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All the Transwomen I Met

I've felt the need to write this and share it, for a few years.

About 5 years ago, I moved to San Francisco. I didn't know anyone in the entire state, so I spent a lot of time and effort meeting new people, and going to social events, and accepting invitations from most everybody who invited me to anything. I met a ton of people.

When I moved out there, I didn't really know anything at all about transgender people. I was told about that idea pretty quick once I got there. I thought it was really great that people were comfortable being themselves. The idea that men who enjoyed wearing stereotypically "women's" clothes, were becoming more comfortable doing that. And the idea that men were rejecting stereotypes of men that were forced onto them from childhood, so they could be themselves without shame. And the reverse... women rejecting uncomfortable stereotypes of women so they could be happy. It was an exciting idea that if more and more people started doing this, it would become more and more obvious that none of the stereotypes about what women are like and men are like are actually real. Sexism would be almost completely done away with!

I wish that was what happened. I was really excited to see it happen.

But that isn't what happened. Something bad happened.

In San Francisco, there were a LOT of transwomen. And so while I was meeting all of those people, and doing all that socializing, I ended up meeting and becoming acquaintances with a lot of transwomen. I have written a brief description of literally every single transwoman who I became friends with or got to know at all. I left none out. There are nine. I have felt like this was very important for me to share.

The first transwoman (man who likes to be called a woman) I knew, rubbed his penis on me when he thought I was sleeping. This was shortly after I told him I didn't return his romantic feelings for me, which I had told him many times already.

That same man had previously told me that he'd spent most of his young adult life pressuring girls to have sex with him.

The second transwoman I knew, became enraged when I casually commented on sexism in commercials. I thought what I said would be met with obvious agreement. I hadn't known many transwomen yet, and I thought that they would understand sexism and feminism a little more than men on average do. I learned that I was very wrong. I'd commented on how a string of commercials we watched featured men speaking with intelligence, confidence, and authority, and they featured women speaking in forced baby voices, sounding insecure, dumb, giggly, and weak.

This man advanced on me physically to where I was sitting, with another angry transwoman, very loud and mad, and was very upset with my comment. He said women like talking like that, and also their vocal cords physically are only able to talk like that. Then he said my comment could be compared to women who really want to wear high heels to work, but people don't let them. Which is obviously ridiculous, because that is exactly the opposite of reality... women are being forced by their workplaces to wear high heels, which most women hate and which injure feet. That is still a sexist reality in many places that women are fighting to end. He was somehow saying I was like the fantasy people who don't let these fantasy women wear high heels to work, because of my comment.

This same man told me that he was really respected in China, which is where he was born, because he's a woman and in China women are dominant and considered superior to men. That is true, isn't it. Yes, very accurate. Not at all incorrect or literally opposite of reality.

The third transwoman I knew got upset with me at Halloween season, when I commented that women should be offered normal costumes just like men are, rather than only "sexy" versions of costumes in most places. There should be the same options for girls and boys, and women and men. He immediately disagreed and would only repeat that "Women like wearing sexy costumes!" I repeated that girls and boys should both be offered normal costumes, and obviously if anyone, man or woman, wanted to wear a "sexy" version of a costume they should wear whatever they want. He still disagreed. He said that "women have very little opportunity to dress femininely and sexy, and Halloween is a chance they can do it." I explained that was the opposite of reality. Women have tons of times when they are allowed, encouraged, and pushed to dress femininely and "sexy". That includes work, after work, weekends, and... all other times I would say. I'm pretty sure he was thinking of men, for whom his comment would have been accurate.

That same man got very angry when I said women were made to feel they have to wear makeup, and that is bad. He became very angry. Not just a little. Very angry. He kept saying (angrily) "Women like wearing makeup!"

That same man told me he was a pedophile, and had to keep himself away from children.

That same man told me that "sexism is good for some women".

That same man supported Gamergate. That same man told me that the separation of women's and men's sports are not at all related to people's biological sex, and that men who want to be called women should compete in women's sports.

That same man told me that sexism doesn't exist at all in America, and people are treated exactly the same their whole lives whether they're female or male. (I know, it contradicts his other statement that "sexism is good for some women"). I said that I had a lifetime of many many instances where I experienced sexism. From when I was very little until the present. He mockingly told me to name just one. I was so horrified that he honestly thought I would be unable to think of a single experience of sexism, and that he was mocking me about it, that I told him that it would demean me to answer to his demand of one example. It would obviously be lowering myself too far.

That same man told me that sexism in countries outside America don't have any effect on me.

The fourth transwoman I knew, I saw a movie with. It was good, but I noticed some very obvious sexism in the portrayal of female characters and male characters, which I later learned most everybody noticed. And while most everybody including me agreed it was a great movie, the extreme sexism was obvious. After the movie I said so, how I loved it - but it was very sexist in these examples. And this man started insulting me and being very annoyed. He said venomously that the portrayals of female and male characters was "realistic", and then just as venomously asked me "What are you, a FEMinist?" Clearly he felt the only acceptable view of feminists is to hate them. Somehow he expected me to want to insist to him that I wasn't a feminist. Obviously I loudly said "Yeah. I am a feminist. Aren't you a feminist?"

I never saw him again. We had been casual friends for a few months, but apparently that interaction made us both lose the desire to try and meet up again.

That same man, weeks previously at a fast food joint, told me ever since he started taking estrogen that he's become extremely physically weak. He was grinning while describing to me how wonderfully weak he was, and clearly that was an idea that made him very happy. A personal fantasy. He said how now his arms are so weak, he can barely throw a frisbee! I asked him to arm wrestle and he beat me with no effort in one second. I'd assumed that would happen.

The fifth transwoman I knew, was a very nice person. He was kind, and fun, and not a misogynist, and didn't get angry if anyone criticized anything sexist. He also didn't mind going into men's public bathrooms. I really liked him. We were friends.

The sixth transwoman I knew was over six feet tall, and had a fantasy that men would rape him. He would only ever dress in cartoonishly sexual stripper-style outfits. He described multiple times to me how he was worried that men would rape him when he walked around in public. In a voice and level of description that made it obvious this was his personal sexual fantasy. He suggested that he and I are both equally in danger from sexual assault. I'm 5'1 and just trying to live my life. He was over 6 feet and that was his sexual fantasy. We were very different in our experiences of the threat of sexual assault.

The seventh transwoman I knew, I went to the movies with and he put his hand in my crotch area. I said "WHOA I am not comfortable with that." And I physically took his arm and returned it to his own seat. He immediately put his arm around my neck and shoulders and said in an annoyed whiny voice "Well can I at least do this?" And I had to say no again. We barely knew each other, and were not at all romantic. I had zero romantic thought of him. He clearly didn't care or consider if I did or not. It didn't affect his feelings that he should be allowed to do things like that for his pleasure.

The eighth transwoman I knew was over six feet tall and white. He came up to me suddenly and told me that he is twice as oppressed as me, because he has sexism, as a woman, like I do, and he also has "transmisogyny". I was so shocked that he would say he experiences sexism like women that I was speechless. Obviously he was a man and so he did not. He was also gigantic. I don't really know why he wanted to come up to me and tell me that he had "twice as much oppression as me". After he said it he just kind of looked at me waiting to see what I would say. That was the first instance I learned about the "oppression olympics". I had never used the word "oppression" before and very rarely heard it used in person. But I was disgusted by his competitive declaration of victimhood. Since then, of course the word "oppression" has become extremely popularly used in conversation, and that's usually a good thing, but there is definitely this unsavory world of people like him who build their identities around having the "most" oppression, like an impressive commodity, who have no basis in reality.

That same man, after my lack of response, then told me that he also doesn't have white privilege because he grew up poor.

That same man told me that he'd spent much of his life pressuring women to have sex with him.

The ninth transwoman I knew, told me he would only ever date women who shave their bodies. I know that men have no idea the level of pain and insecurity that teenage girls go through because of the forced shaving culture, so I gave him a break and replied with a kind of friendly comment that even though shaving their bodies for women is an extremely torturous social norm, everyone has preferences about their romantic partners and that's fine. Though I felt like that particular preference is specifically a preference for women suffering an unhealthy lifelong ritual born completely out of insecurity. I figured I'd just write this guy off, and there was no point in saying so. But I couldn't help poking the misogynist bear a little. He was trying to get me to hang out with him. So I asked if he just won't have a relationship with a woman who doesn't shave her body, or if he can't even stand to see them at all in any setting. Because it was summer and I love going to the beach in shorts, and I needed to know if I shouldn't invite him to to beach. I actually thought I was being funny and that he would know that, but he answered seriously that he "would feel grossed out if he looked at me." Imagine one person feeling comfortable telling someone that they would feel grossed out to look at you. That man sure felt comfortable saying it to me.

I have also known some transmen. They are usually very kind, thoughtful people. I have known some very closely for years before they decided to be transmen. Most of them, years after that decision, still fight internally against the feeling that they have to wear makeup every day or else be ugly and worthless. Most of them still mentally fight to nurture any sense of self-confidence to speak their opinions, or take up space in a group as a full person, who deserves as much free immediate respect as any other.

Those are things that women experience.

Almost all transwomen are now saying that they are not men breaking social expectations. They are women. And women are sexist stereotypes.

Men breaking social expectations would deserve respect and props for being themselves despite social pressure. That would be a cool move. But they are instead insulting women, supporting sexist stereotypes religiously, closing down women's shelters, women's rape trauma centers, and women's festivals. They are taking women's government positions, women's scholarships, and women's awards.

