gu Yang was suddenly frightened to the point that the hairs on his skin stood tall and it was not from the cold this time.

Where the hell did he come from? The opening of the tunnel is obliviously closed!

After his initial panic had settled, Gu Yang was suddenly dragged by a powerful force from the other opening of the tunnel. As soon as his eyes came into contact with the bright light, his entire body became rigid as stone.

Gu Hai, you bastard! I’ll fucking kill you!!! Why didn’t you tell me that there’s another opening right here? If you’ve told me earlier, I would have fucking escaped already!!!

After this realization, Gu Yang tried to calm his aching nerves from exploding. Since his face was covered with a thick layer of mud as dark as the night sky, it was hard to make out his features clearly. Due to this, Sun Jingwei mistook him as Gu Hai.

“Xiao Hai, I remember the day you went down, you weren’t tied up like this. This… why are you tied up now?” Sun Jingwei was about to untie the ropes around Gu Yang’s body but he was stopped in his tracks by just a few words from the person in front of him.

“Uncle Sun, it’s me, Gu Yang.”

Sun Jingwei’s expression went dull immediately. Then, as he carefully looked at the trussed up man once more, he finally realized that it really wasn’t Gu Hai.

“You……You……”

Gu Yang spoke first,  “Quick, call my uncle. I have something important to discuss with him.”

In less than a minute, Gu Wei Ting came bursting into the room.

Once Gu Yang saw Gu Wei Ting, his face that was drawn with great injustice like that of Dou E’s[1]pitiful situation, instantly looked as though he is ready to take down the opponent that appeared in front of him.

“Uncle, you have to find justice for me!” Gu Yang waved his hands and feet, intentionally showing Gu Wei Ting the ropes. “When I came to look for you that day, I had orignally wanted to try and persuade Gu Hai. But! Who would’ve thought the brat had such an evil scheme in mind! He tied me up and shoved me into the tunnel. If Uncle Sun didn’t pull me out in time, I would’ve died in the tunnel by now!”

After listening to Gu Yang’s explanation, Gu Wei Ting’s expression was simply drawn with a complete sense of loss. But no matter how furious he was, he must undo the ropes on Gu Yang’s body first.

“Didn’t you send me a message before you left that day?”

Gu Yang forced a bitter smile, “Gu Hai walked out of here wearing my clothes. Think about it, how could I have sent you that message?”

An image of a powerful and magnificent hurricane was engraved on Gu Wei Ting’s face like a live painting.

—

Two days ago, Bai Luo Yin and Gu Hai diligently loaded their cars with food and clothes. Under Bai Han Qi’s earnest and attentive gaze, they officially set out together on a journey of elopement.

Bai Han Qi watched, seemingly lost in thought, as the shadows of the two cars gradually disappeared into the distance.

“Hey, I don’t really know if doing this is for their own good or will it harm them instead…..” Aunt Zou’s face was filled with anxiety when she expressed her concern.

Hearing those words, Bai Han Qi laughed thoughtlessly, “We’ll just give it a try. Not preparing might turn out to be a good thing.”

“Try it out?” Aunt Zou suddenly pinched Bai Han Qi’s cheek, “Is there any father out there like you? You’re carelessly treating your son’s youth like an experiment! What if it fails, who will take responsibility and compensate for it?”

“In life, there’s no direct path that will genuinely lead to true success or complete failure. Every single step taken is a meaningful experience. Walking on a crooked path isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And at the same time, walking on the correct path the entire time isn’t necessarily a good thing either.”

“That seems reasonable enough……” Aunt Zou’s brows rose as she shot Bai Han Qi a side glance.

Bai Han Qi laughed mischievously, “Of course it is. For young people like them, traveling the world is not a bad thing. Who on earth hasn’t done a few absurd or idiotic things during their lifetime?! Just look at such an honest and well-behaved man like me. When I was young, I still managed to do one or two groundbreaking things by myself.”

“What groundbreaking things?” Aunt Zou asked.

