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passivenovember · 3 years

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Tetherball : Harringrove April Day One

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Steve put his seatbelt on that first day, when Billy stepped out of his chariot across school grounds, taking inventory of things as they were. Life as Steve knew it.

Nancy in the seat next to him.

First period chemistry, English, Geology, lunch. Steve took note of the periwinkle tones in the sky, the rumble of the cafeteria on pizza day, the smell of the library and the way the books turned on you if there were late fees to be settled.

Everything fell into bullet points across worn pavement.

Then versus now. Before and after.

Steve said goodbye to planet Earth that day, whether he knew it or not. Whether he found it favorable. The rumble of an engine beneath his feet changed Steve's perception, and the weight of two blue medallions grew and grew until Steve had learned the facts.

William Hargrove went by Billy. And he had tumbled in from California, presumably naked on a sea shell, where Billy’s stepsister doused hatred like a flame in the ocean under skies full of seagulls and cotton candy wisps.

He wore elevens in converse and a large Hawkins Phys Ed t-shirt that popped seams across his biceps but went soft and wavy in the middle.

Not like it mattered, though.

William went by Billy and he called skins as soon as coach blew the whistle. His t-shirt never made another appearance after that.

That's all Steve needed to know, right? The basics. California and step sisters, William instead of Billy, and the sound of rubber on polished oak.

But that's the funny thing about revelations.

Facts are different when colored by opinions, and Steve felt them dropping like coins from the hole in his pocket. As he got to know Billy the bullet points that had taken over Steve's mind rippled and glimmered in the light of first period. Changing.

He observed.

Wondered.

Obsessed.

Developing thoughts about who Billy was and, eventually, the person he pretended to be. Steve wasn't interested in the line Billy drew around the two halves of a whole. Any of the masks he wore in the cafeteria around princesses and prom queens versus the man Steve saw in second period English, who was.

Soft spoken and thoughtful. Every pastel shade in the sky versus brash and heated sunsets over barley.

Flame and sea, like a burning ship at war.

Steve wasn't interested but he learned anyway. Took notes, eyes tracking the brush of Billy's thumb on his bottom lip, brows pinching in concentration as he deciphered the root of a poem in ten seconds flat. The curl of his lips when we took his paper from Mr. Terrine. How he always had an extra pencil for anyone who needed it.

Before long Steve aced his exam in AP Hargrove and failed where everyone else said it mattered.

Got himself a tutor.

Blue eyes to pin him in place, pink lips to seal the passage between worlds. Steve wasn't interested in spending his afternoons under a tetherball, smacking brightly colored plastic out of his face as Billy read to him from a textbook while his sister. Max (step sister, Billy's voice supplied), kicked some girls ass on on the skateboard during softball practice.

"Should we try it once more?" Billy's patient. Steve wasn't expecting that.

He smacks the ball away again. "I've learned a lot about you, but I wasn't expecting this."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y'know." From across the playground Max teaches her girl how to kick flip. Steve doesn't think that's right. He shrugs anyway. "Smarts. Like, AP biology, Valedictorian, Brain stew smart."

They've been studying together for weeks.

Four weeks. Seems like more with the slide of Billy's shoulder against Steve's arm, blonde ringlets dodging the tetherball as it swings overhead. Billy's fingers brush the open faced textbook, mouth serious but eyes soft. Sparkly, like a discarded bag of glitter.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to the prose."

"Maybe I can do both at the same time." Steve fiddles with the edge of the notebook, nodding as Billy grins. "Alright, goldilocks, tell your silly little story."

He does.

The green eyed boy in the powder blue shirt standing next to you in the supermarket recoils as if hit,

repeatedly,

by a lot of men, as if he has a history of it.

Steve leans back against the rusty iron pole, feeling the weight of the tetherball on one side of his head, and. The brush of golden curls on the other. He closes his eyes, feeling a voice more than hearing it.

That is not your problem. You have your own body to deal with.

The lamp by the bed is broken--

"Are you following?" Billy asks. He moves, knees drawn up so the book is balanced close to the curve of his chin. Close to the split in the universe. "We're getting into muddy waters here--"

"'S not that muddy."

"Sure it is." Billy's cheeks flush, pink paint across the bridge of his nose. He moves against Steve's arm, elbow knocking into ribs. "Tell me what you think is happening."

Steve thinks about it.

Knocks Billy's arm away gently, closing his eyes. "Read some more and then we'll talk."

Billy does.

The lamp by the bed is broken. You are feeling things he is no longer in touch with a nd everyone is speaking softly, as if not to wake one another.

The wind knocks the heads of the flowers together. Steam rises from every cup at every table at once.

Things happen all the time.

Things happen at every minute that have nothing to do with us.

Billy stops reading and Steve peeks at him through an eye half-lidded, curious. "Is that the end of the story?"

"Poem."

"Huh." Steve straightens, moving his legs this way and that. "Felt like a story."

Billy mirrors him exactly, closing the textbook and grabbing his pencil. "That's interesting."

And the way he says it. While flipping through his pea-green fivestar spiral, makes it feel wrong. Stupid.

Steve smacks distantly at the sky. "No it's not."

"Sure it is. Siken's poems are very lyrical. They paint images, vivid images, and sometimes I can imagine myself doing what the lines convey."