**CONTENT WARNING for below **

Transwomen have made it so now any and all men are allowed to go into women's bathrooms, women's changing rooms, and women's shelters. And MANY of them have been raping and murdering children and women. They've been kidnapping, videotaping, and sexually harassing women and children.

There are many myths that transgender activists send around social networking sites. There's one that is very popularly shared that says transwomen in America are in danger of being murdered. That is a lie. White transwomen in America are less likely to be murdered than white men who don't identify as a transwomen.

Even if they were in danger, that would be a separate issue from women completely, and they would deserve their own safe places to be and escape violence. They should not take away all resources to help women, and allow all men into women's changing rooms and bathrooms and prisons.

I'm pretty sure most people know that women are not allowed to talk about this. We are not allowed to speak our discomfort. If a woman says she is uncomfortable with any of that, transwomen (men) bombard her with rape threats, very descriptive rape threats involving their own penises. They also do this to any lesbian who says lesbians don't want to have sex with penises. Any woman who is a feminist. Any woman who wouldn't even call herself a feminist because that word takes a lot of courage to use, but who still speaks of helping women and ending sexist beliefs, or describes reality without pandering to make these men feel good.

I used to think the transgender social movement would bring us all leaps and bounds into a brighter future, but I really think it has dragged us all back far in time and rolled back women's rights and safety and respect many decades into the past. I used to think all those violent women-hating transwomen were just the rare bad apple, and most are good people who don't want to hurt women. But that list of transwomen that I described is every single one I've known in person. 8 out of 9 were extreme examples of the most misogynist of men. My experiences have made me wary now, and I can barely even picture in my imagination a transwoman saying the words "It's impossible to feel like a woman", or "Women deserve to be allowed to get together and talk about women's issues".

The misogynist slur TERF means: Dyke. Feminazi. Cunt. They all know this.

It pains me to see women being caught up in this social movement, clearly just trying to be polite and "politically correct", or seeking male approval. Most of them are insecure. I understand. But I wish they would speak up and be honest about the truth, and not just do whatever these men tell them they must do and say to avoid being called a TERF.

Characters: Clockwork, Danny Fenton Pairings: None Rating: G -

Danny had hardly returned to the ghost zone when he was suddenly surrounded by dozens of ghosts. Each had a single eye and they wore ridiculously huge cloaks. He was surprised. Danny had seen them from afar several times, but never together. To be honest, he had assumed that it was just one ghost that liked to get around.

The one closest gestured toward him. “Hand the Infi-Map here, child.”

“No, I gotta take it back.” He had only taken it for a brief, but necessary, quest with the blessings of Frostbite.

“It shouldn't have left in the first place. You've done something terrible.”

The ones in back tutted loudly. “Atrocious.”

“Inconceivable.”

“Irresponsible.”

“Done what? I didn't do anything wrong.” I mean sure, Clockwork probably wasn’t going to be happy when he heard about it, but it wasn’t like Danny had planned to jump through time today. Things just, you know, developed. Like things always did in his life.

They muttered among themselves, as though affronted that Danny had spoken up for himself. “You put out that fire. Do you have any idea what you've done?”

“Well, if I had to guess," Danny ticked off his fingers, "I would say that I've put out a fire, saved a bunch of people from said fire, and nope, just can't think of any reason to let a house burn.”

“That family you saved will go on to raise a killer. I have seen it!” the first one cried.

“I have also seen it!” another one shouted.

“That child is Hitler!” came the final screech.

Danny's mouth dropped open. “I saved Hitler?” he squeaked.

“No! I was exaggerating! But you’ve brought Doom upon us all!”

Yep, these people were a little too much for him. “Hey, you know, this spectacle sure has been fun, but I think I have to go see my-”

One of them pointed at him. “You're not going anywhere!”

He gathered ectoplasm in his free palm. “I’ll go where I-!”

An influx of ear-bursting noise sounded. It was as if an explosion went off in a deep pit and pitched to where he didn't only hear it, but he felt a steady vibration from within. Danny instinctively ducked and raised a shield.

A blur of color careened into one of the ghosts. Purple merged and twisted around green in a flurry of movement. Everyone paused to determine what it was they were seeing.

Two masses struggled to get their bearings. A mess of arms tried to simultaneously push and pull at the other. 

“-I’m here cut it out!” The purple mass shouted.

“Clockwork! You- you aren’t-”

Clockwork shoved his hand in the Eyeball-ghost’s- face? Head? “No! I have a handle on this! It's taken care of. Let's all just go home.”

Someone yelled from the right. “I don't think there's a handle on anything! Not-Hitler is alive! Forty-seven paradoxes developed, and a black hole in the Tiga quadrant regurgitated Neesyps Hell! How is this taking responsibility?!”

“I never promised that difficulties wouldn't arise, only that I would deal with them. And I have. The matter is closed.”

“I disagree! Let nature take him, you're too careless to-”

Clockwork launched off of the first ghost and latched onto the speaker, mere inches from his face. “It was four-hundred and eighty-three paradoxes and I fixed ALL of them. I put Hell back in its place and this is nothing. You sleep through worse. Are you calling me incompetent? Do you think I would let him into my abode if I wasn't prepared, and capable, of facing time-fracturing on the universal scale?”

The jelly around the guy’s eyeball turned a darker shade of green. “I- well- it's still sloppy.”

“I thought the same when my staff was lodged in your head last year.”

“. . . That was Johnson you inconsiderate savage.”

A thin, whiny voice sounded from among them. “You can manage a better grip, can't you? The eyestrain of that many temporal anomalies is a special kind of torture. Just because you're made for it, doesn't mean the same for us.” 

A murmur of agreement spread.

“Fine. You have my word, the matter will be addressed.”

“Good,” the ghost said, incapable of forgoing the last word.

And they left, one of them shooting what Danny thought could be a stink eye toward him, but he honestly wasn’t sure.

Clockwork slowly meandered over to Danny. It was only just then that Danny noticed how strained the ghost looked. His color was off, and there seemed to be several new holes in his cloak. “Um, what-”

Clockwork pulled the map out of Danny's hand and swatted him over the head with it. It didn't hurt, but Danny still made of noise of surprise. “You've been very troublesome. Don't. Do it. Again.”

A sense of shame washed over him, but it didn't last. Indignation boiled it away in a heartbeat. “I didn't really have a choice! You know that! And if you were really against it, you could have stopped me!”

The spirit waved the map in front of his face. “This object makes it very hard to discern the time-line and obfuscates any it interacts with.”

Oh.

Oh shit. 

When Danny had first hopped back in time, he did what he thought was reasonable, but he had been banking on the thought that if he messed up, or if something went wrong, Clockwork could fix it. And apparently he was right. Danny just didn't think it would possibly be that bad.

“It- Oh no.” He really messed something up, didn't he? “I- four-hundred paradoxes?”

Clockwork leaned close. There was a glimmer in his eye. “It was actually closer to two hundred, but four sounds very impressive doesn't it?”

Danny nodded slowly. “How . . . bad are they though? How do you fix them? What really are they?”

“It's complicated.”

“Well, who were those guys? They were really mad. Are they like your bosses?”

Clockwork laughed. “They’re the Observants and they like to think so. Steer clear of them, when you can. They are entirely capable of bringing trouble with them.”

The memory of burning flames and a tear-streaked face hit him. “What about Not-Hitler? Is he dead?”

“Oh yes, Lewis. I knew that that would bother you, so I made sure he never tasted human blood and got a satisfying life as a musician.”

Human blood? “That's . . . great,” he murmured, at a loss for words.

The ghost gave a self-satisfied smile. “Yes, it went pretty well, I think. But for the future’s sake, don’t ever feel like you need to mess with the time-line.”

-

It wasn't long after the Infi-Map debacle, that Danny posited another question.

“Do you fix a lot of stuff like that?”

“Mhm.”

“What happens if you don't?”

Clockwork eyed him, then looked away. “Odd things start to happen.”

“Like what?”

Clockwork took a moment to himself, but didn’t leave him waiting for long. “There was once a city that was the hot-spot of an anomaly. Everything and everyone there experienced a rapid change. Their local time had sped up to an astonishing degree and they quickly outpaced the world around them. One moment, the town over saw the city's normal horizon, and then in the next, there was nothing but crumbling buildings and dust.”

“That's scary. Really scary. How come it went bad? Couldn't they have like, a really cool super-advanced society?”

“Perhaps, but if I'm correct in this case, places like that have trouble securing a renewable water supply. Add that with unreliable daylight, and things go wrong very quickly.”

“So they die?” Those poor people. “That's terrible.”

“Yes. They're fine now though.”

“What causes them? I mean, other than me,” he asked sheepishly.

An irritated breath escaped the ghost. “Usually some uppity time travellers in this or other neighboring timelines. Although, some are natural and appear when black holes decide to shake things up. The moment I fix a dozen, twenty more crop up. It's ceaseless.”

That sounded like the kind of terrifying fact that would be keeping him wide-awake at night. “I guess we’re lucky we have you here to fix things then.”

“ . . . You might say that, but . . . ” Clockwork picked at the frayed edges of his cloak. There wasn’t a whole lot of reason to share it, but he literally didn’t see a reason why keeping it would be detrimental. “I don’t quite have proof of it, but I think there might be something about my existence that makes Time a little more fragile than it should be.”

Danny’s face scrunched in thought. “That’s weird.”

Clockwork agreed.

