#Mission Aviation Fellowship

[wisdomfish]

Do Not Be Discouraged, Jesus Builds His Church

In the late 1800s a Canadian pharmacist, Dr. William Leslie, sensed God calling him to use his medical skills to advance the gospel on the continent of Africa. He set out for the Democratic Republic of the Congo in 1895, joining the missions organization first pioneered by the famed Adoniram Judson in Burma. After a few years, Dr. Leslie met and married another missionary, and together they served in the DRC—offering medical treatment and the gospel.

In 1912, wanting to take the gospel to more remote indigenous people groups, the Leslies began to clear away dense—and reportedly leopard-infested—jungle along the Kwilu River to build the Vanga mission station. Some of the villages surrounding Vanga were still practicing cannibalism at that time. Clearing the jungle took immense effort and some time, but finally the Leslies built a home and a medical outpost along the river. They spent 17 years there, regularly setting out across the river from their station to offer both medical help and the gospel in a spiritually dark place.

It’s not totally clear what happened, but records show that after 17 years Dr. Leslie and his wife were asked by local tribal leaders to leave. There had been some kind of falling out and they were no longer welcome in or around Vanga. The Leslies abandoned their mission outpost and returned to the U.S. defeated—believing they had failed. They weren’t aware of any converts and certainly did not witness the planting of any churches. Dr. Leslie died nine years after his return, thinking his efforts in the DRC were in vain.

We’ll fast forward 100 years from where we left off with his story.

In 2010, a short-term mission team set out for the Vanga mission station. They did a little preliminary research and expected to find the tribal groups near there yet unreached.

They flew into Kinshasa on a commercial airplane. Then they took a Cessna, operated by Mission Aviation Fellowship, two and half hours to Vanga. They hiked a mile through the jungle to the Kwilu River and then used dug-out canoes to cross the half-mile wide river, to finally arrive at the mission station. The team then backpacked 10 miles further into the jungle before coming into contact with the Yansi, the same tribe that the Leslies had ministered to a whole century before.

The team leader from that 2010 expedition reports, “When we got in there, we found a network of reproducing churches throughout the jungle. Each village had its own gospel choir, although they wouldn’t call it that. They wrote their own songs and would have sing-offs from village to village.”

The team found a church in each of the eight villages they visited, scattered across 34 miles. They even found a 1000-seat stone “cathedral” in one of the villages. They were told that church got so crowded in the 1980s – with many walking miles to attend — that a church planting movement began in the surrounding areas.

They did some investigating and interviewing and discovered that the spiritual roots of this network of jungle churches went back to Dr. Leslie and his wife. The Leslies left the mission field dejected and discouraged, believing they had failed. Dr. Leslie died believing his work had been fruitless. But one hundred years later, the evidence says otherwise.

In Vanga and the surrounding villages, Jesus built his church. In spite of these missionaries’ perceived failure, even in spite of rejection and relational fallout, Jesus built his church.

~ Jen Oshman

#kinshasa #cessna #vanga #yansi #village people #dr. william leslie #canada #drc #mission aviation fellowship #kwilu river #cannibalism #adoniram judson #leopard #congo #burma

[latinapoetbts]

I Miss you when the lights go down

The warriors private formal was only one time a year and something we could enjoy and relax, cut loose and no one would care. Because every soul present would be returning if even for a night, to a time of youth, a time of innocence and naitavie. Youthful risk taking carefree times with no war of the worlds looming. A time that just for a few hours we could all feel free of our warrior training, hours, days and years of learning to kill by flight, by weapons, by knives and hands. I wanted it all, I wanted to feel carefree, take all the risks, and feel loved even for a night. Loved with no strings attached. But I wanted it all with him. I was beyond happy that he had decided to come after all. 

Him. Kim Taehyung, 1st Class Top Rank SF (special forces) Aviator from KorifilKan. I had started a professional warrior relationship with 1st Class Aviator Kim 3 years ago. I was 24 at the time when I was selected for the co-op warrior fellowship planet program, he was 21 when I met him. The COWFP program was designed to combine our planet's military force with neighboring plants in The Fellowship. Top Class Squadrons from each specialized unit from our planets participate in the military exchange in order to strengthen partnership and unify our militaries in the event of invasion. It was essential for us to know how to work together to defend our home planets. It was an honor to serve and protect our home planets and The Fellowship. I was a 1st Class Top Rank SF Aviator from my home planet of Soranifet. I spent two years in KorifillKan’s Aviator program learning their flight maneuvers and learning how to operate their flight crafts, civilian and military crafts. I learned how to execute offensive and defensive war strategies alongside Korifillkan warriors. It was two years I spent living with and alongside 1st Class Aviator Kim. He had then spent nearly two years in my home country learning from our Aviation team. I tried to keep my heart at bay but it was devastatingly difficult. Although it certainly wasn’t forbidden for us to fuck one another it was understood for us to not form romantic relationship with those from other neiborbing planets who served and commanded military forces. But we could fuck all we wanted. They had ensured that we could not reproduce while we served in the military. Women's eggs were frozen and tubes temporarily tied. Men were provided with temporary vasectomy and an option to freeze sperm. They wanted to ensure if we wanted to have children after our time served that we could.  

So yes I had done plenty of fucking during my time served but I knew I couldn’t cross that line with him. I knew for me it would never be just sex. It would never be just fun or stress relief. I knew if he touched me, if he kissed me, if we fucked, I’d loose my sanity. I knew I’d let cities burn to the ground before I’d ever let him leave my side. So I settled for a deeply connected friendship and tightly woven weaponized partnership. We had become so nsync we were an unstoppable pair. Whether it was hand to hand combat, on the ground rescue mission, arms fight or aviation. We were an undefeatable match.  I remember how we started, as a top class competitor's battle for top dog position in all battle areas. Sometimes he was number one and number I, number two, the rolls flipping back and forth. The need to bring him into submission to prove I was number one slowly transformed into a deep sensual tension I often just barely could keep from erupting. It was at the year and a half mark I noticed my change of feeling towards him starting to grow on me and my heart became soft for him. I hated myself for it but I just couldn't control what my heart wanted. All I could do was mask it for as long as I could. There were 10 months left in his 2 year program here with me. I hated to even think about how fast the time would go. Once the two years were up he would be required to return to his home country to complete his military duties there. I knew he wanted the life of a warrior, that he would more than likely retire as a high ranking commander. I knew I would not be continuing once my 10 years were up but I wasn’t sure what I would be doing career wise afterwards with my life, but the thing I knew I wanted the most was a family. But right now I didn't care, I just wanted to enjoy the time I had left with Tae Hyung. 

THE Warriors BALL:

It was my first time attending the ball because normally I would hang with the other few aviators who were not interested. I was interested but because Tae never went I also stayed behind to spend time with him. But this time I wanted to go and I told him I wanted to give it a try and suggested he should come too, just once. Last minute he texted me telling me he’d be there. 

I tried not to appear as if I was waiting for someone because I knew there were others who suspected I might have feelings or teased behind our backs because of how well we worked together. The rummer was if we were not fucking then we were telepathic. No one ever said the rummer to are faces because we both would not stand for that talk as high ranking aviators.  However, I often wondered if he could see through my front and if he did he never treated me differently but tonight I was determined to overcome the only fear I had. The fear of facing his rejection because tonight I was determined to make a move. I was going to risk it all and I wasn’t going to waste a moment longer. I wanted him and tonight I would do whatever it took to have him. 

I had downed a few more drinks to make sure I was feeling more confident. When I arrived I felt awkward because I never dressed in the type of outfits that other aviator women wore who were more bold and in touch with their femininity. This was a bit for me and a fellow female aviator helped me select something sexy and elegant. It was uncomfortable because I felt exposed and noticed how my fellow male soldiers eyed me up and down wherever I walked. I needed air. I walked to the balcony that connects to the formal hall. I wanted to be out of view of the entry to ensure Tae Hyung didn't find me looking longley at the entrance waiting for him. I leaned over the railing and allowed the air to caress my face as I gazed down the side of the 20 story building.

“Did you get tired of waiting for whatever loser who asked you to be their date because they thought it would help them get between your legs?” Damn, was he here this whole time I wondered. I took a deep breath and turned to face him. He looked fucking beautiful. No, no, he looked like a fucking sex god in a well taylored suit. I swallowed, feeling heat  rising at my core. Every cell of my body wanted him. 

“Here, I know it’s your favorite”. I grabbed the drink from his hand barely holding back a gasp from just the sight of him. I tried to think of something witty to say. Finally my brain started to work. I observed his gaze on me, his eyes blazing like burning amber, they looked almost hungry.

“First of all no losers are allowed the privilege to explore any part of me clothed or unclothed. And second….” I took a moment to down the drink, my eyes connecting with his as I watched his eyes raked my body head to toe.

“The only man I want between my legs tonight…” I blinked slowly as I closed the foot between us and grabbed his whiskey on the rocks from his hand, throwing my head back, finishing his drink in one go. I placed the glass down on a table to the left of where we stood, never breaking eye contact as I leaned forward ghosting my lips over the shell of his ear, stop being a coward and say it, I heard my heart speak. 

“Is. yoo–”. I was forced speechless as I felt his hand grip my hair yanking my head back while turning it towards him crashing his lips against mine. I moaned into his mouth as his tongue dove in entangling itself with mine in a sensual duel. I felt as if I was on fire by the heat that emanated from the two of us. I wrapped my arms around his neck, the fingers of one of my hands weaving in with his soft curls drawing him into me. I felt his grip on my hair soften as his other hand ran down the curve of my hip and ended with a rough grasp of my ass. I could feel him pressing my body hard into his chest smashed together and our lower parts just not close enough. I needed him and now. I could feel myself growing wetter as our moans melded into one. I’d let him fuck me right out here on the balcone. I had wanted  him for over 2 years and won't dare let this chance to feel him inside me tonight go.