“At that time, my parents were completely against my marriage with Jiang Yuan, but I was bold enough to follow my dreams. They also used all means possible to obstruct our marriage. Let me tell you, they even threatened to disown me. Despite it all, I refused to compromise with them. It’s our love, so why should other people have a decision in it?!!” Bai Han Qi’s expression was packed with pride and dignity.

“And then what happened?” Aunt Zou asked intentionally.

Bai Han Qi’s shoulders collapsed as he answered, “After that, we divorced…”

“From your words, isn’t it clear that this was a bad decision then?” Aunt Zou’s voice carried a hint of anger, “But you still allowed them to leave!”

“With that said, if I hadn’t divorced Jiang Yuan at that time, would I have been able to remarry again? Would I have met you?”

Aunt Zou was rendered speechless, “…”

Having said that, Bai Han Qi became even more pleased with himself, “That’s why everything has its own advantages and disadvantage. The key is knowing at what given time do you measure its worth. I am a man who has faith in life. I believe that in your life, there exists a meeting with another person that is carefully planned by the Heavens. When the time comes, you will encounter such a person, a kind person possibly. But at times, you will also encounter some disasters. Honestly, for those kinds of matter, even if you want to avoid them, you can’t…”

Aunt Zou heaved a heavy sigh, “It’s such a pity. Yin Zi’s homeroom teacher called us yesterday. I was told that Yin Zi achieved brilliant results in every competition he participated in. Because of this, the school is considering giving him a recommendation for a university without him having to take the entrance examination. They also mentioned that Yin Zi should return to school and decide on this matter as soon as possible.”

“Huh?” Bai Han Qi’s complexion paled, “When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I’ve told you already. I explained it to you last night. You even said ‘yeah’ to me.”

Bai Han Qi suddenly hit his forehead, “Oh no, I must’ve fallen asleep already at that time.”

“You regret it now?” Aunt Zou asked.

“……How can that be?” Bai Han Qi laughed awkwardly, while maintaining his ‘wise man’ like’ image, “This was a decision that I made after carefully thinking it all through. How can I simply go back on my words?!”

Aunt Zou merely nodded her head in response and said, “Well, let’s go home then.”

As Bai Han Qi turned around and began to walk, a subtle thought floated into his mind, but at that time, he didn’t voice it so as to avoid it. After feeling stifled for a while, he couldn’t help but to ask. “Did that teacher say which university they want to recommend him to?”

There was moment of silence before Aunt Zou replied, still somewhat hesitant, “It should be Qinghua University. In anycase, if it’s not Qinghua University, then it’s Beijing University.”[2]

At the mention of those two universities, Bai Han Qi’s tense body immediately twirled at full speed. Within just seconds, his clumsy legs rushed off in the direction that Gu Hai and Bai Luo Yin had driven away in. He shouted at the top of his lungs, hoping that maybe his voice would be heard. “SON! My brilliant son……”

Meanwhile, Aunt Zou hastily ran after him. With just a few large strides, she was able to grab hold of him. With a flustered and exasperated expression, she scolded him, “Why are you chasing after him now, huh? They are long gone!.”

A mask of distress settled cozily on Bai Han Qi’s fine face.

Sighing yet again, Aunt Zou resorted to dragging Bai Han Qi back, “Enough. Just accept your fate. This is also a part of Heaven’s plan. You won’t be able to catch up to them.”

Bai Han Qi gritted his teeth, “The Heavens are really despicable!”

—

On the road, Gu Hai and Bai Luo Yin drove in separate cars. Surprisingly, neither of them showed any sign of fear in having to escape in the middle of a difficult situation, or of having to be far away from their families. Instead, what hovered over them was the fresh and brilliant color of youth. Perhaps this brilliance occurred after they had experienced all those tribulations along with the immense pressure that they have endured to get this far. So now that they are finally free, they suddenly discovered that being alive is truly a beauty that should be held at the highest degree.

Rather than confining yourself in a cage, which doesn’t only harm you but also others, it is better to escape and enjoy the freedom and happiness to your heart’s content.