-

More - Next

Oppa Knows Best | Part 2

Word Count: 4.3k Genre: Smut, Angst Summary:  If there is anything a lot of people can agree on when it comes to college, it’s that college is about much more than just education; it’s a whole transformative experience.  The person you were before college is not the same person you will be after college, and no one knows the truth of that statement quite like you do. You just didn’t expect to change so much so fast. Chapter Plot: You go back on your promise to Jaehyun, or at least you try to, only to you find out just what he’s willing to do to stop you from sleeping around.  Warnings: This story contains a very unbalanced power dynamic between the two main characters that is unhealthy and shouldn’t be tolerated irl. If someone treats you this way irl please run. This is a fictional story and the plot is basically just a vehicle for the smut. Contains slutshaming and controlling behavior. Also the dirty talk is painfully corny and pornolike so be warned lol. Oppa kink if it wasn’t obvious. Not as edited as it should be rip me  Part 1 and the rest of my masterlist are in my bio bec tumblr is a dick

It’s been a month since your drunken tryst with Jaehyun. You never got the chance to confront him about it, not really anyway. After that chastity agreement he had roped you into, any hope you might’ve had about finally coming clean to him about your feelings was completely dashed to the ground. Unlike the fanciful dreams that dominated your hours of your sleep that night—few but seeming to stretch on forever in your dreamscape of rainbow love and fairy dust—Jaehyun wasn’t interested in a relationship with you—not romantic, not sexual. You had stood there that morning in your new room, after all your stuff had been moved there, with your face cradled between Jaehyun’s hands and his body almost flush with your own, as he sucked you into another one-sided conversation. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have acted out that way. I should be protecting you, not the one hurting you. Please forgive me.” He had entreated, looking glum and downtrodden, thoroughly disappointed in himself. You wanted to tell him that there was nothing to forgive—on the contrary, last night was one of the happiest moments in your life. To touch him, to be one with him, was your longest-lasting dream, and he had given you that last night. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t regret it, but you’d only be exposing yourself to the man who obviously wasn’t on the same page as you.