I moaned in frustration when he broke our kiss but was pleased at his lips' relocation to my neck. I felt the tingle of pleasure surging through my body as he feasted sucking and licking at my neck. I whimpered with desire and could feel how wet I was between my legs. He guided us towards the wall of the balcony and away from the entrance back into the main hall, keeping us in the shadows where no one could see us. The cool touch of the wall against my shoulders was refreshing as my body burned with deep desire for him as I arched my back. He pulled away from my neck, his eyes taking in my face, his lips pink, wet, and flushed, I couldn't help myself but draw him into me. This time he led me in a sensual, slow wet kiss that had my knees buckling. He drew me closer to him, his hand groping my ass even harder. I thrusted my hips into him feeling just how hard his cock was as he ment my hip thrusting with his grinding. I wanted out of this fucking dress that was in the way of my feeling his skin. He continued to guide this slow sensual pace of our tongues caressing one another as he parted my legs with his knee, the slit of my gown widening. He placed his knee right on my heated wet center as he grinded into me. I was coming undone. I reached down grabbed my dress to split the slite then guided his hand from my ass to my throbbing dripping cunt, pressing his finger to my lace. 

“Touch me please. Please Tae–. I need you.”. He immediately began rubbing the pads of his fingers firmly against my wet clothed cunt. 

“Y/n, yo–ur so fuc—king wet. What a fucking sl—ut you are for m—e. I bet— you—d let me fu—ck you right—here—and n—ow…” he enunciated between his mouth marking, bruising my neck as I rutted against his fingers which had long since move my panties to the side, inserting two long digits in and out. The sensual squelching sounds of his fingers against the wet walls of my pussy and the sounds of his tongue lavishing my neck left me weak in the knees. 

“Ye–ss, Ta–e, you can fu—ck me any–where, go ahead—fu-ck me..ha–ve me… uhgh–”. He pressed harder into me feeling my body go weightless as my legs began to give out. I was in pure bliss and could feel my orgasm approaching, it was becoming difficult to muffle my moans. He takes my mouth once again as he picks up the pace with his fingers. I do everything I can not to cry out, I grab on to his wrist. He breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against mine, his fingers slowing down in pace, my legs quivering. 

“Fuck. I can’t stand not hearing you. I want to hear scream my fucking name”. He grunts and pulls my head back harder.  I whimper and squeeze my pussy against his fingers.

“Please, tae, I need you. Don’t stop…”.

“No. I want to hear you, I want to tear this fuck dress of your body and eat you… come…lets get the fuck out here…”. He releases my hair, his fingers still deep in my pussy, his eyes staring deeply into mine. 

“I’m going to take you to a place where I can fuck you until you can’t walk and were you can scream my name. And, I’m going to give you the best fucking orgasim of your life that no one will ever be able to compare, ever.” he continues pumping his fingers in and out, edging my orgasm. 

“That’s what you want isn’t it my fucking slut”. He bites into my neck sucking as a cord snaps inside me and I cream all over his fingers grunting as my body seizes against him. He releases my neck and loses his hold on me as his eye bore into mine with such intensity. He brings his fingers that are drenched in the juices from my organsm into his mouth licking and slurping them clean. He comes for my lips again, I moan tasting myself on his tongue, he releaseins my lip with pop. My chest heaving.

“Come, YN there is going to be plenty more of this, I’m not done with you yet.”. My mind was in a haze of pure bliss, all I could do was smile in my buzzed fucked out state, buzze and high off my orgasim. I’d fucking follow him anywhere.  “Yes, sir.” I fixed my dress as much as possible as he took my hand in his and briskly walked out the front entrance. I couldn’t wait for his dick to be balls deep in any place in my body though I could receive him.

Part 2 coming out soon!

#taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #bangtan smut #ao3 #tae hyung / reader smut

[grandmaster-anne]

26 October 2022 We take this opportunity to appreciate the UK British High Commission in Uganda, Save the Children and Opportunity International for choosing Mission Aviation Fellowship - Uganda to fly HRH Princess Royal to Mbarara and Masika to visit refugee settlements of Nakivale and Kyangwali. © Mission Aviation Fellowship - Uganda

#princess anne #princess royal #tim laurence #anne in uganda #tim in uganda

[yhwhrulz]

I love writing devotions. It gives me a chance to share with you the things I have been pondering with God. They are never written with the intention of having all the answers. Instead, I come with some thoughts and suggestions to inspire you to go and chat with Jesus yourself. Sometimes it’s important to […]

[theteaisaddictive]

honestly looking back my grandad had a fucking crazy life. he built airport runways in kenya. there's a photograph of him with some masai guys. he climbed every munro. he almost died twice while climbing said munros. he met princess anne. he went to thailand and only just got back before my mum was born. he was a maths teacher. he went to thailand again when my mum and uncle were young children and everybody had to get tuberculosis shots. he got invited to the queen's garden party one year. he was a head teacher. he broke his ankle tripping over a 5 cm-high fence. he had my mother convinced that the maths-themed nursery rhymes he taught her were real until she was well into her teens. he had two serious car crashes and almost certainly got a mild brain injury in the second one. he was briefly the primary caretaker for my mum and uncle while my gran was hospitalised with encephalitis. one of the high schools he taught at has a maths award named after him. he was diabetic and to this day nobody knows if it was type 1 or type 2. he was from fife. and to top it all off, he died at the objectively funniest age of 69

#ok to reblog #it's actually very funny bc at first you think that my gran and grandad were a fairly basic normal scottish couple #and then you get into the family lore about 'the time he went to kenya' or 'the time princess anne opened the school' #or 'the MULTIPLE TIMES we had to convince him to eat some sugar bc he didn't realise he was having a hypo' #some of which happened WHILE HE WAS DRIVING #also if you are wondering WHY he went to kenya and thailand it was with the mission aviation fellowship #so uh. that's a thing i've had to come to terms with as i've grown up and drifted away from christianity #also in his defence the ankle-breaking happened like a year or two before he died so his bones were kinda old

[mountrainiernps]

NPS/S. Barrier Photo: Aviation

National Park Week - sPark Opportunities

“Wow, you are so lucky to work here!” Whenever we hear this sentiment from a visitor, we can’t help but agree! Working in a national park as beautiful as Mount Rainier is truly amazing. 

Have you ever thought about the people behind the scenes who help keep this park open? Or have you ever considered working at a national park? Jobs can range from part-time volunteer work to student interns to housekeepers to permanent federal employees. In a national park the size of Mount Rainier, we have nearly any job you might encounter in a small-sized city, plus some fun extras! 

NPS/D. Robinson Photo: Park Ranger at Sunrise.

The National Park Service employs approximately 150 year-round employees and an additional 150 seasonal employees in the summer here at Mount Rainier. Job openings are announced online at https://www.usajobs.gov/. Seasonal jobs often go live online the season prior to employment (for example, summer job openings are announced the fall/winter before). Mount Rainier National Park hosts a unique range of positions including Wildlife Technicians, Climbing Rangers, Geologists, Law Enforcement, Recreational Fee Technicians, Interpretation, Budget Technicians, Carpenters, Roads Crew, and more.

NPS/B. Henricksen Photo: Rangers and Astronomy Interns pointing lasers at the night sky during a summer Star Party ranger program.

Students ranging in age from 15-35 years old can find a variety of internship and fellowship programs with the National Park Service. Two programs offered most summers at Mount Rainier National Park include the Youth Conservation Corps (15-18 years old) trail maintenance work and the Scientists in Parks Program (18 years old and up) astronomy interns. Learn more about national internship and youth programs. 

 NPS Photo: Trail crew volunteers working on trail maintenance.

Mount Rainier’s Volunteers In Parks (VIP) program provides meaningful service opportunities for hundreds of volunteers who commit thousands of hours every year to protecting our natural and cultural resources and providing a positive visitor experience. We seek to provide an avenue for people to connect with the park on a deeper level while developing skill sets, building community, and practicing stewardship through projects that support the park’s mission. Here at Mount Rainier our volunteers are a vital part to our operations and overall success. Discover volunteer opportunities by visiting https://www.nps.gov/mora/getinvolved/volunteer.htm. 

Rainier Guest Services operates concessions properties at Mount Rainier National Park, including the National Park Inn and Paradise Inn. Rainier Guest Services hires year-round and seasonal employees in all facets of customer service, including Cook, Server, Front Desk Clerk, General manager, Host, Housekeeper, and more. Additional information can be found at https://mtrainierguestservices.com/about-us/careers/. 

Mount Rainier National Park is lucky to have the support of our park partners. Our partners include Washington’s National Park Fund, Discover Your Northwest, Washington Trails Association, Mount Rainier Visitor Association, VisitRainier, Nisqually River Council, Puyallup River Watershed Council, Chinook Scenic Byway, and the White Pass Scenic Byway. To read more about each of our park partners, the work they do for Mount Rainier, and employment opportunities, visit https://www.nps.gov/mora/getinvolved/partners.htm. 

To learn more about various employment opportunities at national park sites, visit https://www.nps.gov/aboutus/workwithus.htm. 