In their mind, this is only one of the many journeys that they will both take in their life together. Why not take advantage of their youth and go crazy while living to the fullest?!

Once they arrived at a desolate countryside bordering the mountain range, the two cars gradually slowed down before coming to a complete stop.

“Do you want to take a leak?” Gu Hai asked.

Bai Luo Yin nodded his head.

Finding that simple gesture rather lovable, Gu Hai grinned at him, “Then, let’s go together.”

Bai Luo Yin easily pushed Gu Hai to the side, “You better keep your distance from me.”

Instead of complying to those words, Gu Hai simply took out his huge cock; all the while, a wide and bright smile spread across his face.

Sighing, Bai Luo Yin grabbed Gu Hai’s body and turned him to the other side so that both of them were standing back to back.

“That won’t do!” Gu Hai cried out as he quickly turned his body back, “If I face that side, it’s going against the wind! Do you want me to piss all over myself?”

Bai Luo Yin’s shoulders quivered happily.

It has been a long time since Gu Hai had last seen Bai Luo Yin smile or laugh. The beauty that those smiles held was so radiant that the sight of it caused his heart to throb just a bit faster. As if captured by the moment, Gu Hai couldn’t restrain his eyes from drawing towards Bai Luo Yin’s seemingly dazzling face. His gaze trailed from the other boy’s face, then down a glance, then up a glance and back down again, lower and lower his stare went……

Bai Luo Yin cleared his throat, “Hey bro, you’re pissing on your hand.”

Pulled back from his daze, Gu Hai hastily look down.

“Where? My hands are dry.”

Meanwhile, Bai Luo Yin merely smiled without saying anything.

Gu Hai knew without being told that he was being fooled. So, as Bai Luo Yin fixed his pants, Gu Hai deliberately groped his round and plump butt cheeks a few times. Surprisingly, there was no retort.

After they finished settling their business, Bai Luo Yin–who loves being neat and clean–took out a bottle of water to pour it for Gu Hai to wash his hands.

“What a waste!” Gu Hai complained. Ever since he came out of the tunnel, he had notably adopted a great habit of conserving water.

Once their hands were cleaned, the two leaned against the car for a smoke.

While taking a look around the area Gu Hai asked, “Do you recognize this road?”

Without bothering to look, Bai Luo Yin simply shook his head, “I don’t recognize anything. This is the first time I traveled out this far.”

“Don’t tell me, you’ve never left Beijing before?”

“If you asked me this question two months ago, that’s what I’d definitely say. Unfortunately for you, I took a trip to Tianjin a while ago.”

“You went to Tianjin?” Gu Hai had not even an ounce of interest as he spoke, “What were you doing in Tianjin??”

“I went there with You Qi.”

Hearing those words, a hint of bitter jealousy began to saturate the air around them. Gu Hai lightly brushed away his cigarette butt while mocking Bai Luo Yin, “So, you’ve eloped with him before?”

Although he knew that Gu Hai said those words out of spite, Bai Luo Yin’s face still sank. Then he faintly said,  “Believe it or not, I’ll drive the car back right now?”

Noting the sudden change in his complexion and his voice, Gu Hai chuckled for a moment. He faced Bai Luo Yin and inched closer before taking a bite of his chin. The scent of the cigarette wafted along his chin then into his breath, mingling with the scent of weeds and wild flowers. Combined together, they gave off a natural and unruly sense of excitement.

“Hurry up and decide. Where should our first stop be?” Gu Hai asked with one last pinch of Bai Luo Yin’s cheek.

Instead of helping, Bai Luo Yin made things even more difficult for Gu Hai, “I can’t think of anything in such a short time.”

Gu Hai contemplated for a while before speaking, “How about this? I have a trick.”

In the height of their youth, Bai Luo Yin watched on blankly as Gu Hai took off his shoe and threw it up in the air. Then with a thud, the shoe landed on the ground.

Their eyes simultaneously traveled downward. The shoe pointed west.

“Okay, we’ll go that way then.”