“I was just so angry and drunk and I tried to prove my point in a really fucked up way. I crossed a line I never dreamed of crossing. I laid my hands on you, my little angel. I hurt you.” He had almost sobbed, clearly distressed and regretful. It broke your heart, because it hurt seeing him in pain, but more so because of the reason for it. In his inconsiderate view that you’re a child and it’s wrong for him to desire you, he deprives you of your own capacity to be a sexual being and have desires of your own for him.   “When you said that thing about not coming here if you had known I would act that way… fuck, that killed me. I couldn’t sleep. It’s all I can about, that I was so stupid that I let my anger put us in danger. I would never forgive myself if I was the reason I lost you. I’m so sorry.” He leaned down even closer to you, eyes boring into your soul and breath gently fanning over your lips in what would’ve been a thrilling prelude to a fiery kiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he was crushing your hopes at ever getting a kiss from him again at this very moment. “All I ever did was for you. Please understand that.” You felt like crying. This wasn’t the fairytale confession you’ve been dreaming of. It seemed foolishly asinine now, but last night you had actually got yourself to thinking you might have a chance with your childhood love. You convinced yourself that the reason he was so riled up was because he felt the same way about you and he got so jealous he couldn’t control himself, like the Tsundere male lead of a cringey drama. But there were no hidden motives behind his protectiveness, and you were left having to continue the scene alone and pretend that the tears that were now streaming down your face were the result of his brash actions last night and not the words he said trying to take them back now as he waited breathlessly for your response, hanging his life on your next words.   “Of course, oppa. I understand.”                                   •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• That had been the start and end of your romance with Jaehyun, a pitiful thing that died even before it was born—or so it had seemed. For a while, Jaehyun seemed truly remorseful about how he acted that night, and he was back to the old Jaehyun you knew, patient and gentle; the furious and impulsive man you had seen that night nowhere to be seen… until you drew him out of hiding, unintentionally this time. “What the hell, Jaehyun? Did you like send out a memo to all the guys on campus to stay away from me or something? You’re ridiculous!” You shout as you burst through the door, your fury preceding you to lash at the unsuspecting man sitting on the living room couch. “I didn’t. You can talk to whoever you want to.” He answers noncommittally, pretending to be oblivious to your actual meaning, but you could see the understanding in his eyes.   A couple of months had passed since then; it made you forget the fearsome side of Jaehyun that he’d shown you for the first time that night, or maybe you were gullible enough to believe you’d seen the end of it, so you innocently make the mistake of confusing his current evasiveness for guilt. But that side of him was still here, perhaps it always was, and it wasn’t guilt he was feeling.   “Stop with the bullshit, Jaehyun. You know that’s not what I meant. Did you warn people not to hook up with me?” You stand in front of him, towering over his seated form and glowering down at him with all your might. By all means, you should be the intimidating party in this situation but Jaehyun doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even bother standing up in order to be level with you. He just glares back at you in a way that makes you feel like a student being given a timeout by their teacher. You had no doubt he’d done it, there was no other explanation as to why you suddenly couldn’t get hookup when you had no trouble finding one before, and all the guys you tried to talk to would try to get away from you as fast as possible as if you had some kind of new, highly contagious, highly incurable STD. Jaehyun is a popular guy, friends with all the guys and crushed on by all the girls. He’s a guy’s guy and the definition of boyfriend material. Not to mention that he is a member of the biggest fraternity on campus. He can be extremely intimidating when he wants to, something you had been aware of ever since you were a kid but had never experienced directly before that night; no one ever dared bully you and when Jaehyun decided that someone was bad news, they weren’t allowed near you again. In short, Jaehyun had both the motive and the means to pull something like this off. You’re not usually one to care what people think of you, but the knowledge that essentially everyone on campus now knows that you’re being cockblocked by your overbearing brother figure is fucking mortifying. “Why were you trying to hook up with someone in the first place?” His voice was calm, but of the deceptive kind, the kind where all the anger had reached a singularity, lulling you into thinking it’s not there, only for it to eat you up when you get closer. “T-that’s not the point!” You falter, somehow feeling like you’re the one who had things to answer for.  “Did you or did you not—“ “Yes, it is.” He spit out, shutting you up. “We had a deal.” “Fuck your deal. This whole thing is dumb anyway. I don’t need you to parental control me. I’m a grown woman and I want sex.” You curse at him, but it sounds insolent and whiny in your shrill and jittery voice, like a sixteen year old petulantly declaring to her dad that she’s not a child anymore. “You can have sex when you’re in a long term committed relationship.” He says with finality as if he was already done discussing this, not the least bit convinced or amused by your act. His words didn’t upset you so much as his dismissiveness of the need for your input on your own sex life had. Jaehyun was never this unreasonable. Yes, he always had strong opinions when it came to you, but he made sure to explain clearly and patiently why he thought what he thought and, almost always, that was enough to convince you that he was right. There were some instances when you weren’t completely convinced by his reasoning, but those were few and far between and he had shown you time and time again that he only wanted the best for you so you always ended up listening to him anyway. You were forever his good girl, but that was because he was a good oppa. Now he was acting more like an overbearing parent than a protective older brother, and it frustrated you. “That could be years from now. I’m horny. I need to have sex now!” “Don’t speak that way. Are you an animal that you can’t control your urges?” He hisses, and you flinch back at the clear distaste in his voice, making tears start to bubble up behind your eyelids. You were entirely out of your depth dealing with a Jaehyun that was on the offensive, let alone a Jaehyun who was looking at you like you disgusted him. Does the thought of you having sexual needs like anyone else repulse him that much? You get that you’re like a sister to him, but you’re not actually related and the fact that the man you love, and have sexual thoughts about, finds the idea of you being sexual so revolting makes you want to cry. But you can’t cry. Because then Jaehyun would try to do anything to stop you from crying, even if he has to go as far as to lie and claim that he does want you. You have a theory that if you ever come to confess your love to him, he might just pretend that he loves you too just so he wouldn’t hurt you. He’d date you, marry you, be with you forever, if that would make you happy even if it came at the cost of his own happiness. No, you’d rather face the truth than live a lie. You don’t want to cry, so you get angry. “I’ll talk however the hell I want. I’m horny and I want to be fucked. I want a dick in my pussy. I want a dick in my mouth. Hell, I’d even take a dick in my ass at this point.” “___.” He growls in warning, but you couldn’t stop now if you wanted to. “Oh, you know what? Why don’t I have all those at once. I should just go to a bar and have a group of guys gangbang me—“   “Shut up!” He bellows suddenly, making you almost jump out of your skin. You stand shaking like a leaf in front of his full wrath. Suddenly, crying doesn’t seem like a bad idea. Jaehyun would soften immediately, scooping you up in his arms and whispering sweet lies into your ear until you’re smiling again. It’s a jarring thing, him being the source of your anxiety yet the only one who can ease it. He frightens you yet you want to fall into his arms and be safe within them.   Jaehyun closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. You think he’s trying to calm himself down but when he opens them again, you’re hit with a nauseating sense of dejavu—there in his eyes is the same look he had that night, a furious ravenousness, like he could just eat you whole. The chill that shoots down your spine curiously embeds itself in your lower stomach then spreads out, leaving a warm, tingling ache in its place that you knew too well, and that Jaehyun was frequently the cause of. Maybe you were fucked up, but the dangerous air that curled and slithered around him right now swallowed all the meager defiance you had mustered within you, and dragged out the pathetic submissiveness you have towards the man in front of you by the teeth. Your eyes were glued to his, like a small animal hypnotized, and you see them going down your body as if to size you up, only to stop midway and fixate on something, his jaw clenching. Following where his gaze had settled, you realize with horror that you’ve unconsciously been rubbing your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to ease the ache burning between them. For an immeasurable amount of time, Jaehyun’s looks as if he’s in pain as conflicting emotions flit over his face, none of them readable to you which only makes you all the more distressed. Will he send you off in anger? In disgust? God, please anything but that.   All at once, his face is wiped clean, and you watch as he leans back on the couch, his frame affecting a stance of relaxation and calm that leaves you breathless and anticipating the worst. “Come here.” He orders, running a hand over one of his thighs deliberately. “Oppa?” You hesitate, not comprehending what he wanted from you, or not daring to. “Don’t make me repeat myself now, angel.” He warns, tapping his thigh impatiently. You don’t want to disobey him, yet you still hover where you are, buzzing with uncertainty and making little jerky half-movements to follow his order only to yank yourself back right away. You were scared that you were misunderstanding his intention, and even more scared that you weren’t. Suddenly, a hand wraps around your waist and yanks you down, Jaehyun propping you up where he wants you to be. Startled at the sudden drop, your body attempts to steady itself; your hands fly out to clutch at his shirt and your legs clench around his thigh that you were now straddling. Bad move, because now you could feel his toned torso underneath your palms, and your sensitive core was flush against his thick, muscular thigh.   “I’ve got you, angel.” He reassures you, but his husky voice so close to your ears only arouses you more, making you involuntarily buck your hips against him, your heat pushing down against his firm thigh and tearing a choked moan from your throat. Jaehyun stares at you, gaze calculating and trying to catch your own elusive one, “What’s the problem, angel?” “Nothing.” You bite your lip, avoiding his eyes, so he tangles a hand in your hair and tugs on it roughly, forcing you to look at him. “You will look at me when I’m talking to you. Is that understood?” His gaze is so sharp it could cut, and you can do nothing but nod meekly. That seems to appease him because he starts stroking your hair softly. But instead of being soothing, his touch burns you, building up your desire with every gentle stroke of his nails against your scalp, pleasurable but cautionary. “Now tell me.” You shake your head, scared to utter a word. You still didn’t know what he wanted. All you knew is what you wanted, and that is for him to keep touching you. There were so many ways for you to mess this up so you keep quiet. But Jaehyun didn’t like that. “It’s like you’re trying to piss me off.” He scoffs. His hands fall down to your hips and push them down, rubbing you against his thigh and making you cry out again, your hands fisting at his shirt and your eyes open wide. “Nothing, huh?” He goads you. Without intending to, you find yourself uttering out a small, “Please.” But it wasn’t enough for him, he wanted more. “What is it, angel? What do you want?” Why is he doing this to you? Is this a trick to get you to spill out your desire for him just so he could turn you away in disgust? No, Jaehyun would never hurt you like that. But that leaves only one other option… that he actually wants you. But that didn’t make any sense. He had told you himself that he regrets what he did that night. He seemed so sincere in his apologies too, much to your dismay. Yet, here he is, stone cold sober and trying to get you to tell him that you want him. Why?   Jaehyun didn’t like that you were taking this long to answer him. He props his thigh up, pushing it harder against your heat and increases his pace. “Didn’t you say something about being horny?” He prods, starting you off. Your brain starts to shut down, not caring if this was a trick or not anymore, too high off the maddening pleasure that was too little yet too much. “Yes.” You squeak, “I’m so, so horny.” “I can tell. Everyone can. Look at the way you’re dressed.” He tsks, eyeing your skimpy outfit consisting of a plunging tank top and ultra short skirt with disapproval. His hands run up your body, finger slipping under the thin straps and pulling at them, only to make them snap back against your skin, stinging you. “You might as well have gone out naked with ‘fuck me’ spray painted across your tits.” So there it is; this is what he wanted. All of this was just to make a point. You feel sick, the contents of your stomach turning over as you prepare for the ruthless rejection that is to come. But it never does. Instead, he engulfs your breasts in his large hands, kneading them over your paper-thin top. Your nipples instantly harden under his fingers and he pulls at them punishingly, but the pain and the pleasure are nothing but a dangerous cocktail to your touch deprived body, making you arch into his hands and whine. “Fuck, you’re not even wearing a bra.” He growls, pulling your tank top down under your breasts. “Didn’t we agree that you’d be a good girl? Is it too much to ask you to control yourself? Are you incapable of shutting your legs?” “I can.” You insisted, feeling his thumbs circle around your nipple teasingly and pulling away every time you try to push your breasts against his hands.   He scoffs at your answer, and pinches your nipples again. “You’re dripping on my leg.” Your eyes fly down, and sure enough, there is a big wet patch where your crotch met his thigh, your arousal having drenched through your panties and onto his sweatpants, making a mess. “You’re hopeless.”  He mutters as he leans down towards your breasts. His tongue swirls around a nipple, and you arch your back again, trying to push more of it into his mouth. He gives you what you want, but not without a price. He opens his mouth wide, engulfing your areola and sucking harshly on it, then he pulls on the nipple with his teeth, just hard enough to sting but not to actually hurt you. You whimper and moan under the assault, sharp pleasure stabbing through you as you desperately rut against his thigh trying to find some relief. “That’s right, baby girl. Hump oppa’s leg like the little slut you are.” He pops your nipple out of his mouth and starts moving to the other one, laying kisses between your breasts on his way. Taking your other nipple into his mouth, he gives it the same treatment while his fingers flick the one he just left and his hand kneads your breast. Your eyes roll back and you moan loudly, his wet, bruising kisses making you lose your mind. “Fuck, oppa, I’m wanna cum.” You cry, your hand dropping to your crotch and trying to slip underneath your shorts so you can finish yourself, but Jaehyun catches it quickly, he glaring at you. “Did you ask permission to do that?” “No oppa.” You whimper, your wrist frail in comparison to his large hand and the vice grip he has around you. “Are you so turned on by your oppa that you forgot your manners?” “I’m sorry, oppa.” You wail, “I just need to cum, please.” He regards you with cold eyes for a moment, looking displeased. Suddenly, he scoops you up and hauls you to his room. Once inside, he makes quick work of your clothes then pulls you to the floor, seating you on his lap facing his full length mirror with your back is to his chest. He pulls your legs wide apart, planting your feet on the ground and ordering you to keep them there.   “Look in the mirror.” He orders, fondling your breasts with one hand as he kisses your neck, tongue darting out to lick a trail down your neck. His other hand travels down to your pussy, fingers skimming over your slit teasingly. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head, embarrassed to see yourself so exposed, especially when he himself was still fully clothed. Jaehyun bites down on your neck and gives your breast a punishing squeeze, growling at you, “I said look.”   When you open your eyes, the sight of yourself reflected in the mirror flushes your face with a red, bursting heat that spreads down your neck and over chest. “Do you see what you look like?” Jaehyun breathes in your ear, his fingers spreading your pussy lips wide open. “You look like a whore, cheap and easy. This is how everyone sees you when you insist on going out dressed like that, searching for a dick to sit on. Is this what you want?” You shake your head vehemently, and answer in a small voice. “No.” “Then why do you insist on being a whore?” He snarls, frustrated. “I’m just horny.” You mouth, sound barely leaving your mouth. “Then you come to me. I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” His fingers swirl around your clit, making you dizzy, and murmurs into your hair like a promise. “Always.” When he starts rubbing the pads of his fingers firmly and incessantly against your clit and sucking bruises onto your neck, your minds fogs over, causing you blurt to out, “But you’re not my boyfriend.” “Hmm, so what?” He spits out and suddenly plunges two of his fingers into your dripping hole. Startled by the sudden stretch, your legs spasm, trying to close shut, but Jaehyun hooks his ankles over yours and keeps you spread wide. “You said I shouldn’t have sex with anyone who isn’t my boyfriend.”   “I said you shouldn’t fuck around. But you’re a woman now and you have needs like you said. I can help you take care of that and protect you from what’s out there. I can keep you safe until he comes.” He cajoles, kissing the sensitive skin under your ear and curling his fingers inside of you. “Do you want that, baby?” “Yes,” Later, you’d try to tell yourself that the word that came out of you so readily was a mere reaction to his fingers finding that sweet spot inside of you, but it would be useless. “That means keeping your legs shut around everyone but oppa. Think you can do that?” He dumbs it down for you. “Yes, oppa.” Your voice quivers as you feel your high building up. Pumping his fingers faster in and out of you, he angles it just right to hit that sweet spot every time. The pleasure inside you was reaching critical mass; you just needed a trigger, which he grants you when he turns your head back towards him, humming a ‘good girl’ against your lips then kissing you. You pant and moan against his mouth as you climax, making it easy for him to push his tongue inside your mouth. When you instinctively wrap your lips around his tongue and suck lightly, you’re rewarded with the sexiest moan that has ever graced your ears. You never want this to stop, and he’s kind enough to stay like that for a few minutes, fingers wedged deep in your pussy and his mouth and tongue locked with your own in a messy makeout session. Eventually though, Jaehyun slips his fingers out of you and presses a last peck against your saliva coated lips before pulling back to look at you, eyes clouded over and lids drooping. “You’ll be good, won’t you, angel?” He implores you in his sweet husky voice, and how can anyone expect you to say no?   “I will.” He smiles at you, not a toothy smile but still warm and happy and it makes your heart swell. Heart bursting at the seams and eager to please him more, you turn around in his embrace and direct your attention to his hard length that’s been poking against your back for some time now, intending to return the favor. But when you reach out for it, his hand shoots out to stop you and the smile falls from his face. You feel uneasy at the sudden change in his demeanor, but you courageously power though anyway. “Let me take care of you too, oppa.” “There is no need. I can take care of it myself.” He says emotionlessly. “I know but wouldn’t it feel better if I helped you?” You croak, feeling your heart pounding erratically against your rib age. “I said no.” He barks, and you shrink back. He sighs in annoyance at your reaction and rakes a hand through his hair. “Just… I don’t need you to touch me, ok?” “Of course. It’s no problem.” You choke back your tears, “Can you, um, let go of me?” Jaehyun was still holding your wrist in his hand, staring at you and looking as if he doesn’t have any intention of releasing you soon. You know he can see the tears brimming in your eyes, and you start preparing yourself mentally for the forced coddling that is to come, knowing it will only make you feel worse. But for the first time ever, Jaehyun pretends that he doesn’t see your tears, and lets you go.                                     •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• A/N: Is this story falling apart yet? I’m nervous, please donate some feedback to this starving artist.