~ls/kl

#National Park Week #sPark Opportunities #park jobs #volunteers #park partners #Find Your Park

[cetaceans-pls]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

On a quick mission with Jason to deal with pirates in the Caribbean, Bruce finds himself ejected overboard and accidentally lost at sea. Being a castaway gives Bruce ample time to indulge in self-discovery and survivorman-ing, as Jason boats across Pit-green waters in search of this dumb, fine man.

Or, things go incredibly wrong for Bruce and Jason while out at sea, but with help from a dedicated boat captain, The Fellowship Of The Rings, and banana-leaf-pants, they're actually unstoppable.

Written for the @batfam-big-bang​, beta’d by @kuraness​, @sultcnah​, and hassan, with art by @pikachica​, @succulents-and-fairy-lights​, and @mandolinplayer (thanks everyone)! Special shout-out to @setsailslash​ for being the wind beneath my wings.

And! Thanks to the mods for organising this massive, chaotic event c:

Please enjoy the first part of a story about a damp and determined Bat and the struggles a a dapper young man’s gotta face to save his dank ass dad 🙏

On tumblr below the cut c:

Pulling a disappearing act is something Bruce  should  be good at; he’s had years and years of practice by now sinking into the night. Keeping secrets is pretty important in being invisible too, which is why the files outlining the increasingly severe piracy problems in the Caribbean are so heavily encrypted they may as well not exist. After all, at any moment any of his children could be using the Batcomputer to do anything from figuring out how to topple a corrupt government remotely to buying an unreasonable number of chew toys for Ace, and given that they’re all so ridiculously nosy, a security breach is more a question of  when  rather than  if .

Nosiness is a good trait for vigilante detectives, but it makes it hard to work covertly without tipping anyone off. International travel isn’t a good idea for anyone this deep into a pandemic, and while Bruce Wayne being an ass and swanning around the Bahamas in a yacht is pretty believable as far as cover stories go, he’s not keen to subject anyone else to the sort of vitriol that behaviour will garner.

So the plan is simple, with as few moving parts as possible. Three, maybe four days tops being loud and visible on his biggest, ugliest yacht in the hopes that pirates will decide to come after him, and then maybe a couple of days after that to dismantle the bulk of the operation after he’s tracked them back to their base. There’s less of a chance of failure than his usual work, but it still leaves him feeling uneasy.

It’s a long way away from Gotham, and he’s not exactly excited to leave, but his comfort’s not more important than a greater good. The League really does need to sort out a presence for Central America though, and that goes on his notes for the mission too.

So he had planned in secrecy so complete not even Alfred was informed, because Alfred can be notoriously casual in his flagrant betrayal if he disagrees with Bruce’s plans. He’s skulking around the cave at 11 AM on a Tuesday when most of the family is either at work or asleep, and half an hour later he’s climbing into a Beemer, ready to roll out. He has a moment of smug certainty that he’s gotten away with this before the door to the passenger’s side is ripped open, and Jason climbs in with a little battered suitcase, a pair of aviators that reflect metallic blue, a genuinely heinous red wig, and what can only be described as a noxious Hawaiian shirt.

Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever seen a shade of yellow so bright, but it’s now imprinted on the back of his eyeballs, so that’s that.

“Jason, what are you doing?”

Bruce doesn’t even know if he’s referring to Jason’s presence, his outfit, or his hair (oh god, his  hair ).

“Tim was supposed to be the one to tail your ass on this mission, but he’s still way too concussed after last week’s fight with Clayface so he got pulled out.” Jason chucks his suitcase to the backseat and pulls his seatbelt on, still fastidious about traffic safety despite it all. “Then Dick wanted to sub in but Blüdhaven needs him more than you do right now. So they called in the big guns to look out for you, and when I get back everyone’s gonna owe me favours. Sounds like a damn good deal for a week of work.”

Favours are a currency way more important than cash within this family, but Bruce struggles to see how a few favours is worth a few days in the company of a man you loathe.

(All right,  loathe may be a bit dramatic, but it’s how Bruce feels about himself in reference to Jason, and it’s mind-boggling that a boy can wake up in a coffin and be driven to lunacy by the Pit and still, somehow, end up in this car with him in an ugly shirt and an offer of support).

He decides against asking if Jason’s really going to be all right floating in a sea of green in bad company, and doesn’t make Jason leave. It’s the rule of things; if he fails to out-sneak his children, he must deal with their demands, because it’s the only way he could get them to agree to his more paranoid measures in return.

So Bruce makes an effort not to think about it, in spite of himself, and gets the car in gear.

It really is looking like a damn good deal for a week of work; with good company, how badly can things go wrong?

-

Karma really wants to make him eat his words.

Years and years on the job, near-death experiences well past a hundred by now, active involvement in everything from petty theft to intergalactic peace missions, and it’s a little incredible that this is somehow the first time he’s been held at gunpoint while wearing the skimpiest pair of Speedos he could force up his thighs.

A billion dollars for a dressing gown, Bruce thinks but very carefully doesn’t say to the pirates who have commandeered the yacht. It’s all part of the plan, minus his questionable outfit.

Whoever’s manning the screens at the Cave is likely having a grand old laugh right now, but if it’s Stephanie he hopes she realises that he is using her trick with waterproof concealer and translucent powder to hide his scars, and it’s working like a charm. The Speedo was meant to feed the paparazzis that are currently stalking him in their little fishing boats that are weighed down with telephoto lenses, and L’Oreal 24 Hour Max Hold Extra Dewy Outlast! Long-Wearing Concealer makes him look happily whole from 40 yards.

He hadn’t expected the pirates to come on the  one day he had planned to parade in front of the paps, but luck is a lady and it looks like Bruce just will not be getting lucky tonight.

The leader of the gang is yelling at the captain, clearly assuming Bruce cannot speak Spanish and isn’t worth speaking to regardless, which is fair. The leader is also standing far, far too close for a man without a facemask in these sickly times, and Bruce makes a show of tripping over nothing and landing in between Pirate Captain and Captain Luis, building space in between them. Half a dozen vaccine trials down, he’s as close to confidently immune as he can be, so he just strikes an entirely embarrassing pose and grins up at Mr. Pirate. “Sorry, sorry, not every day you get hijacked. Listen, you,” he waves at the assembled gang of ne’er-do-wells, “take my stuff,” he waves to indicate every gaudy expensive thing not nailed down in this frankly ghastly ship, “and leave us alone, okay?”

It’s tempting fate to be extra loud and extra slow like he’s talking to somebody extra dumb, but eyes on him are eyes off civilians, so that’s what he does.

It’s the point of information-gathering with the entire force of his Bruce Wayne Billionaire Playboy personality after all, even if Jason hasn’t stopped mocking him relentlessly for his outfits and table manners and affect (and so on and so forth) every time he breaks into the Master Cabin to help cover up Bruce’s many, many back scars.

The Pirate Captain appears to not appreciate being spoken to like a concussed toddler, and backhands Bruce right across the cheek. Bruce dutifully sets his tooth in so that he gets a dramatically split lip, and tries to look suitably cowed as he wonders about the man’s hand hygiene. Where is Jason, anyways? The standard response in this situation would be to evacuate civilians to safety, and even if the captain is currently stuck with Bruce, hopefully the stewards and the cooks are being shown to the panic room. It’s only in doubt because it’s a Thursday, and Thursdays are Jimmy-the-steward-boy’s day off. What that means is that Jason is likely in his bunk listening to audiobooks while half-asleep, and if it’s the Lord of the Rings and Jason’s hit a particularly engaging part, they could be firing cannons on deck and he wouldn’t hear.

It’s still fine, probably. Jason’s good at showing up when you least expect him.

There’s enough pride and bull-headedness in Bruce’s veins that he still officially objects to having back-up whenever he follows a case abroad, but times like these it’s really hard to feel anything but grateful that his children don’t trust him not to get himself killed in suitably dramatic ways as soon as he leaves Gotham. It’s even easier to feel glad that he and Jason have gotten good enough with each other that laid up on the ground of his yacht with blood in his mouth, Bruce knows that everything’s going to be alright.

“Please,” he says, and his voice trills like a well-trained bird, “please don’t hurt me. I have so much money, if that’s what you want. Somebody just needs to call my PA, we can do a transfer right now.” Oh, good, the captain is slowly backing away while all eyes are on Bruce and his tiny swimwear.

Thank you, Stephanie, for recommending a concealer that doesn’t even smudge as he dramatically cowers on the ground. The captain’s taken shelter behind the big outdoor dining table, a sturdy, immovable beast made of aluminium, and Bruce has a semi-circle of reasonably menacing men he could potentially incapacitate without  definitely dying. Things are looking up already.

Pirate Captain (Pirate King? Pirate Lord? Pirate Admiral? Who knows how a hierarchy works for the lawless, after all) is barking orders for one of his men to handcuff Bruce and move him over to their boat, because this is now a kidnapping-for-ransom situation. In casual dress, Bruce wouldn’t have minded it much; there’s enough untraceable kit in his average pair of slacks to get him out of most situations.

Again, the cursed Speedos are hugely, disproportionately problematic despite their actual size. At least there’s the tracker and the lockpicks in his watch, because thankfully no one questions why a rich man who is mostly nude would be decked out in a fantastically expensive watch.

A gangly boy who can’t possibly be much older than 20 hauls him to his feet and starts to tie his hands behind his back, which is fine. The boy also deftly unbuckles Bruce’s watch and sleight-of-hands it away, presumably into the pocket of his beaten up jeans, and that is decidedly less fine. Still, as long as the tracker remains in his vicinity, it won’t take much effort for him to be found.