In the end, Bai Luo Yin merely stared at Gu Hai, at loss for words, “……”

—-

Translator’s Note:

[1] Dou’e: the main female character from Chuzhou in a play (The Injustice to Dou E) written by Guan Hanqing. The story tells about a poor, innocent woman who was wronged, accused of killing, and tortured before she was sentenced to death. Before her execution, she swore that her innocence would be proven if three events occurred after she died, which were: her blood will spill on her clothes but it will not drip onto the ground, heavy snowfall will occur in the middle of the summer and the snow will cover her body, and Chuzou will experience drought for three years. The three events happened after Dou E’s death. Years later, when her spirit appeared before her father, her father reinvestigated her case and her innocence was brought to light. Then, the people who were involved in wronging her received their due punishments.

[2] Qinghua University and Peking University are two of the best academic institutions in China, both located in Beijing.

—-

Are you Addicted?

Original Novel by Chai Ji Dan

We, the translators and editors, DO NOT own any of this novel’s content.

[yourgodmoments]

Defenders of the Faith

Who are defenders of the faith? They are those who do their best to spread the gospel of salvation to the unsaved masses, those who take a loving stand against all that is ungodly - with the hope that the perpetrators of ungodliness may be saved, and finally, those who study, teach and / or preach the word of God in its pure form, to drive any potential heresy away, so that the first two aforementioned groups are properly armed with the Truth for their godly endeavors.

We have recently completed a 7-part study of a 13th century monk, Thomas Aquinas, who was a great example of a defender of the faith. Now, let’s look at Aquinas’s theological inspiration (besides the Holy Spirit), which was a 5th century monk of at least equal renown and Holy Spirit-inspiration, St. Augustine of Hippo, from his book: The City of God, translated by Marcus Dods, D.D.

He was the author of 113 books and 218 letters. His longest work is The City of God, meant to fortify Christianity in the Roman Empire, which took 15 years to write, begun in 413 A.D. This was just after the city of Rome (referred to as the ‘Eternal City’) was plundered by the Visigoths.

Simultaneously, Rome was also crumbling under the weight of overspending on multitudinous military campaigns to increase the size of its empire. Many of the wealthier citizens migrated to more rural settings to escape the extreme taxation that the spending depended upon, which also reduced Rome’s coffers.  

As the empire expansion was no longer able to sustain itself, the heretofore forcefully inducted slave labor from their various conquests were no longer available, resulting in a labor shortage that reduced Rome’s exports, also driving down the economy.

In addition, the eastern and western divisions of the Roman Empire became embattled as to how the empire should be run, and they divided.

As with any government, the Roman Empire was excessively corrupt and ineffective.

Because soldiers died in so many battles, the military hired barbarian mercenaries to bolster their army, which diluted the capability of the highly-trained Roman soldiers - making victories hard to come by.

Also, at this time, Christianity began to spread in the empire, (thanks to the help of the Roman emperor Constantine, who made Christianity the official religion in Rome in 337 A.D.), which stood in stark contrast to the Roman ways of thinking and acting. Subsequently, Christians became the ‘crux of Rome’s problems,’ or at least that is where the blame was laid. The Romans blamed their declining lot on the Christians for serving their God rather than the ‘Roman gods.’

It is in this atmosphere that Augustine begins defending the faith…

…we must speak also of the earthly city, which, though it be mistress of the nations, is itself ruled by its lust of rule.

Thus, the Roman Empire (the ‘earthy city’) had come full circle, to acutely resemble the fallen state of man on the earth during the days of Noah:

The [population of the] earth was corrupt [absolutely depraved - spiritually and morally putrid] in God’s sight, and the land was filled with violence [desecration, infringement, outrage, assault, and lust for power]. Gn. 6:11 AMP

God puts in place every government that has ruled this world. Augustine suggests to the Romans that it would be far better for them to consider that instead of blaming external elements (opposing armies, vengeance of their gods, etc.), they would be far better served to see the hand of God in their situation as a benevolent force to get them to turn their lives around:

They ought rather, had they any right perceptions, to attribute the severities and hardships inflicted by their enemies, to that divine Providence which is wont to reform the depraved manners of men by chastisement…these ungrateful men who blasphemously impute to Christ the calamities which they deservedly suffer in consequence of their own wicked ways, while that which for Christ’s sake spared them in spite of their wickedness…

God is always working on all people to bring them to the right path:

So that godless men would not rule nor be snares for the people. “For has anyone said to God, ‘I have endured my chastisement; I will not offend anymore; teach me what I do not see [in regard to how I have sinned]; if I have done wrong (injustice, unrighteousness), I will not do it again?’ Job. 34:30 - 32. AMP

We see God’s compassion throughout history, giving chance after chance:

Nevertheless, my eye spared them, and I did not destroy them or make a full end of them… Ezek. 20:17 ESV

Yet they are spared for only a time – a time in which to change from their ways:

For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness…because what may be known of God is manifest in them, for God has shown it to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse. Rom. 1:18 – 20. NKJV

And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a debased mind, to do those things which are not fitting…who, knowing the righteous judgment of God, that those who practice such things are deserving of death… Rom. 1:28 & 32.

God has given everyone an inherent knowing of Him, in both themselves and in the creations around them. Furthermore, by this time, Rome has had the gospel preached to them for at least 100 years.

So, there is an infinite penalty for unrepentant ungodliness. Yet, Augustine then tries to show the Romans the fairness in the equity that God practices for the righteous and unrighteous alike:

…nevertheless does the patience of God still invite the wicked to repentance, even as the scourge of God educates the good to patience. And so too, does the mercy of God embrace the good that it may cherish them, as the severity of God arrests the wicked to punish them. To the divine Providence it has seemed good to prepare in the world to come for the righteous good things, which the unrighteous shall not enjoy; and for the evil wicked things, by which the good shall not be tormented.

But as for the good things in this life, and its ills, God has willed that it be common to both; that we might not too eagerly covet the things which wicked men are seen equally to enjoy, nor shrink with an unseemly fear from the ills which even good men often suffer.

Is it not from the mouth of the Most High that both adversity (misfortune) and good (prosperity, happiness) proceed? Lam. 3:38 AMP

Augustine is saying that life has its trials and tribulations and it is not a respecter of persons. Everyone is subject to them. It is how we let them mold us that is important. Do we embrace God and His ways, or do we turn our back on Him and follow our flesh? We can see that the ultimate outcome has vey stark differences; and for the rebellious, there is a literal hell to pay.

Moreover, those who deny God and His ways, create a profound difference within themselves, that without repentance, invites the wrath of God. Augustine puts it like this:

…though good and bad men suffer alike, we must not suppose that there is no difference between the men themselves, because there is no difference in what they both suffer. For even in the likeness of the sufferings, there remains an unlikeness in the sufferers; and though exposed to the same anguish, virtue and vice are not the same thing…And thus it is in the same affliction the wicked detest God and blaspheme, while the good pray and praise.

To contrast the citizens of the earthy city to those of the city of God, Augustine spoke of how the Romans were distraught and depressed over their lack of worldly items when the Visigoths sacked the city of Rome; whereas those of the Christian faith who had lost their worldly goods as well could take solace in the truth that ‘the will of the Lord is their great possession…they have discovered by the pain of losing these things how much they were sinning in loving them.’

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD. Job 1:21 NKJV

Augustine then begins to answer what appears to be many questions put to him from Roman inquisitors. The first is whether or not one’s ‘length’ of life has any significance. His response fosters food for thought:

…the end of life puts the longest life on a par with the shortest…death is not to be judged an evil which is the end of a good life; for death becomes evil only by the retribution which follows it…into what place death will usher them.

Again, this is a great case for getting right with God before that day comes.

And so, we begin a journey with one of the greatest defenders of the faith…

Goodnight and God bless.