Fifty-one years (and one day) later

Part 2/3 

Read Part 1 or read on (ao3)

Summary: Dave doesn’t die in the war and Klaus has no reason to leave the past. Fifty-one years on and he finds himself back at the time he left the world he knew, now eighty years old. He decides to pay his siblings a visit. 

“Klaus!” He heard Diego calling after him, but he kept his eyes on the pavement in front, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He was sober the vast majority of the time, thank-you-very-much, but times like these, he needed something to take his mind off things. A knife sailed past his ear, whistling as the blade loped off a lock of hair.

He dropped his cigarette in shock, bringing his hand up to his ear. “What the fuck, Diego!”

“You d–d–don’t get to fucking walk away from this!” He turned to see his brother storming down the street, still sporting that ridiculous black leather vigilante get-up. His voice was cracked with threatening sobs as he carved a path through the crowd. People were staring, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Hey, woah there, calm down,” Klaus said, holding his hands out in a stopping motion, “you’re making a scene.”

“Oh yeah, what about the scene you made b–back there, walking in here after w–what – fifty years!” He pushed Klaus’ hands aside.

Klaus chuckled, much to Diego’s despair. “That was pretty good though, you have to admit.” Diego snarled. “Oh ok, fine. But if you do come to my funeral, I want you and Luther to fight just like you did at Dad’s – and no holding back this time. I want blood!” Diego grabbed him by the shoulders. Klaus thought he heard his bones crack. “You wouldn’t choke-slam a poor, frail old man now would you?” He cried, feigning distress. He couldn’t stop laughing, and every bought made Diego all the more furious.

“Stop fucking laughing, you hear me! S–stop!” There were tears in his eyes. Klaus had done it again, he’d gone too far.

“Aww come on Diego, I’m sorry, hey –“ he gave his brother a pat on the shoulder as he crumbled, laying his head on Klaus’ shoulder. “Hey, stop crying bro.” People were definitely staring now. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private,” he said, eyeing the onlookers. Diego nodded and straightened up, trying to hide his tears. Klaus led him away, back along the street to the alley that ran along the side of the academy building. “Hey,” he cried at the amassing crowd, “nothing to see here, move along.”

…

“You feeling better Diego,” Klaus asked, patting his brother on the back. They were leaning against the wall, far from prying eyes. Diego seemed to have gotten over the initial shock of it all, his breathing was deepening, tears drying. He was better, but far from okay. Klaus lit another cigarette, was wasn’t about to do this unaided.

“I should have looked for you, after I busted the motel, I should’ve helped you.”

“Wouldn’t have made any difference, I was long gone by then, there was nothing you could’ve done.”

“Well maybe we could’ve given you a reason to come back.” He looked at Klaus – down now, instead of up, he’d shrunken in on himself in his old age – searching for the remnants of the person he knew from just days prior. The image of the man he’d always seen as his little brother, the one he always had to protect and keep out of trouble, was fading fast. “Would it really have been as easy to come back as Five said?”

“Yeah,” Klaus sighed, not meeting his brother’s eyes, “yeah it would have.”

Diego scoffed, shaking his head. “Then why the hell didn’t you, man?”

“You really wanna know?” He asked, tilting his head up towards the blue strip of sky running above the alleyway. “Okay then,” he sighed, breathing out a puff of smoke. “I fell in love.” Diego chuckled to himself. “No, dude, I’m serious,” he insisted.

“And that was enough –“

“To stop me from coming back to this hell-hole? Sure it was. There was nothing here for me, Diego, I was a junkie, I’d been pouring my life down the gutter since I was thirteen, and I was running on empty.”

“And what about us?” What about me, his eyes said. “Five says the world is ending, do you even care?”

“Oh come on Diego,” he cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you’ve really gotta make this hard for me don’t you. For your information, I didn’t know the world was ending for real, I thought Five was just trying to get me to pretend to be his dad–“

“You did what?”

Klaus shushed him and continued. “– I just came by to give Five his little time machine, maybe tell you what I’d been up to, then let you all get on with your lives in peace.”

“But now –“

“But now apparently the world is ending in three days, which is fine by me I’ve got nothing left to live for, but you…” he trailed off, looking at his brother with sorrow in his eyes.

“You know, to be fair, I don’t have a whole lot going for me either,” Diego shrugged.

“You’ve got a future. Allison’s got her daughter, Vanya has a regular life ahead of her, Luther’s got… well he’s got nothing but we love him anyway. Even Five has some sort of weird old-man-child life of crime on the horizon – and that’s forgetting everyone else on the planet.”

“But you’re not going to help,” Diego finished for him, looking defeated.

“Look, even if I wasn’t eighty and not able to walk ten yards without putting my back out, I’m still useless to you. My power’s only gotten weaker over the years – that’s years of unabided recreational drug use, mind – and even if they hadn’t, how could I possibly help avert some sort of world–crushing cataclysm anyway?”

“I don’t know man, Five seems to think we need everyone together to fight this thing.”

“Well, tell him I’m out. If we only have three days left, I’m going to get high at the graveyard and talk to him one last time.”

“Him?”

“Diego, Diego,” he sighed, “are you seriously that fucking clueless.”

“So you loved him then, for your whole life… I can’t even imagine.” He thought of Eudora, gone now, but never really his. She was right, they never would have lasted even if they had given things another shot.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and Diego watched as his old eyes looked back into his memories, happier days, simpler days. A deep, yearning nostalgia one could only acquire after living through the greatest experiences, and the worst hardships, that life had to offer. “It was wonderful. After the war I moved back to Kansas with him, old country house on a farm and everything. We went out to the city for a while once every year or two, experienced the high-life, but I liked the quiet… less ghosts lurking around.”

“Wait, the war?”

“Yeah, bro, Vietnam.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s incredible, I guess all of dad’s combat training paid off after all.”

Klaus chuckled “yeah, and speaking of, back in ’71 I punched dad in the face so hard he blacked out right there on the street.”

“What, seriously?’ He said, incredulous.

Klaus nodded with pride, “Yeah, man. I just saw him one day walking around outside the academy – before it was even called an academy – and I just thought, you fucking bastard and then – wham!” Klaus mimed punching through the air.

“What did he say?”

“Ow,” he laughed, “he didn’t have time to say much else.”

“What if you’d, like, changed time or something, by punching him in the face?”

“You know, I did think about that after, like what if getting punched in the faced rocked his brains so bad he forgot about his need to purchase seven children and abuse them all their lives.”

“Or it rocked his brains so hard he decided he wanted to do that in the first place.”

“Eesh,” he cringed, "that’s a disturbing thought. My thinking was, he’d probably just lay awake at night wondering who that gangly hippie bastard was that absolutely pounded his ass.”

“Serves him right – god he was a piece of work.” And here they were, complaining about Dad as if they were fifteen again, smoking out the back of the house, finally coming to realise what an asshole Sir Reginald really was after years of dancing to his tune. They were laughing, as if this were just another ordinary day.

“Did you ever see us – as kids I mean?” Diego asked.

“Well, I was curious, it’s not exactly something you get to see everyday, but I tried my best to stay clear of this city. I wanted to leave that part of me behind for good.”

“Well I can understand that, wanting to forget everything and start fresh. I wanted to do that, back after Ben died and you left, but the past always catches up – and here I am.”

“I tried to run, my whole life I tried, but it all caught up to me too, and here I am,” he sighed, “same as you.” Klaus looked down at the floor. Ever since Dave had died, he’d had a lot of time to reflect, time to question his decision to leave his family behind. Just a few months ago, he wouldn’t have dreamed of coming back to this place, facing them all one last time, he thought maybe it would be better for them to think he’d just disappeared off the face of the earth. “Should I have come back at all?” He thought of Diego’s tears, his anger, Allison’s horrified disbelief, even Five had seemed upset - though for him or the fate of the world he wasn’t sure.

“What do you mean,” Diego replied, as if Klaus had just said something unbearably stupid. “Of course you did the right thing, it would have been torture, living every day not knowing if you were dead or in pain somewhere.”

“Well, it’s not like you seemed to care before.” He knew how immature he sounded, like some whiny kid instead of the wise old wizard vibe he was pulling off nowadays. “I didn’t see you for thirteen years before dad’s funereal, I didn’t see any of you, and when I came back you’d all moved on with your lives, but I was still the same stunted little asshole you all know and tolerate.”

“You don’t think I cared?” Diego levelled his gaze, looking at him with an earnest sort of sadness. Despite his tough-guy front, he was probably the best out of all of them at understanding how others were feeling. “I had that stupid police radio on all through my time at the academy and every day since, because I knew you were out there somewhere on the streets almost every night, about to OD on all that crap you were taking. If anything had ever happened to you I just know I would’ve blamed myself for not being there for you.” His sadness was building itself into rage again. He screwed up his face, turning away. “I was supposed to protect you.”