Things are still on track, even if they’ve gone off the rails an alarming number of times since he woke up this morning and nicked his face while shaving for the first time in, oh, a decade? More? Hopefully there’ll be a sack or something he can fashion into a tunic on the pirate boat; he doesn’t imagine this entire ordeal will outlast his long-lasting concealer, and given that the yacht’s currently bobbing in the ocean somewhere between Nassau and Port-au-Prince, help’s not far away (so long as Jason has also called the Coast Guard and is not still in his bunk, listening to Gandalf telling an overlong story).

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, until it’s not.

Honestly, Bruce takes worker well-being very seriously, whether it’s the COO of the Hong Kong branch of WE or the tired cab driver who inadvertently helped the Bat on an undercover case at 3:30 AM one morning. Fair pay, fair working conditions, every benefit that’s the industry standard and a few that he secretly encouraged the unions to demand. It’s a point of pride that people who work for him enjoy it, and it’s a way Bruce Wayne can help people in a way that Batman can’t even dream of.

It’s important that people who work for him are treated well; them becoming a little protective over him when some journo gets particularly nasty on Twitter is frankly rather sweet.

It’s significantly Less Okay that when they meet him in real life, ‘a little protective’ becomes ‘Captain Luis, seeing his bumbling dim-witted but ultimately not a bad guy boss getting carted away by pirates, finds strength from deep within himself to pick up a chair, start screaming, and try to bumrush half a dozen heavily armed men’.

Time slows down in times of crisis, thank god. Jason’s still nowhere to be seen, and reality narrows to Bruce running through every possible thing he could conceivably do to keep Luis safe. In the first fraction of a second, a trademark Bruce Wayne clumsy stumble is discarded as an option; two of the pirates already have their guns up. He doesn’t have smoke bombs or stun grenades or any of his million gadgets, and his hands are tied (literally  and  metaphorically), but playing dumb and letting Luis get shot to preserve his identity doesn’t even feature as an option.

And so, half a second after Luis starts his war cry, cracked voice and all, Bruce is actively working to dislocate his thumb to get out of his bindings, weight tipped forward in the hope that he can body slam half the men to the ground before they can get to their guns.

It doesn’t work; he gets shot in place of Luis, what feels like a clean through-and-through by the hip that  hopefully  missed anything particularly important. He does manage to bring a couple of the men nearest to him down with a heavy  whumph , and little victories are still worth savouring even while lightly bleeding out on the ground.

He hears a lot of shouting, both from the direction of the pirate boat (reinforcements?) and from the grand double doors that lead to the inside dining room (reinforcements!) but he just keeps moving. Best case scenario, Luis knocked somebody out with one of the absolutely hideous chrome-and-leather chairs before beating a hasty retreat, and now Jason’s tag-teaming in for clean up.

Worst case scenario, he and Luis are about to be killed, and the news might be broken to his family by unflattering pap shots gone viral on Facebook. It’s an unbearable thought, so he doesn’t think, and just keeps moving around like an angry bull intent on sharing his displeasure.

There are a lot of gunshots, and something clips his ear as he knocks another man to the floor. While the pirate groans, Bruce headbutts him unconscious with a helping hand from the metal plates that help hold his skull in one piece. He thinks he hears Jason’s voice, but he knows Jay’s there for  sure  because no other weapon on Earth seems to crack the air quite like his Jerichos, and it’s like light at the end of a tunnel.

He hopes that Jason’s wearing some manner of face-covering; Bruce Wayne smashing a bunch of skinny pirates to the ground in a feat of great clumsiness and luck is entertaining enough to be acceptable, but a master marksman taking out a horde of sea-faring villains isn’t as likely to come off as normal.

Bruce doesn’t have the breathing room to turn around and check because more pirates are scrambling aboard with their own weight in weaponry, even if in his mind’s eye he imagines that Jason is wearing a pillowcase on his head with holes shot out for the eyes.

What an absurd quantity of guns. The number of ways Bruce hates the damned things is uncountable, and if Jason is actually on deck yelling blue murder in pyjamas, things can tip over from ‘scuffle’ into ‘bloodbath’ real damn quick.

Only one thing for it, then. He rolls away from a well-aimed kick and staggers to his feet, keeping his hands behind his back even though he’s worked his way free already. Pirate Captain man is angrily waving his rifle like he’s never known a day of joy in his life, but shooting Bruce might break the streak.

“Stop, stop!” Bruce shouts, aiming to look as non-threatening as a man who has mowed down a series of pirates can. “You can take me, just don’t hurt my staff.”  Stand down, Jason  , is implicit, while  stand down, Luis , is implored.

It’s enough to get the man to bark for his men to stop shooting, as he tries to grab Bruce by the throat in a presumably threatening manner. This is what you get for modern-day piracy where there’s a lot less rigging and ropes and a lot more outboard engines; his grip strength is laughable, but Bruce gamely pretends to struggle to breathe anyway.

Pirate Captain hauls Bruce towards the cluster of his men, looking smug before he turns Bruce to let him see the wreckage of the outdoor lounge of the yacht. It’s bullet-riddled and messed up, but this far from the engine and the bridge, the damage is almost exclusively cosmetic. Thankfully Luis seems relatively whole even if he’s got the remains of a chair leg in his hands and a snarl twisting his face, and so does Jason. No pillowcase head-covering, unfortunately, but his steward-boy curly ginger wig is on and his oversized sleeping t-shirt is bulked out in a suspiciously bulletproof-vest shaped mass (thank God).

There are headphones hanging around Jay’s neck, so Bruce assumes he’d gotten it right about the morning lie-in and audiobook listening. Even mid-emergency, it’s still a rare, nice feeling to see that he knows Jason well enough to guess at least this correctly. Bruce tries to communicate with his eyes that everyone just needs to calm down and let him be taken. Pirates don’t tend to shoot billionaires dead, what with the invisible hand of the free market ensuring trigger discipline and all that, so it’s fine. They can rescue him afterwards, and there’s always help to be had. Superman might be off-world at present and Aquaman might take his own sweet time because he’s a sea king moonlighting as a massive asshole, but as long as no one gets hurt badly, a delay doesn’t matter to Bruce.

Jason’s scowling, but he does point his guns down. There’s hope yet that this is going to end relatively bloodlessly, but then the Pirate Captain lets his little victory get to his head. He’s got Bruce in an ineffective chokehold, and now he’s chuckling and waving his gun around and telling Jason that  you’re not so confident now that we’ve got your boss, huh?

Even at a distance, Bruce can see that Jason is just barely holding on to his temper, jaw tight and teeth clenched. Having close to a foot over his captor and a hell of a lot of muscle mass on top, the ‘chokehold’ registers more like a messy cuddle, so it’s fine.

It’s all fine.

Until, of course, it isn’t.

Because Pirate Captain isn’t completely done flexing, because he takes it into his head to further press his advantage and slam the point home, he holds the muzzle of his rifle to Bruce’s temple, and shouts  bang!

And  of course  Bruce has been held hostage before, of course he’s had weapons brandished in front of his face, of course there’s nothing exceptionally terrible about this situation when compared to the dozens of exceptionally terrible situations he’s been stuck in.

It’s just that he’s always, always hated guns, and he particularly hates guns held to people’s heads (a goddamn mystery why), and it’s just a little beyond what he considers tolerable, to find himself on the other side of a situation where a parent is about to be shot in the head in front of their child.

It’s something he’ll be ashamed about for the rest of forever, but hindsight’s 20/20 and not even an iron will could stop the tiniest of flinches when the thought of  Jason’s going to have to see me die and he isn’t even the one pulling the trigger goes through his head at great speed.

It’s a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, but Jason hadn’t blinked, and it’s just that inch too far.

Lord, if Luis had been fearsome before, then Jason picking up a steak knife from the dining table and throwing it so viciously, so hatefully that it goes right through the back of a pirate man’s hand is an absolute vision of terror. While Bruce gets the side of his face coated in blood (he’s pessimistically hoping it isn’t from an arterial flow), Jason is scooping up Luis and chucking him overboard. It feels like barely a second has passed from when the first splatter of blood had hit his cheek before Jason appears right in front of him, one hand holding both guns (cool-looking but hilariously ill-advised) while the other is wrapped around the bulky plastic case of the emergency life raft.

Someone tries to drag Bruce back, and the man is met with two gun butts to the nose with a resounding  crack! . A moment after that and Jason has Bruce pulled behind him, wig askew and kicking a different man right in the family jewels. The Pirate Captain is screaming and waving at them even as Jason hustles Bruce towards one side of the ship, shoving a life jacket down over his head and tightening the straps before Bruce can get his hands through the armholes.

It is, clearly, on purpose. “Jason,” Bruce warns him, growling even as he keeps the name as quiet as he can. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason kicks a stack of sun loungers over to act as a barricade against the approaching pirates, but he’s completely unharried as he turns to look at Bruce. “B, you’re banged up to fuck and back, and these guys are just massive assholes who’ve been pillaging ships carrying aid during a goddamn pandemic. Your plan’s not working out, so I’m going to handle it  my  way. Just go hang out in the water for a while, okay,” Jason pauses and shoots over the top of the mass of wood, before ducking down to reload. “On God, I’ll swab the decks clean-ish before I pull you back up. That’s my plan.”

An errant chair arm by Jason’s side explodes into splinters from the return fire, and it’s getting really hard to avoid kill shots in order to have a civil conversation. They’re running out of time, and Bruce  knows , knows without a shadow of a single doubt that this is restraint and thoughtfulness and care from Jason, to hold back on what he thinks is right just because he knows Bruce doesn’t like to see a case devolve into death. There’s also a chance that the gun to his head shook both of them up more than they want to admit. This could well be a really touching moment for everyone involved.