[callowsermons]

Heart to Heart: Overcoming

I opened this series by saying that perhaps the biggest spiritual danger today is isolated Christianity. When we treat our faith as an internal private matter we gravely distort it.  Jesus called twelve disciples for a reason, and when he sent them out on mission he sent them two by two.  The earliest Christians gathered together in Jerusalem as a united community for a reason. God does not simply speak into our hearts, but he gathers us together that we would lift him up in praise, that we would lift one another up in prayer, and that we would act as a light for the world.  

You may recall that “world” for John has a peculiar meaning.  John does not simply mean this rock that we live on.  “World” for John is all the unredeemed creation. It is the forces of sin and wickedness in this world.  World names networks of gossip.  World names the pride of self-righteousness.  World names exploitation, and taking advantage of other people.  World names fear of the other.  World names the sinful inclination to look down on others.  World basically means those who act as if Christ had not come into the world to die for our sake, to spread his love, to create a community that follows him.  World is the rejection of Jesus, rejection of his truth.

Some of you might remember the movie the Sixth Sense where Haley Joel Osmond can see dead people, but they do not know that they are dead.  Christians have been given a similar sort of sight.  We can see worldly people, but they do not know they are of the world.  For them, a world of domination, of exploitation, of injustice, of anger, of self-loathing, of lack, of emptiness, of despair is just how things are.  You just have to sort yourself out, or grin and bear it.  They look upon the world with resignation, assuming they can never find peace.  The world does not know they are the world unless the Church is there, we are there, to show them that there is a different and better way.  They cannot know they are the world if they have never heard of the love of Jesus Christ, if they have not known the love of Jesus Christ.

Though the world has been out there for two thousand years, and though it may seem to be as strong as ever, perhaps even stronger, we know that the world has been overcome.  To invert Mark Twain, rumors of the world’s vitality have been greatly exaggerated.  As John reminds us this morning, “For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world.  And this is the victory that has overcome the world–our faith.” Christ has overcome the world on our behalf.  We do not need to resign ourselves to its inhumanity, and we are not called to fight and put the burden all on our backs.  Christ has already won the victory as a gracious act of God.  And the victory is our faith in God, who sent Jesus Christ, in his death and resurrection to the whole logic of the world.  

The logic of the world is threatened because Christ has overcome the grave.  The world’s power is the power of the grave.  The threat of death is what keeps exploitation going, what keeps oppression going, what keeps worldly people frantically trying to get out of life alive.  But if the grave has been over come we can no longer be threatened with death.  And if we can no longer be threatened with death then we are free, free to love.  Free from pride that is really the fear of death.  Free from lust that is a way to forget death.  Free from anger that assumes death has any sway.  

John says our faith is the victory that has overcome the world.  It is not us individually that overcome the world, but us together gathered as followers of Jesus Christ who share in the victory.  Alone we cannot stand against the world and its lies.  A community of witness is required to expose the lies of the world.

Gathering together is so important because as we discussed earlier the world is not just out there.  The world runs through our hearts also.  We may be given eyes that see, and we may be able to discern the world’s lies, but the world still tempts us.  And we still give into the world.  Lamentably, history is full of Christians who gave into the world.  We need each other to hold one another up, and to make a different way of living possible.

But when we join together, pray for one another, lift one another up, speak as heart to heart we strengthen ourselves that we may be light in the darkness.  That we may fully rely on God.  That we would be hospitable.  That we would give without counting the cost.  That we would love the stranger.  That we would not give free reign to our anger.  That we would resist the lusts of this world.  And that we would be willing to lay our lives down for one another.

Grace is free, but it ain’t cheap.  We can’t say we have the grace of God, yet live in a worldly way.  We can’t say we know the love of God and not share that love.  The victory has been won, but in order to share in the victory we need to love as Christ loved.  And that is a high and tall order.  But for we who are children of God, who remain in that love, who gather together heart to heart, “his commandments are not burdensome.”

Questions for Reflection

Are you troubled by John’s concept of the world?

How have you found yourself tempted by the world this week?

What are some ways that God’s love overcomes the world?

Why does John say God’s commandments are not burdensome?