“What difference does it make, Diego, I lived a way better life than I ever could have back here. Isn’t that enough?”

“I suppose,” he seemed unconvinced, “but we were all meant to grow up together, we’ve been together since before we can remember, I guess I thought that meant something.”

Klaus didn’t know what to say, of course it meant something, but it was something that every single one of the Hargreeves children had been running from their whole lives. It had never occurred to Klaus that it could be something to be embraced. “This is really messing you up, huh?” This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Somehow Klaus had pictured the whole thing as more of a comedic affair. He’d walk in, old and decrepit, his sibling would be shocked and he’d laugh it off, and he would go back to living in his own little world of pretending not to care. He’d kept secrets for so long, from Dave - who’d ask about that briefcase he kept duct-taped shut and padlocked under the floorboards where no one could find it, who always asked about his past and was met only by vague answers and the occasional name. He’d also kept secrets from himself, as he’d spent so long trying to remember his siblings in a way that justified him leaving and never turning back – he didn’t regret his decision, but that didn’t stop the guilt he felt as he watched Diego now.

“Yeah,” was all he said. Klaus couldn’t stand much more of this.

“Well,” he clapped Diego on the shoulder, but he didn’t look up from the ground, staring intently at nothing. “Sounds like you have world to save, best of luck – and I’m being serious this time.”

“Thanks,” he replied, shoving Klaus’ hand away and straightening up. He still seemed angry, subdued. He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll see you again, brother,” his voice was stony. Klaus’ heart sank.

Klaus flashed him a sad smile, “I wouldn’t count on it.” Diego glared at him and turned away, walking but out onto the street.

When he was sure the he was gone, Klaus turned around to face the figure that had been standing behind him, watching, silent in contemplation. Ben. He would usually butt into Klaus’ conversations, a sarcastic comment or scolding remark. These past few minutes, however, he’d been silent. “I’m surprised, Ben, I would’ve thought you’d have something to say by now.”

“Oh, I have plenty to say, but it’s hard enough just getting close to you – what the hell did you do to yourself?” And there he was, back on his case even after all this time.

“In between the drugs and the debilitating old age, I’m not quite the seance that I used to be.”

“Clearly.”

Klaus scoffed, “rude.” He couldn’t tell how Ben was feeling, he was just standing there, hands in his pockets, staring. “You’re not angry?”

“I’m still trying to figure out what I’m feeling. You disappeared, Klaus, I spend a day in purgatory or wherever it is souls go when you aren’t around to host the party, and then suddenly I feel your presence again, faintly, and I find you like this, I mean, what the hell Klaus?”

“You know, I’m hearing just a teensie bit of angry,” he teased.

He rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you.”

“You still going to hang around – it’s not like I have a whole lot of time left, and apparently the apocalypse is coming so there’s that too.”

“Well it’s either this or nothingness, so I think I’ll stick around your sorry ass a while longer.” He smiled, and Klaus returned the gesture. “And, Klaus,” he added, “I’m happy for you. All this time I was afraid you were never going to actually start living your life, but you actually got your shit together for once. I mean, who would’ve thought you’d make it past forty, let alone eighty.”

“Aww, Ben, you’re so supportive.” He was only a little sarcastic. He put out his cigarette, quenching the flame against the old brick of the academy, just like he used to as a kid. “Do you think you could help me out with something?” he asked as he walked out from between the two buildings, Ben stalking behind, a persistent shadow. “I need to contact someone I’ve lost.”

…

Five was waiting impatiently in the entrance hall when Diego finally let himself back into the academy. “Diego,” he said, “did you talk to him?”

He sighed, collecting his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah I did.”

“And?”

“And what? He won’t help us Five, what did you expect? Besides, I don’t know what sort of help we’d need from him anyway.” His lip was quivering, and he struggled to get the words out. “He’s j–just a stupid old man now anyway.”

“Did he tell you why he stayed?”

Diego chuckled to himself, “he fell in love, if you can believe it. Some guy he soldiered with in Vietnam. It’s crazy…”

“I see,” Five said, simply. He’d already stopped listening. He looked down towards the briefcase still lying on the floor where Klaus had left it. “Very disappointing,” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t proud of what he was thinking, but there was only one way to stop the apocalypse. They needed the full force of the academy, Klaus included, and there was only one reason he had abandoned them.

After all, what was one life against seven billion?

The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest Part 11/? - The Marvelous History of Sir Stephen Part 12/? - Uninvited Guests Part 13/? - So That’s What It Does Part 14/? - The What and the Where Part 15/? - Gearing Up Part 16/? - Just Passing Through Part 17/? - Dinner with Druids Part 18/? - Kracness Henge Part 19/? - A Task Interrupted Part 20/? - The Red Death Part 21/? - Aphelion Part 22/? - The Stone Giants Part 23/? - Nat the Giant Killer Part 24/? - An Interrogation Part 25/? - Guilt Part 26/? - Rushman’s Brilliant Idea Part 27/? - Hunter in Hiding Part 28/? - Ridiculous Part 29/? - The Guy from Barton Part 30/? - Sherwood Forest Part 31/? - Buckeye’s Fall Part 32/? - Robin Hood Part 33/? - Fantasies and Consequences Part 34/? - Swords of Damocles Part 35/? - The Road to London Part 36/? - View from the Top Part 37/? - Storming the Castle Part 38/? - Beneath the Chapel Floor Part 39/? - Jurisdiction Part 40/? - Royal Assent Part 41/? - The Calm Before

I never have any idea how these stories get so long.

           The Queen got a phone call halfway through breakfast and wandered off to deal with whatever it was, leaving her guests to finish their breakfasts by themselves.  Servants cleared away plates and brought Sir Stephen seconds, thirds, and fourths, and offered everybody else tea to finish off with.  Sir Stephen looked like he was afraid he’d break the gilt-edged teacup if he so much as touched it, and held up a hand to refuse.

           “I would prefer ale, if you have it,” he said.

           Robin Hood took a cup and ignored the handle, instead drinking as if from a bowl.  He didn’t seem to like what he tasted.

           “This stuff’s weak,” he told the waiter.  “You got any of the other kind?  Coffee.  That’s the good stuff.”

           “Right away, Mr. Hood,” the waiter relied.  He was a very tall thin man with a bit of silver hair around the edges of a shiny bald head, and the expression on his face suggested that he had resigned himself to a very long day entertaining these strangers.  It made Nat wonder how often, exactly, the Queen brought random strange people home with her.  This couldn’t possibly be the first time.

           “I wouldn’t mind coffee, either,” Allen spoke up.

           “Two coffees,” the waiter nodded and looked at Nat.

           “I’m fine with tea,” she assured him.  Sharon and Sam, who already had their drinks, nodded.

           The waiter went to get the coffee made, and silence fell in the room.  Nat shut her eyes and savoured it for a moment.  A couple of the windows were open, and she could hear swans honking to each other in the palace gardens and traffic on the roads a long way off, but other than that the only sound was the clink of a spoon on china as Sam added sugar to his tea.  There hadn’t been a lot of silence in the past few days, and it seemed like something she should enjoy while it lasted.

           “I never thought I’d be having tea in Buckingham Palace,” Allen observed.

           “Me either,” Natasha said, then opened her eyes and looked at him warily.  Was this it? Were they going to have to keep pretending that they were a normal family and everything was okay?

           “Natasha?” he asked.  “It’s Natasha, right?”

           “It’s actually Natalia,” said Nat.  “I go by Natasha or Natalie, because those are more common in the west.  Honestly, you can call me whatever you want.”  She sipped her tea, and hoped he wouldn’t take that as an invitation to continue calling her Ginger Snap.

           Allen nodded and took a dee breath.  “When I said goodbye to you last night…” he began.

           “Do we have to talk about it?” asked Nat.

           “Yes,” he said.  “At least, I think we’d better.”

           For a moment she was torn.  Allen Rushman seemed like a decent person and it wasn’t his fault he was in this situation.  She didn’t want to break his heart, and yet if she were going to learn anything from this mess it had to be that truth was always better.  “I said what I said because I thought you needed to hear it,” she told him.  “It wasn’t… it wasn’t real.”

           “I know,” he replied.  “I just thought you were putting me up there as an excuse to leave me behind, and I figured if I were never going to see you again I just… I wanted to go out on something nice.  If I’d known you really were coming back for me, I wouldn’t have done that.”

           “Oh,” said Nat, surprised.  “Really?  You really thought we’d just leave you behind?”

           “I haven’t been the most useful guy on this trip,” said Allen, “and you didn’t want me here to begin with.”

           “If we were going to leave you behind because of that, we would have done it after Flotta,” said Nat.  

           “Why didn’t you?” he asked.

           That was a good question – and the honest answer to it wasn’t the one he wanted.  Truth was best, Nat reminded herself – even the truth that hurt people. Nobody learned anything from a lie. She did, however, tried to phrase that ugly truth as gently as possible.  “Because that would have been mean,” she said.  “You’d be all alone in a foreign country, and you weren’t in any shape to find your own way home.  We couldn’t just leave you there.”  Even when she’d been angry with him, Nat hadn’t intended to do that.

           “So you were stuck with me, huh?” he asked plaintively.

           Nat groaned.  She couldn’t tell if he were being passive-aggressive or just whiny – either way, she really didn’t want to be having this conversation, but escaping from it would be cruel as well as rude.  “What do you want me to say?” she asked.