But a dozen pirates are advancing, and more than wanting to stop Jason from murdering a bunch of people, Bruce simply  refuses  to let him face this alone, so he just shakes his head and starts trying to work his way out of the vest.

Unfortunately, it’s at about the same time the pirates decide to go on an all-out siege, running towards them and knocking the stack of chairs over in their haste. Bruce doesn’t have time to think, just steps forward so that he can body block Jason and hope that polyethylene foam can take a shot or 12.

Jason disagrees with this course of action, and he makes it exceedingly clear. One moment Bruce is standing firm between his son and almost-certain death, and the next he finds himself being flung over the side of the yacht, Jason executing a frankly gorgeous Judo throw. A blob of bright orange follows him down, the instant raft deploying in midair.

“Fly, you fucking fool!” Jason screams at him, and Bruce’s last thought before he hits the water and the hard outer shell of the raft hits him in the head, is that he was right.

Jason  had been listening to the Lord of the Rings.

(And Bruce is really regretting leaving the Shire).

-

It’s going to be a hell of a story to tell the gang; hijinx on the high seas, and if Jason can convince Bruce to take a picture of him looking suitably pensive while the sea breeze flutters his hair and open shirt, they’ll have a cover for the book deal that inevitably follows Jimmy the Red-Haired Steward’s dramatic rescue of literal billionaire Bruce Wayne.

It’s almost anti-climactic in the end; he sends Bruce overboard and is polite enough to chuck a raft down with him so that the man won’t have to find out that not even Steph’s go-to brand of makeup can stand up to the open ocean, and minus an overbearing parent idiotically trying to take bullets for him, Jason’s free to just go right the hell off.

By his count, there must be close to 20 pirates now, and just one of him.

Damn, what fun odds. He knocks out 4 guys the moment they pass his barricade, and they definitely won’t be dying from those wounds. There’s a slightly messier kerfuffle when he kicks a tabletop off its legs and flings it at the guy who thought setting off a rocket-launcher in a luxury yacht is a good idea, and casualties from  that are self-inflicted, so there’s no sweating it.

A half hour of screaming and shooting later, and at this point he’s just showing off when he leaps off the upper deck and gets a trick shot out into the knee of the man with the biggest rifle. At the end of it there’s a lot of moaning and groaning on the ground, there’s blood everywhere, and barring rocket-man, the Pirate Captain’s still the worst off because a serrated steak knife thrown at high speed will do a number on anyone. It’s  exactly what he deserves.

Jason putters about securing the pirates with fishing line, and shoves handkerchiefs into the deeper wounds as he does a headcount and takes deep pride in having not killed anyone even though his temper’s the most frayed it’s been in a while (his history with bodies of water is bad and his track record with parental figures is even worse).

He leaves the captain tied up on the sun deck, because a sunburn’s the least the man deserves after holding a gun to Bruce’s head and being so proud of it. If Jason had trod on his hand a little heavily on his way off the deck, well. Some lessons just need to be worked in with some elbow grease.

Cleaning takes a while because B can be so damn picky about  appearances , and it’s easier to do without the man himself anyways, so he doesn’t think twice about leaving Bruce to sulk in his floating inflatable tent while Jason works. When he hears noises from the pirate ship while he’s going around disarming all the weapons, he ends up finding a gaggle of kidnapped fishermen stuffed in the hold, and he wants to go step on the Pirate Captain’s hand all over again.

He frees the fishermen and moves them onto the yacht, where the staff who have crept out of the panic room with knives in their hands and murder in their hearts welcome the poor fucks and make them something hot to eat. Really, being a crusader’s a lot easier without Bruce’s presence, and it’s like a victory lap at this point. No one’s dead, even more people have been rescued than when they started, and the Coast Guard should be rolling in any minute.

Jason  cannot wait to show off to B just how damn good he is at his job.

Everything wrapped up and a dozen shoulder-slaps from the crewmembers later, Jason makes his way down to the back of the yacht, where a platform can be lowered and the canoes and jet skis can be set out in the water. He’s fully expecting to see Luis hanging on to the ladder near there, with Bruce tethered like an errant puppy. Jason’s already grinning as the platform swings open with a quiet splash, but the sight that greets him isn’t one for smug eyes.

Luis is there, looking a little cold but ultimately quite calm and relaxed, and smiles when he sees him. “Jimmy!” Luis calls out, hauling himself up onto the platform and taking his shirt off to wring it dry. “You crazy bastard. I’m glad you’re okay! Is Mister Bruce also all right? The pirates are gone?” He eyes the bobbing pirate ship with great distrust, and overall gives the impression of a man ready to pick up a kayak oar and go to war.

Jason’s leaning as far off the platform as he can, craning his neck to try and see the bright orange floating raft. “Pirates are taken care of,” he tells Luis, and doesn’t let his unease show. “Everyone’s fine, but I threw Mister Bruce off the boat too, with the little tent raft. Did you not see him, captain?”

Luis shakes his head. “You must have thrown him overboard on the other side, Jimmy.” He turns a frightful shade of pale, and leans back out the yacht to help look. “Can Mister Bruce swim?”

Everyone in the family is an accomplished swimmer; for reasons that probably only make sense when you’re a paranoid patriarch, all of them had to prove that they could swim a mile in full gear before they were okayed to patrol close to the waterfront. It’s also common knowledge in a family with a collective competitive streak a mile wide that Bruce once rescued 3 full-grown adults in the open ocean while fully kitted out, so yeah.

“Yeah, he can swim.”

So why in the hell is he not right here?

Jason takes a deep breath, and reminds himself Bruce  always has a tracker on him somewhere, so even if he was carried away by the waves, actually locating him shouldn’t be an issue. What’s more likely to be a pain in the ass is the Coast Guard boats plowing through the sea towards them. Jason’s cover as a steward is enough to fool local police, but if he’s pulled in for questioning re: owning and using his guns, it’s going to become A Problem.

A problem that would take a lot of time to handle, and that’s not something Jason’s got in spades if Bruce is missing.

Ah, shit. He’s going to have to call this in, and that’s not going to be possible in an itchy wig on a ship crawling with officers. It’s time for Jimmy to disappear, looks like.

He considers his options, and decides to just go with his gut. Luis seems like a good guy; civilians who step up in a life-or-death situation despite common sense telling them not to usually are. And compared to B, Jason’s always been quicker to trust, anyways.

“Listen, Luis,” he tells the man, face serious. “I’m actually Mister Bruce’s bodyguard. If he’s missing or drowning, I have to go find him. He’s…. like family.” Thank God that no one else is here to hear this. “But if the Coast Guard comes and takes us all in for questioning, I can’t start looking for him. Can you tell them I jumped in the sea after Mister Bruce, and to send people out to find us? I need to grab the tender and sneak off first; he’s been in the water for a while already now, so I just don’t have time to wait.”

Everything is  probably completely fine, but you don’t live and then die and then be reborn and then continue to live as a successful vigilante by hanging your hat on ‘probably’. Jason’s itching to get on the little tender and check in with Alfred, but Luis covering for him would be really fucking helpful.

It feels real good when his instincts pay off. Luis doesn’t even bother saying ‘Yes’ and ‘Of course’; he’s already striding to the little box by the light switch that has the keys for all the gear, and after a quick rummage around he throws the boat’s keys to Jason.

“I’m going to believe you, Jimmy. Go find Mister Bruce, and I will tell the police how you saved us and why you left. Do you need anything more?”

Luis is just hitting homerun after homerun today, wow. Jason grins, and shakes his head. “I’m going to get my stuff from my bunk and climb out the porthole in the kitchen right onto the boat. See you when I see you, captain.”

And Jason’s gone.

-

Bruce comes to a couple of hours after his inauspicious disembarkation, if he’s judging the sun right. His face is an achy sunburned mess, but he supposes it’s preferable to being unconscious while facedown in water. He regains consciousness quietly and calmly, an extremely important skill when you are regularly abducted and knocked out, but when he cracks his eye open all he sees is the sea, all all of it.

He takes stock of the situation, and notes with some resignation that his yacht (the Pretty Penny, and worth every cent for the look on Alfred’s face) is nowhere in goddamn sight. He’s still cocooned in a life jacket, but luckily a loose buckle had wrapped around the ropes lining the life raft. It takes a bit of finessing, to work his way free and then haul himself up into the raft when he’s disorientated from being sunburned and injured and groggy, but he manages eventually.

The raft had managed to inflate all the way up, and the little tent provided blessed, blessed shade. If he was marooned on a liferaft with his children, or with a civilian, Bruce would be all action by now, cataloguing injuries and rummaging around to find what equipment they have. That’s just the exact right thing to do, in a survival situation.

But he isn’t marooned on a liferaft with anybody else. He’s by himself, his face feels like it’s on fire, he’s a little concussed, and he doesn’t know if everyone’s safe on the yacht. Instead of doing something meaningful, Bruce just groans and lays out as flat as he can get on the small raft, with his legs hanging off over the side.

Might as well get sunburnt knees, make a set of it.

It’s starting to feel like he’s just not meant to have a casual fun time out here in the Caribbean, and this far away from shore, nobody can hear him swear.

His legs are starting to sizzle a little by the time Bruce re-finds his will to survive, and he eventually drags himself upright, looks down to once again despair that he’s literally in swimwear and nothing else, and tugs out the dry bag filled with survival equipment tucked into a pocket near the back of the tent. He’s sure it’ll have much more kit than the average equipment bag, but because he can’t remember the last time he took it into his head to pack survival kits for non-Bat vehicles, everything is likely several years out of date.

As he digs around, any hope of finding a tracker that can  ping! loud enough to alert the Batcave disappears. There’s a brick of a satellite phone, but failure to keep it well-maintained means the battery is completely flat, and trying to fix it in a bobbing liferaft that’s constantly letting water in…. ill-advised.

At least being in the Caribbean in the summer means that the current is more likely to have him drifting across the archipelago instead of sweeping him out to the Atlantic. Deserted islands are a dime a dozen here, and Bruce shudders at the thought that he might meet his end here, where it’s warm and sunny and beautiful, instead of bleeding out into a puddle of what might be rainwater or piss or both in a dark alley in Gotham, which is what he thematically deserves.

If only Alfred were here to hear him loudly think about his death after maybe 3 hours of being at sea with his own grim thoughts.

At least the kit bag reflects his personal preferences. Enough energy bars to keep a man physically functioning for at least 2 weeks, and half of them are white-chocolate-and-cranberry flavoured. There’s a rain poncho made of the same material his cape was about 5 years ago, which means it’s light and breathable and incredibly strong. He puts it on, because where Jason presumably gets power from wearing either leather or garish beachwear, Bruce unfortunately counts himself closer to goth than not, and a black raincoat is enough to make him feel at least marginally better.

He digs around some more and finds the usual suspects: a multi-tool with a blade sharp enough to gut a camel (tried! And tested!), 3 flare guns, a little floating solar still, a first aid kit that could keep you alive through increasingly alarming injuries, wax matches and some solid fuel, and a little tin mug that had some fishing line and a bunch of hooks. God, there’s even sun cream in here, and that’s as Classic Alfred as the tiny glass bottle of exquisite whiskey. The reach of one elderly butler’s tender loving care extends really alarmingly far, and Bruce salutes the sky in his honour before taking a carefully-rationed glug of Stranahan for moral support.

It burns smoothly down his throat, and it’s as close to a second wind as Bruce is likely to get out here. Bruce sets up the solar still and has it floating on a tether right by the raft, even if he’s got at best a couple of hours of daylight left. Dinner for the night is either a protein bar or fresh-caught fish if he can swing it, and the bottle of good whiskey needs to stretch for 2 weeks for the worst case survival scenario, because that’s around when Superman comes back from his off-world mission and can come play fetch.

Best case scenario, Jason’s going to pull up in the BatWing any moment now, and Bruce will gaze upon a hideous ginger wig and once again get to marvel at the miracle of Jason alive and coming at him.

The Batman hasn’t survived so long off the backs of best case scenarios though. Fantasy revelled in, Bruce starts divvying up his resources and makes his peace with potentially having his body be found in a poncho 3 months from now by deeply unlucky fishermen.

Hell of a legacy to leave for his children, but it’s better than pearls and a dark alleyway (he sure would have appreciated a larger bottle of whiskey).

-

Escape was the name of the game, so Jason doesn’t burn time on thinking, just grabs his supplies and steals the tender, gunning the engine and gone out of sight before the Coast Guard could board the Penny. It’s pretty hair-raising, literally; throttle opened to full he almost loses his wig to the whipping winds.

Fifteen minutes after separating from Captain Luis, Jason’s dropping anchor in a tiny lagoon and pulling out his Bat-issued laptop. First things first, he runs through all the trackers Bruce is most likely to have on him. No point in alerting HQ if Bruce just got washed ashore on a little beach a couple of miles away. He could do without the rest of the family calling him out for simultaneously being both Bruce’s back-up as well as the main reason Bruce is currently missing, thanks. There’s already plenty of self-recrimination going ‘round.

The internet’s pretty slow considering the private BatSatellite beaming it right down at him, but it only takes a few minutes before he’s run through the checklist of the dozen or so standard trackers Bruce could have chosen from. Almost everything is deactivated, probably because a mother-of-pearl button and a tie clip aren’t options that mesh with swimwear too often, but one of his watches is active and blinking a cheerful green from the other side of the island, moving swiftly towards land.

Jason thinks  hell yeah!  at the start but then logic comes a-calling; neither the current nor a very determined man could move that quickly, and the blip is moving in a straight line away from the yacht. He takes another look at the list, and groans when he realises that what likely happened was that Bruce’s shiny golden Rolex was liberated from him pre-getting-thrown-overboard, and is now likely enjoying a pleasant ride to Nassau in the pocket of some pirate on the Coast Guard’s ship.

“This is why I told him to get a goddamn belly button ring,” Jason shouts down at an errant starfish, who fundamentally does not care. Garish intimate jewelry work because they can stay on regardless of the state of undress, and because not even the most determined thugs tend to be super interested about groping around a man’s navel to get half an ounce of cheap tin and silver. An ugly piercing is  by far  the best option for discreet trackers.

Just classic goddamn Bruce; too good for gun violence, too good for tacky piercings, too good to just stay the hell still. Jason half-heartedly goes through the rest of the list, on the extremely off chance that Bruce slapped on the temporary tramp stamp with its special magnetic ink, or decided to opt for the cute anklet with dangling shells that’s a Cass design, but no go.

There’s not a blip anywhere, and if Bruce is really  really lost at sea, time’s not something either of them have a whole lot of. Jason starts up the boat and decides to head right to the outermost chain of tiny islands, because the vital thing here is making sure that Bruce doesn’t get swept right out into the open ocean. One hand on the wheel, with the other he pops an earphone back in and presses a complicated code using the volume up/down buttons. It’s another few seconds of the Fellowship coming through before the comm connects, and it’s Alfred.

“How can I help, Master Jason?”

“How much of what went down did you catch, Agent A?”

“I must confess to a little chuckle when I saw Master Bruce being thrown overboard. The onboard cameras caught the rest of your fight, and may I just say, splendid aim with the steak knife. I doubt I could have done better myself.”

That’s a blatant lie if Jason’s ever heard one, but he’ll take it. “Thanks, Alfie. Thing is, uh. Thing is, I might have misplaced B.”

There’s a short pause, and Alfred’s voice comes back on with polite inquiry. “What do you mean by ‘misplaced’, Master Jason?”

“You saw me chuck B over and leave him a life raft, right? Yeah, well, when I went ‘round to do a pick-up, he was gone.  And he doesn’t have any kit on him, so.” Urgh, this is going to live on in infamy. “So I might have lost Batman somewhere in the sea.”

There’s another pause, a little longer this time, filled with enough character that Jason can just imagine Alfred with his head tipped back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to chase off a headache that has given him no peace presumably since B was born. “I see. Do you know if he is injured? Or if Master Bruce is missing as per some sort of plan?”

“Think he might have been grazed by a couple of bullets, but nothing life-threatening. And this  could  be a dick move that’s part of a bigger plan, Alfred, but he knows you’d be  real passive-aggressive if he runs off without telling anyone. He pulls that kind of bullshit when things are apocalyptic, but it’s just a bunch of pirates not social-distancing.” Jason worries at his lower lip, and tries to feel more confident about the absence of serious injuries. “I don’t know, maybe he hit the water wrong and passed out and got swept out, or something. I just know I’m not leaving this as is.”

God literally save B if this does turn out to be some dumbfuck ploy to go off and Rambo a mission solo, that’s a Jason Todd guarantee right there.

“I believe not trusting Master Bruce to be all right is generally the right way of thinking, unfortunately.” Alfred sighs, and it comes off as static in the earpiece. “I will make some inquiries, and see what resources we have for a search and rescue mission. In the meantime, Master Jason, do what you think is best. Master Bruce may not have any of his usual equipment, but so long as he has the raft, he should survive for a good long while.”

Knowing how extremely over-prepared Bruce is in almost every aspect of his life, Jason wouldn’t be too surprised to know that all WE rafts came prepared with spear guns and a bar of solid gold. Best case scenario, he’ll find Bruce in time for dinner, and they can have an(other) awkward meal where Bruce does his damnedest to be inoffensive and haltingly the best father he can be, while Jason tries not to get ticked off by every third word out of the man’s mouth.

Jason tells Alfred that he’s going to whip out some maps and do a lap around all the tiny little cays that dot the sea to try and find Bruce, and half his head’s thinking about a memorial service where Clark will presumably burst into tears while stood in front of a casket that’s got a symbolic Speedo in it, and that’s how Bruce is going to go down in history, which is what he deserves.

The other half decides that now is a good time to remember how Bruce had once gone all-out on a search-and-rescue mission for Jason too, many many years ago, and oh, look how  that turned out.

What a fucking feast or famine man.

-

Fishing is an accursed activity for accursed men. Bruce is somebody whose hobby slash raison d’etre involves getting dressed up in armour and perching on a gargoyle somewhere high up in an unmoving manner for hours at a time, and he  still finds himself bored almost to tears by the lows and lowers of idly holding a fishing line in his hand, being convinced something has gotten hooked, and pulling up absolutely nothing (again and again and again).

It’s blissfully sundown by now and there’s no fresh fish on the menu, but he has a mouthful of fresh water thanks to the solar still, and he’s got half a protein bar in him for dinner. The moon’s nowhere near full and the stars are obscured; he’s completely enveloped in the kind of darkness that’s so, so foreign to a city like Gotham.

It’s all blackness as far as the eye can see, which is not very far, and all he has for company are his thoughts and the quiet  splish splish splish  of little waves pattering against the side of his raft.

It’s deeply unnerving even for Bruce, a man who has on occasion described himself as The Night. He has a fire starter and nothing to start a fire; he has a phone and no way to connect to anyone. He has a lot and very little all at once, and despite his best efforts, no amount of focus can get anything  done .