           “Nothing.”  Allen lowered his head.  “I’m sorry, I just want something to not be a lie.”

           “This is not a lie, Allen,” said Sir Stephen, and rapped on the table with his knuckles.  “We are eating at the Queen’s table – that is true.  You are flesh and blood, you are surrounded by friends, and we are on a quest to save the land.  You are a good man, though not a warrior, and you love your daughter.  All of these things are true.  If we cannot trust to our histories or even to our memories, we can trust in the moment we are experiencing, and this is real.”

           The waiter returned with coffee in silver-plated cups that Natasha suspected had last been used by Queen Victoria.  He handed the first one to Allen, who thanked him and then held the coffee under his nose to smell it.

           “Yeah,” he said quietly.  “That’s real.”

           The Queen returned about twenty minutes later, by which time Allen had gotten up to admire the art, and Robin Hood had lain down on one of the fancy chaise lounges under the window and was fast asleep and snoring.  The Queen shuffled up to him and poked him in the ribs.

           “Wakey-wakey,” she said.

           Robin woke with a start and quickly got to his feet. “Sorry, your Majesty.”

           “Princess Alexandra embroidered those cushions herself,” said the Queen.  “Every stitch.  Good to see somebody finally using them.”  She turned to the others, who were gathering to see what she had to say. “General Fury wants you back at the Tower to inspect his preparations,” she said.  “Since you’re the ones who know what this Red Death character is capable of.”

           Nat didn’t know about anybody else, but she was pleased to have an opportunity to get back in the action – even if it meant leaving the silence behind.  “Of course, your Majesty,” she said.

           “I do not think the fortification has been built that could stop the Red Death completely,” said Sir Stephen, “but we can perhaps hope to slow him down a little.”  He finished the mug of beer the waiter and brought him, and set it carefully down on the table.  “If everyone else is ready?”

           The others didn’t look particularly ready, Natasha thought.  They looked like they’d much rather join Robin Hood in sleeping on the priceless antique sofas.  But one by one they stood up, straightened their clothes, and nodded.  Even Allen Rushman – he didn’t want to be here, but if the others were calling on him, he was ready to go.  It made Nat feel bad about thinking of him as a coward.  He was braver than even he thought.

           If the Tower had been a hive of activity by the time they’d left at sunrise, that was nothing compared to how they found it when they returned, having had a chance to wash up and change their clothes before leaving, around noon.  The whole place had been thoroughly fortified, and there were almost as many soldiers in it as there were tourists on a normal day.  People were shouting orders.  Flowerbeds were being dug up.  The animal sculptures had been piled under a tent near the Royal Mint, and the bronze cannon moved to make way for what looked like an anti-tank gun.  A checkpoint had been set up at the main gate where the ticket takers usually were, and a man came up and saluted when the Queen’s limousine pulled up.

           “Can I see some identification, please?” he asked, as the group piled out of the car.

           “Oh, go find something useful to do,” the Queen told him.  Sir Stephen reached to help her get up from the car seat, but she swatted him away.  “I’m not dead yet,” she told him.

           The man who’d asked for ID bowed to her.  “I just need to make sure everybody’s cleared, your Majesty,” he said.

           “They’re with me – of course they’re bloody cleared,” the Queen said.

           They headed inside, and Nat realized there might be a problem with having all these people in here.  “I don’t know about the crowds,” she said.  “If the Grail can bring lies to life, do we really want so many potential liars in here?”  Any one of these men or women might be telling a lie right now… about their family, about what they did last night, about anything, really.  Most of them would be fairly harmless, but what about the ones that weren’t?

           “I know not,” Sir Stephen admitted.  “I do not like so many knowing its location, myself, but this is all too much for we alone to handle.”

           “If that thing just granted wishes willy-nilly we’d have heard about it by now,” the Queen said.  “There’s stories about all sorts of things going on here, but so far as I know none of it involves miracles.”

           Nat thought about that.  “I had the fragment in my hand when I was talking to Sue about my father,” she remembered, “and also when I told you guys I’d figured out where the Grail was.  Maybe it won’t work unless you’re touching it.”  She remembered the fluid snatching up the Queen’s pink clutch.  “Have you told people not to touch?”

           “Somebody better have,” said the Queen.  “Though I’d hope people would have the sense to figure that out for themselves.”

           When they rounded the White Tower to the chapel side, Natasha was startled to see a yellow mechanical shovel parked next to the ruins of the Wardrobe Tower, and people standing around in fluorescent vests and hard hats.  The archaeologist in her wanted to run up and demand to know what they were doing – the spy in her, knowing what was in the chapel, wanted the same.

           The man who came up to salute the Queen was the man with the glass eye, whom Natasha had earlier warned about horseshoes and ivy.  General Fury. “Your Majesty,” he said.

           “At ease, Nicky,” said the Queen.

           “What are you digging up?” Natasha demanded.

           General Fury looked a little offended for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure why he should answer to this stranger – then he caught the Queen’s eye, and saw her nod.

           “Her Majesty requested that we get the, uh, Grail, out of the White Tower basement so it can be properly disposed of,” he explained.  “The problem is, according to our architects, that the Grail was put there first and then the Tower was built over it. It’s twice the size of the basement door.  We obviously can’t tear the keep down, so we’re going to try digging a tunnel in from the side.”

           “What’s under the lawn there?” asked Natasha.  It was probably something historically important – this was the Tower of London, after all.  Even as she’d been digging up the basement floor, she hadn’t intended to damage any more of it than absolutely necessary.

           “Professor Gates is trying to figure that out right now,” said Fury, nodding to one of the people in the hard hats.  This was a man with a ginger beard and round, John Lennon-type sunglasses, peering at a computer printout.  “Professor!” the General barked.

           Professor Gates looked up, and did a double-take when he realized the Queen had arrived.  “Your Majesty!” he said, hurrying over with his printout in hand. “We tried to do a geomagnetic survey, but it turns out the power cables for the Royal Armories run right through here. We’ll need to bring in ground-penetrating radar.”

           “Whatever, get on with it,” said the Queen.  She turned to look back at the group.  “You lot are supposed to know your onions on this,” she said.  “Have you got any better ideas?  Is the Grail that whole mess, or just the black bogeys in the middle?”

           Nat shrugged.  She looked at Sir Stephen, but he didn’t know, either.  The only person who knew the answer might well be the Red Death himself, if even he did.  “Going in from the side sounds like about the only choice,” she said.  “We don’t know which part is the Grail, so we have to assume it’s the whole thing.”

           “You don’t know a damned thing about it, but neither does anyone else.”  The Queen snorted.  “Typical!”

With "A Letter to My Brothers," Prophetess Beth Moore Will be Remembered in Church History With the Likes of Martin Luther King Jr., Billy Graham, Anne Graham-Lotz, and Other Church Leaders

I think I can speak for many of us when I say we are neither interested in reducing or seducing our brothers. —Beth Moore

Beth Moore came out of her prayer closet one day and wrote a document akin to Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter From A Birmingham Jail.” By the grace of God, she showed the courage of Billy Graham, the eloquence of Martin Luther King Jr., and the authority and fierceness of Anne Graham-Lotz.

I long for the day—have asked for the day—when we can sit in round table discussions to consider ways we might best serve and glorify Christ as the family of God, deeply committed to the authority of the Word of God and to the imitation of Christ. —Beth Moore

One of the reasons the letter is so great is because she was extremely careful not to do the whiny, pity-party thing that unfortunately is so common in some women. No, she stood flat-footed, if you will, and delivered with authority what the church needed to hear. Beth Moore, all of the pain you have endured has brought you “to such a time as this.”

Here is the document that will be read in church history books long after Beth Moore has left her death bed.

A Letter to My Brothers

Dear Brothers in Christ,

A few years ago I told my friend, Ed Stetzer, that, whenever he hears the news that I’m on my deathbed, he’s to elbow his way through my family members to interview me about what it’s been like to be a female leader in the conservative Evangelical world. He responded, “Why can’t we do it before then?”

“Because you know good and well what will happen,” I answered. “I’ll get fried like a chicken.” After recent events following on the heels of a harrowing eighteen months, I’ve decided fried chicken doesn’t sound so bad.

I have been a professing Evangelical for decades and, at least in my sliver of that world, a conservative one. I was a cradle role Southern Baptist by denomination with an interdenominational ministry. I walked the aisle to receive Christ as my Savior at 9 years old in an SBC church and exactly nine years later walked the aisle in another SBC church to surrender to a vocational calling. Being a woman called to leadership within and simultaneously beyond those walls was complicated to say the least but I worked within the system. After all, I had no personal aspirations to preach nor was it my aim to teach men. If men showed up in my class, I did not throw them out. I taught. But my unwavering passion was to teach and to serve women.

I lack adequate words for my gratitude to God for the pastors and male staff members in my local churches for six decades who have shown me such love, support, grace, respect, opportunity and often out right favor. They alongside key leaders at LifeWay and numerous brothers elsewhere have no place in a larger picture I’m about to paint for you. They have brought me joy and kept me from derailing into cynicism and chronic discouragement amid the more challenging dynamics.