So Bruce sits with his back to the opening of the little tent, and over the next couple of hours finds himself slumping and sliding lower, til his head is thrown back across the edge and all he sees is nothing.

Stoicism in the face of terrible odds is an important part of being the Batman, but Bruce has no cowl and no cape; he’s just him right now. As he stares at what may or may not be the North Star, he finds himself thinking about how dinner was supposed to be scallops and baked fish with a side of exquisite wine, and gently mourns just a little. If his luck held, Jason would have swung by later to help himself to the dessert tray that Bruce has delivered straight to his room, and he could have sat there and basked in the unending pleasure of Jay's healthy and hearty and whole company.

Instead, he’s stuck out at sea trying to guess how close or far away he is from 10:47 PM, which is the default time to throw up a signal in cases where a team’s been broken up. In Gotham, even if he didn’t have a watch or a phone or a comm unit or a car, he could usually guess the time down to 15 minutes, just based on which shops were open and which shops were closed, what buses were running and what colour the WE building was lit up to, by the presence or absence of the tinkly elevator music that accompanies the fountain light show in the main plaza.

Here, there’s nothing. The position of the planets would be a bit of a hint on a good day, but on a bad day with heavy clouds and a concussion he’s not confident Venus is real. The outdoors are a mistake, and laid out in a raft miles and miles away from the nearest cityscape Bruce feels homesickness so keenly he has to turn over and throw up a little bit.

At least the concussion is keeping him company.

The first hour after nightfall he had taken the initiative to just sit there and count time out, but there’s something spectacularly soul-sucking about counting down seconds. Bruce was somewhere in the 3000s when he came to the conclusion that he would rather not reinforce his concept of mortality by literally calling out each moment he comes closer to death, thanks. It’s been a while since he stopped counting, but time’s a mess in the absence of manmade context.

He’s also, shamefully, a mess in the absence of manmade context.

Bruce has 3 flares and a son out there somewhere looking for him. Having a predetermined time to launch a signal is not a fundamentally bad idea, but it’s not practical when out in the field, and right now he’s even willing to go so far so as to admit that using the time of his parents’ passing is both extremely grim and extremely unkind to all parties involved.

All factors considered, it’s as good a time as any to get the flare gun. If he’s lucky, Jason will be ‘round to pick him up in under an hour. If he’s less lucky, it might be a different band of roving pirates that come for him, though by this point the company of sun-dried criminals is greatly preferable to just his own.

If he’s really,  really  unlucky, the flare’ll explode big and bright up in the sky to the attention of absolutely no one, and when that happens Bruce can begin to doubt his reality as much as he doubts Venus’.

“Please let it not be 10:47,” he says in the vain hope that karma’s looking out for him as he sticks his upper body out the tent flaps and shoots at the sky.

The flare goes up straight and true and explodes into bright bright light, and all of this would be a thing to be happy about if the presence of light didn’t highlight the clear, helpless absence of everything else.

For the first time in a very long time, the fearsome big bad Bat of Gotham turns in early for the night, but nobody is even around to appreciate it.

(He will find out that it was, in fact, just around 9 when he shot off the flare, or just about 3000 seconds after the 3000 seconds he’d already counted.)

(The invention of time was a Mistake.)

[1/2]

#batfam big bang 2020 #batman #bruce wayne #jason todd #whale writing #the vibe is v much that specific kind of humid depressed u get in summer #when ur not feeling great but #the overwhelming presence of the sun tells your body to #keep on keeping on #anyways i love the sea thanks for coming to my community tedtalk

[scvpubliclib]

NASA has awarded fellowships to 14 minority-serving institutions through its Minority University Research and Education Project (MUREP) and five majority institutions through its Aeronautics Research Mission Directorate (ARMD), all totaling $2.3 million, to support graduate student research.

#IFTTT #NASA #Factoids and Fun #Science

[captainpotassium]

NASA has awarded fellowships to 14 minority-serving institutions through its Minority University Research and Education Project (MUREP) and five majority institutions through its Aeronautics Research Mission Directorate (ARMD), all totaling $2.3 million, to support graduate student research.

#NASA #space news #space #outer space #outerspace

[consecrated2christ]

My dear friend Corrine is leaving on Friday to work for Mission Aviation Fellowship. :(

[burgerfiction]

Sunrise: A Song Of Two Humans (1927/28) - Charles Rosher & Karl Struss

White Shadows In The South Seas (1928/29) - Clyde De Vinna

With Byrd At The South Pole (1929/30) - Joseph T. Rucker & Willard Van der Veer

Tabu: A Story Of The South Seas (1930/31) - Floyd Crosby

Shanghai Express (1931/32) - Lee Garmes

A Farewell To Arms (1932/33) - Charles Lang

Cleopatra (1934) - Victor Milner

A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1935) - Hal Mohr

Anthony Adverse (1936 B&W) - Tony Gaudio

The Garden Of Allah (1936 COLOR) - W. Howard Greene & Harold Rosson

The Good Earth (1937 B&W) - Karl Freund

A Star Is Born (1937 COLOR) - W. Howard Greene

The Great Waltz (1938 B&W) - Joseph Ruttenberg

Sweethearts (1938 COLOR) - Oliver T. Marsh & Allen Davey

Wuthering Heights (1939 B&W) - Gregg Toland

Gone With The Wind (1939 COLOR) - Ernest Haller & Ray Rennahan

Rebecca (1940 B&W) - George Barnes

The Thief Of Bagdad (1940 COLOR) - Georges Perinal

How Green Was My Valley (1941 B&W) - Arthur C. Miller

Blood And Sand (1941 COLOR) - Ernest Palmer & Ray Rennahan

Mrs. Miniver (1942 B&W) - Joseph Ruttenberg

The Black Swan (1942 COLOR) - Leon Shamroy

The Song Of Bernadette (1943 B&W) - Arthur C. Miller

Phantom Of The Opera (1943 COLOR) - Hal Mohr & W. Howard Greene

Laura (1944 B&W) - Joseph LaShelle

Wilson (1944 COLOR) - Leon Shamroy

The Picture Of Dorian Gray (1945 B&W) - Harry Stradling

Leave Her To Heaven (1945 COLOR) - Leon Shamroy

Anna And The King Of Siam (1945 B&W) - Arthur C. Miller

The Yearling (1946 COLOR) - Charles Rosher, Leonard Smith & Arthur E. Arling

Great Expectations (1947 B&W) - Guy Green

Black Narcissus (1947 COLOR) - Jack Cardiff

The Naked City (1948 B&W) - William H. Daniels

Joan Of Arc (1948 COLOR) - Joseph A. Valentine, William V. Skall & Winton Hoch

Battleground (1949 B&W) - Paul C. Vogel

She Wore A Yellow Ribbon (1949 COLOR) - Winton Hoch

The Third Man (1950 B&W) - Robert Krasker

King Solomon’s Mines (1950 COLOR) - Robert Surtees

A Place In The Sun (1951 B&W) - William C. Mellor

An American In Paris (1951 COLOR) - Alfred Gilks & John Alton

The Bad And The Beautiful (1952 B&W) - Robert Surtees

The Quiet Man (1952 COLOR) - Winton Hoch & Archie Stout

From Here To Eternity (1953 B&W) - Burnett Guffey

Shane (1953 COLOR) - Loyal Griggs

On The Waterfront (1954 B&W) - Boris Kaufman

Three Coins In The Fountain (1954 COLOR) - Milton R. Krasner

The Rose Tattoo (1955 B&W) - James Wong Howe

To Catch A Thief (1955 COLOR) - Robert Burks

Somebody Up There Likes Me (1956 B&W) - Joseph Ruttenberg

Around The World In 80 Days (1956 COLOR) - Lionel Lindon

The Bridge On The River Kwai (1957) - Jack Hildyard

The Defiant Ones (1958 B&W) - Sam Leavitt

Gigi (1958 COLOR) - Joseph Ruttenberg

The Diary Of Anne Frank (1959 B&W) - William C. Mellor

Ben-Hur (1959 COLOR) - Robert Surtees

Sons And Lovers (1960 B&W) - Freddie Francis

Spartacus (1960 COLOR) - Russel Metty

The Hustler (1961 B&W) - Eugen Schufftan

West Side Story (1961 COLOR) - Daniel L. Fapp

The Longest Day (1962 B&W) - Jean Bourgoin & Walter Wottitz

Lawrence Of Arabia (1962 COLOR) - Freddie Young

Hud (1963 B&W) - James Wong Howe

Cleopatra (1963 COLOR) - Leon Shamroy

Zorba The Greek (1964 B&W) - Walter Lassally

My Fair Lady (1964 COLOR) - Harry Stradling

Ship Of Fools (1965 B&W) - Ernest Laszlo

Doctor Zhivago (1965 COLOR) - Freddie Young

Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? (1966 B&W) - Haskell Wexler