As a woman leader in the conservative Evangelical world, I learned early to show constant pronounced deference – not just proper respect which I was glad to show – to male leaders and, when placed in situations to serve alongside them, to do so apologetically. I issued disclaimers ad nauseam. I wore flats instead of heels when I knew I’d be serving alongside a man of shorter stature so I wouldn’t be taller than he. I’ve ridden elevators in hotels packed with fellow leaders who were serving at the same event and not been spoken to and, even more awkwardly, in the same vehicles where I was never acknowledged. I’ve been in team meetings where I was either ignored or made fun of, the latter of which I was expected to understand was all in good fun. I am a laugher. I can take jokes and make jokes. I know good fun when I’m having it and I also know when I’m being dismissed and ridiculed. I was the elephant in the room with a skirt on. I’ve been talked down to by male seminary students and held my tongue when I wanted to say, “Brother, I was getting up before dawn to pray and to pore over the Scriptures when you were still in your pull ups.”

Some will inevitably argue that the disrespect was not over gender but over my lack of formal education but that, too, largely goes back to issues of gender. Where was a woman in my generation and denomination to get seminary training to actually teach the Scriptures? I hoped it would be an avenue for me and applied and was accepted to Southwestern Seminary in 1988. After a short time of making the trek across Houston while my kids were in school, of reading the environment and coming to the realization of what my opportunities would and would not be, I took a different route. I turned to doctrine classes and tutors, read stacks of books and did my best to learn how to use commentaries and other Bible research tools. My road was messy but it was the only reasonable avenue open to me.

Anyone out in the public eye gets pelted with criticism. It’s to be expected, especially in our social media culture, and those who can’t stand the heat need to get out of the kitchen. What is relevant to this discussion is that, several years ago when I got publically maligned for being a false teacher by a segment of hyper-fundamentalists based on snippets taken out of context and tied together, I inquired whether or not they’d researched any of my Bible studies to reach those conclusions over my doctrine, especially the studies in recent years. The answer was no. Why? They refused to study what a woman had taught. Meanwhile no few emails circulated calling pastors to disallow their women to do my “heretical” studies. Exhausting. God was and is and will always be faithful. He is sovereign and all is grace. He can put us out there and pull us back as He pleases. Ours is to keep our heads down and seek Him earnestly and serve Him humbly

I have accepted these kinds of challenges for all of these years because they were simply part of it and because opposition and difficulties are norms for servants of Christ. I’ve accepted them because I love Jesus with my whole heart and will serve Him to the death. God has worked all the challenges for good as He promises us He will and, even amid the frustrations and turmoil, I would not trade lives with a soul on earth. Even criticism, as much as we all hate it, is used by God to bring correction, endurance and humility and to curb our deadly addictions to the approval of man.

I accepted the peculiarities accompanying female leadership in a conservative Christian world because I chose to believe that, whether or not some of the actions and attitudes seemed godly to me, they were rooted in deep convictions based on passages from 1 Timothy 2 and 1 Corinthians 14.

Then early October 2016 surfaced attitudes among some key Christian leaders that smacked of misogyny, objectification and astonishing disesteem of women and it spread like wildfire. It was just the beginning. I came face to face with one of the most demoralizing realizations of my adult life: Scripture was not the reason for the colossal disregard and disrespect of women among many of these men. It was only the excuse. Sin was the reason. Ungodliness.

This is where I cry foul and not for my own sake. Most of my life is behind me. I do so for sake of my gender, for the sake of our sisters in Christ and for the sake of other female leaders who will be faced with similar challenges. I do so for the sake of my brothers because Christlikeness is at stake and many of you are in positions to foster Christlikeness in your sons and in the men under your influence. The dignity with which Christ treated women in the Gospels is fiercely beautiful and it was not conditional upon their understanding their place.

About a year ago I had an opportunity to meet a theologian I’d long respected. I’d read virtually every book he’d written. I’d looked so forward to getting to share a meal with him and talk theology. The instant I met him, he looked me up and down, smiled approvingly and said, “You are better looking than _________________________________.” He didn’t leave it blank. He filled it in with the name of another woman Bible teacher.

These examples may seem fairly benign in light of recent scandals of sexual abuse and assault coming to light but the attitudes are growing from the same dangerously malignant root. Many women have experienced horrific abuses within the power structures of our Christian world. Being any part of shaping misogynistic attitudes, whether or not they result in criminal behaviors, is sinful and harmful and produces terrible fruit. It also paints us continually as weak-willed women and seductresses. I think I can speak for many of us when I say we are neither interested in reducing or seducing our brothers.

The irony is that many of the men who will give consideration to my concerns do not possess a whit of the misogyny coming under the spotlight. For all the times you’ve spoken up on our behalf and for the compassion you’ve shown in response to “Me too,” please know you have won our love and gratitude and respect.

John Bisagno, my pastor for almost thirty years, regularly said these words: “I have most often seen that, when the people of God are presented with the facts, they do the right thing.” I was raised in ministry under his optimism and, despite many challenges, have not yet recovered from it. For this reason I write this letter with hope.

I’m asking for your increased awareness of some of the skewed attitudes many of your sisters encounter. Many churches quick to teach submission are often slow to point out that women were also among the followers of Christ (Luke 8), that the first recorded word out of His resurrected mouth was “woman” (John 20:15) and that same woman was the first evangelist. Many churches wholly devoted to teaching the household codes are slow to also point out the numerous women with whom the Apostle Paul served and for whom he possessed obvious esteem. We are fully capable of grappling with the tension the two spectrums create and we must if we’re truly devoted to the whole counsel of God’s Word.

Finally, I’m asking that you would simply have no tolerance for misogyny and dismissiveness toward women in your spheres of influence. I’m asking for your deliberate and clearly conveyed influence toward the imitation of Christ in His attitude and actions toward women. I’m also asking for forgiveness both from my sisters and my brothers. My acquiescence and silence made me complicit in perpetuating an atmosphere in which a damaging relational dynamic has flourished. I want to be a good sister to both genders. Every paragraph in this letter is toward that goal.

I am grateful for the privilege to be heard. I long for the day – have asked for the day – when we can sit in roundtable discussions to consider ways we might best serve and glorify Christ as the family of God, deeply committed to the authority of the Word of God and to the imitation of Christ. I am honored to call many of you friends and deeply thankful to you for your devotion to Christ. I see Him so often in many of you.

In His great name,

Beth

Because of some of the things Beth Moore brought out in her “A Letter to My Brothers,” the president and owner of the parent company of BCNN1, Daniel Whyte III, led by God, took the liberty to change the Apostle’s Creed and the Nicene Creed.

Baptist Preacher and Gospel Light Society President, Daniel Whyte III, Updates the Apostles’ Creed to Better Reflect Important Details of Jesus’ Resurrection

Daniel Whyte III, who happens to be a Baptist preacher, but who, for nearly thirty years, has read the Apostles’ Creed in family devotions with his wife and seven children, has taken the liberty to update it for the first time in hundreds of years.

According to the Lexham Bible Dictionary, “The Apostles’ Creed seems to represent some form of what the early church called the ‘rule of faith.’ The early Christians were guided by the ‘rule of faith,’ the Holy Spirit working in community and individuals, and the authoritative Scriptures. Before the ‘rule of faith’ was called such, there were general references to the teachings and traditions of the apostles. It is these core teachings that make up the Apostles’ Creed. Signs of these ‘core teachings’ are seen as early as the New Testament book of Hebrews, which speaks of a need for Christians to grasp and embrace the basic concepts of faith so that they can move into deeper parts of their Christian faith, while at the same time realizing how essential it is that they never depart from a core belief in the real and living Christ. The Apostles’ Creed represents a set of uncompromisable core beliefs for Christians. The Apostles’ Creed, like all creeds, functions like a filter for orthodoxy; it indicates what is and what is not ‘Christian.’ It is a public profession of belief in historic Christianity.”

Whyte made the change in the Apostles’ Creed because he believes the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus Christ should be included in the historic Christian affirmation. He states, “Perhaps the most important aspect of the post-Passion record are Jesus’ appearances to His followers. Obviously, Satan and the enemies of Christ did not want news to get out that Jesus had risen from the dead. As Paul said in 1 Corinthians 15:14, ‘If Christ be not risen, then is our preaching vain, and our faith is also vain.’

“Thus, all of Jesus’ appearances after His resurrection are important, including His appearances to Mary Magdalene and the other women, His appearances to the disciples, and His appearance to over 500 brethren over the course of the 40 days following His resurrection. The record of these appearances in the Gospels and as recounted by Paul in 1 Corinthians 15 are important because they are eyewitness proof that Jesus was indeed alive in bodily form after His crucifixion.”

Whyte goes on to say, “The resurrection is a vital part of the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. It is the one thing that universally sets Christianity apart from all other religions. We follow a Savior, Master, and Teacher who is alive. We, and the world, need to be reminded of that. A statement describing Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances should be included in the Apostles’ Creed because it is a part of the Gospel message. If we’re going to name Pilate, let’s name Mary Magdalene, the other women, the disciples, and the over 500 brethren.”

He recommends that all parents have family devotions (which used to be called “family altar”) each day. For those who have little children, Whyte urges parents to teach their young ones about the faith using this ancient statement of Christian belief.

The updates to the creed are in red and underlined below:

The Apostles’ Creed

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, the Maker of Heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord:

Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried;

He descended into hell. The third day He arose again from the dead;

He was seen alive by Mary Magdalene and the other women, the disciples, and over 500 other brethren; He ascended into Heaven, and sitteth on the Right Hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Ghost; the holy church; the communion of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting.

Amen.

– BCNN1 Editors

With “A Letter to My Brothers,” Prophetess Beth Moore Will be Remembered in Church History With the Likes of Martin Luther King Jr., Billy Graham, Anne Graham-Lotz, and Other Church Leaders was originally published on BCNN1 - Black Christian News Network