A Man For All Seasons (1966 COLOR) - Ted Moore

Bonnie And Clyde (1967) - Burnett Guffey

Romeo And Juliet (1968) - Pasqualino De Santis

Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid (1969) - Conrad L. Hall

Ryan’s Daughter (1970) - Freddie Young

Fiddler On The Roof (1971) - Oswald Morris

Cabaret (1972) - Geoffrey Unsworth

Cries And Whispers (1973) - Sven Nykvist

The Towering Inferno (1974) - Fred J. Koenekamp & Joseph F. Biroc

Barry Lyndon (1975) - John Alcott

Bound For Glory (1976) - Haskell Wexler

Close Encounters Of The Third Kind (1977) - Vilmos Zsigmond

Days Of Heaven (1978) - Nestor Almendros

Apocalypse Now (1979) - Vittorio Storaro

Tess (1980) - Geoffrey Unsworth & Ghislain Cloquet

Reds (1981) - Vittorio Storaro

Gandhi (1982) - Billy Williams & Ronnie Taylor

Fanny And Alexander (1983) - Sven Nykvist

The Killing Fields (1984) - Chris Menges

Out Of Africa (1985) - David Watkin

The Mission (1986) - Chris Menges

The Last Emperor (1987) - Vittorio Storaro

Mississippi Burning (1988) - Peter Biziou

Glory (1989) - Freddie Francis

Dances With Wolves (1990) - Dean Semler

JFK (1991) - Robert Richardson

A River Runs Through It (1992) - Philippe Rousselot

Schindler’s List (1993) - Janusz Kaminski

Legends Of The Fall (1994) - John Toll

Braveheart (1995) - John Toll

The English Patient (1996) - John Seale

Titanic (1997) - Russell Carpenter

Saving Private Ryan (1998) - Janusz Kaminski

American Beauty (1999) - Conrad L. Hall

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000) - Peter Pau

The Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship Of The Ring (2001) - Andrew Lesnie

Road To Perdition (2002) - Conrad L. Hall

Master And Commander: The Far Side Of The World (2003) - Russell Boyd

The Aviator (2004) - Robert Richardson

Memoirs Of A Geisha (2005) - Dion Beebe

Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) - Guillermo Navarro

There Will Be Blood (2007) - Robert Elswit

Slumdog Millionaire (2008) - Anthony Dod Mantle

Avatar (2009) - Mauro Fiore

Inception (2010) - Wally Pfister

Hugo (2011) - Robert Richardson

Life Of Pi (2012) - Claudio Miranda

Gravity (2013) - Emmanuel Lubezki

Birdman (2014) - Emmanuel Lubezki

The Revenant (2015) - Emmanuel Lubezki

La La Land (2016) - Linus Sandgren

Blade Runner 2049 (2017) - Roger Deakins

#Oscars #Academy Awards #cinematography #Best Cinematography

[southeastasianists]

Teacher, nurse, police officer or farmer: if you ask a child in Timor-Leste what they want to be when they grow up, you’ll hear a profession they see every day.

Growing up in the small village of Costa, in the Indonesian-enclosed enclave of Oecusse, Cristina Amaral would see aeroplanes – on television and for sale as toys and trinkets at street-side kiosks, but not with her own eyes. She never saw the pilots inside them, and certainly no women pilots.

Growing up in the small village of Costa, in the Indonesian-enclosed enclave of Oecusse, Cristina Amaral would see aeroplanes – on television and for sale as toys and trinkets at street-side kiosks, but not with her own eyes. She never saw the pilots inside them, and certainly no women pilots.

At just 26, Amaral sits steely-eyed and confident in the cockpit of one of Aero Dili’s seven-seat Cessna planes. She is one of just two fully qualified pilots on the staff of this new local airline – and the country’s first-ever female pilot.

“Many people in Timor don’t know they can be pilots because not many people take aeroplanes,” she told Southeast Asia Globe. “They’re scared; that’s the dominant feeling. But when they know, or when they have people who explain it to them, they’re not scared.”

But with no guide, no one to explain it to her, fearlessness was a required attribute for the then 20-year-old Amaral, who left home in 2013 to study in Jakarta, Indonesia. After she completed her pilot training in 2015 with the support of a full scholarship from the Timorese government, Amaral stayed at the school for two more years working as a flight instructor.

She says she enjoyed her time training new pilots – supervising flights, delivering theoretical lessons and running flight simulations – but was excited to return to Timor-Leste in April 2018 to accept a job offer from the then-unlaunched local airline Aero Dili.

“It meant I could serve my people, help the people I love,” she explained. “So I’m happy and proud.”

Pilot dreams connecting remote communities

While the municipality of Oecusse hosts Timor-Leste’s third-highest urban population, 83% of families in the region live in rural areas and an estimated 80% of Timorese families are subsistence farmers. The Asian Development Bank estimates that nearly four in five girls in the traditionally patriarchal country aren’t enrolled in school above grade eight, putting professional dreams out of reach for most young women and setting Amaral and her four younger siblings on a path to follow in their hardworking parents’ footsteps – tending the family home and farm.

But Amaral had bigger ideas.

“I wanted to become a pilot because I wanted to do something for my country,” she told UN Women in 2015. “We don’t have many pilots, so I thought to myself, ‘I would love to do that to help with my country’s development.’”

Amaral said her goals in life are anything but self-centred: “I want to help people. I don’t want to become rich or an important person, I want to be a happy person, a person who helps others. People need transport, sick children need transport, and we can help them here [at Aero Dili].”

Timor-Leste’s mountainous geography and the generally poor condition of its rural roads makes road travel between towns difficult and aeroplane travel attractive. The drive to Baucau, an Aero Dili destination 126 kilometres east of Dili, the capital, along the country’s northern coast, takes four hours – time Amaral believes to be painfully long for some families.

Limited opportunities for Timorese pilots

Few airlines operate in Timor-Leste. The country’s national airline, Air Timor, operates a single flight weekly between Dili and Singapore under an agreement with SilkAir. The UK religious charity Mission Aviation Fellowship operates charter flights for private passengers between Dili, nearby Atauro Island and the airport in Pante Macasar, in Oecusse.

Amaral said Aero Dili intends to operate a flight to Oecusse and is now awaiting approval from the region’s president, former Timor-Leste Prime Minister Mari Alkatiri.

It’s a quick expansion for the airline, which launched in August and currently offers six domestic flights daily between Dili and seven towns.

Pioneering pilot paving the way

While no consistent global data on female airline pilots exists, data for the US and United Kingdom indicate that just over 4% of pilots there are women.

Amaral admitted it can be daunting for women and girls to enter male-dominated industries like aviation, but said confidence, conviction and – crucially – guidance can help.

“Young people in Timor need someone who can guide them,” she said. “For the next generation, we can dream, but we also must work hard. If we don’t have ambitions, our dreams don’t [happen]. I liked it when I was a [flight] instructor – now I want to remain an instructor, to guide other people, especially women.”

While many passengers are surprised to see a woman in the cockpit, Amaral said her biggest career challenge hasn’t been discrimination, but attending flight school taught in Indonesian, her third language. “Some passengers say in the home, women are the ones in control; now in the aeroplane, women are the ones in control,” she said, grinning broadly. “Your life is in the women’s hands, they say, so behave yourself!”

Warm and bubbly, Amaral spoke in Tetun with the unmistakable singsong accent of her Oecusse upbringing and its singsong native Baikenu language. “Pronto,” she said frequently at the beginning of her sentences to punctuate her thoughts: ready. Which she is, for whatever she tackles next.

#Southeast Asia #East Timor #Timor Leste #Cristina Amaral #People

[riversname]

A pilot doing a survey for Mission Aviation Fellowship flew over the basin of Buzi river in Mozambique, which had burst its banks, and was able to provide the first information on the area.

“It was a heartbreaking flight today as we flew over many miles of flooded land in the Buzi River basin. We saw many people stranded on roof tops surrounded by kilometres of water. It was difficult to comprehend and think about that probably many have perished,” Rick Emenaker told the South African site Lowvelder. Read more...

*The devastating cyclone that hit south-eastern Africa may be the worst ever disaster to strike the southern hemisphere, according to the UN. Cyclone Idai has swept through Mozambique, Malawi and Zimbabwe over the last few days, destroying almost everything in its path, causing devastating floods, ruining crops and killing and injuring thousands of people. More than 2.6m people could be affected across the three countries, and the port city of Beira, which was hit on Friday and is home to 500,000 people, is now an “island in the ocean”, almost completely cut off. More than 1,000 people are feared dead after a cyclone devastated Mozambique, according to President Filip Nyusi. "The waters of the Pungue and Buzi rivers overflowed, making whole villages disappear and isolating communities, and bodies are floating," said Mr Nyusi. "It is a real disaster of great proportions."

Image: Forecast-based Financing.

#cyclone idai #world news #people #natural disasters #climate change

[globalheroesnews]

#airplanes #healthcare

[arrahmahcom]

Video Teroris KKB Papua Terus Menebar Kekejian

Video Teroris KKB Papua Terus Menebar Kekejian

(Arrahmah.com) – Pesawat Mission Aviation Fellowship (MAF) jenis Twin Otter dibakar kelompok kriminal bersenjata (KKB) di Kampung Pagamba, Distrik Biandoga, pada Rabu 6 Januari 2021. Mereka mengklaim sebagai Tentara Pembebasan Nasional Papua Barat. Dalam video tersebut, kelompok KKB pimpinan Undius Kogoya langsung menyerbu pesawat MAF. Seorang pilot disuruh turun dari pesawat dan diminta…

View On WordPress

#KKB #papua #Teroris KKB

[truelifechristian]

In this week's blog of Spiritual Rhythm, Mark Buchanan writes about “Turning Toward The Light” using Zacchaeus, that we little man that he climbed a sycamore tree. The issue is salvation here. Jesus says salvation has come to this house.

I make a correlation between Zacchaeus and Joyce. Joyce was a part of Mission Aviator Fellowship (MAF) in the movie that just came out this week called “Ends of the Earth.” It is amazing through the beginning of spiritual life up until your physical death how much of an impact salvation has upon your whole being. I hope you go and take a look! 😇

~ Darren, The Soul Blogger of TrueLifeChristianity Blog ~