Steve grins. "You can imagine yourself in bed with another man?"

Steve isn't interested in the answer but he's interested in the feeling, the glint of emotion behind a wall of powdery blue. It doesn't seep through the cracks, though, it's contained. If Steve wants to find the center, he'll have to dig.

Billy doesn't miss a beat. "If that's what you think the poem's talking about, sure."

"Of course that's what it's talking about."

"How so?"

Steve laughs at that, rubbing against Billy's side. "You sound like a scholar."

"Is that so wrong?"

"No." Steve says thoughtfully. "'S cute."

Billy doesn't crack. Not in the way Steve's used to. No fingers in his hair, spinning spools of gold as he peeks at Steve through thick lashes. Instead he makes a note of it, whatever it is they're saying. Scribbling Steve's interpretation on one side of the blank page, dividing the two halves with a thick black line.

Billy intends to find the truth. "The protagonist is in love with the man at the supermarket? Is that what you're saying."

"I guess."

Billy rolls his eyes. "Your intent has to be clear. Poetry is all about interpretation; if you don't attempt to bridge the divide--"

"All right, Einstein." Steve plays along. "Sure."

Billy's eyes flash victorious as he clicks the pen trigger. "What makes you say that?"

"The way he's obsessed with him."

"The way the narrator is obsessed?" Billy leans forward, intent. "With the man in the grocery store?"

"What makes you deny it?" Steve wonders, folding his legs beneath him so they're crisscross applesauce.

Billy leans back against the pole, casual and easy. "I'm not the one failing English."

"No, but you are the poet." Steve counters. "Dude, I know you have an interpretation. I know you have thoughts, so. Just tell me."

Billy turns to face the playground.

Max skates circles around her girl, smiling in the way Billy does when he's got Steve pinned on the court. Like a predator. Pushing and pulling back just enough to leave the girl chasing after her, enough to catch herself before Max has a chance to get her claws out.

It's incredible, Steve thinks, how much Billy is just like his sister.

"I think he's using him."

Steve cocks his head, curious.

"The man with the blue shirt." Billy opens the textbook and reads the part about the lamp again, peeking up at Steve through frizzy curls. "The narrator says we are feeling things the man is no longer in touch with."

Steve leans forward. "Like love?"

Billy thinks about it. "No."

"Connection, then."

"If they're sleeping together it's more than just sex." Billy counters, "More than just carnality."

Which.

Steve frowns. "People fuck all the time without connecting."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Steve thinks about rattling down his list. The girls, the guys, the one night stands and bullshit post-game hook ups.

Billy fiddles with the edges of his notebook almost. Shyly. "People have sex because they're in love."

Steve snorts. "There's a million reasons to fuck outside of love."

Billy's eyes flash hard with.

Something. He bares his teeth. "Yeah? Like what?"

"I dunno. Breakup sex, makeup sex, sorry for burning a hole in your prom dress sex--"

"Gross."

"Point is." Steve looks at Billy. Studies him, the freckles across his upper lip, the scruff along his jawline. "Sex and emotion don't have to exist within each other."

Billy stares back at him, eyes wide and distant. Closed off.

He writes something on Steve's half of the notebook. "I disagree."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Billy tosses his pen to the ground. "Our narrator says the man in the blue shirt has a history of being hit by other men."

"So?" Steve has trouble following at the best of times, and this.

The way Billy is worrying the skin on his fingers, nails catching and tearing in places they don't belong, feels important.

Billy shrugs. "Why would he sleep with a man without knowing his heart?"

"Maybe he just wants to feel something."

"Or maybe he wants to connect." Billy turns to look out across the playground once more, fingers tugging at the edge of his notebook. "Maybe he's existing in this bubble, like. This silent world with a tiny room where everyone is speaking softly out of respect. Maybe he chooses the wrong person because it's better than feeling half alive."

Steve knows they aren't talking about the poem anymore.

He tugs the notebook from Billy's hands, flipping through a million and one handwritten theories and observations. Billy lets him. Lets Steve look through his life and into his mind before handing the spiral back and asking, "Have you ever picked the wrong person?"

Billy doesn't say anything and then; "Yes."

"How come?"

"Everybody's wrong if you squint hard enough."

Steve nods, looping his arms around his knees. "And I'm assuming you didn't sleep with any of them."

He doesn't expect Billy to answer. It's not like they owe each other anything, honesty or otherwise. Billy leans back against the pole once more. From where their bodies are pressed together Billy feels feverish. Incendiary.

Billy clears his throat. "Or the opposite."

Which catches Steve off guard.

Billy watches him for a moment, eyes dark and serious. "I don't think the narrator sleeps with the man in the blue shirt. Maybe he intends to. Take the guy home, make a couple drinks, blaze trails into something previously unknown to him or maybe just. A feeling he hasn't felt in a while. But intimacy isn't always about sex."

Steve snorts. "I can't think of anything more intimate than being inside another person."

"But you are inside them, just. Not in the way you expected."

Steve glares out over the playground. The sun will be setting soon, blacktops and brown fields painted in shades of red and orange. The whole world will catch on fire but Steve feels the beginning, coals glowing bright red under the line of his ribcage when he turns to find blue eyes on him.

Dousing the fire, or maybe.

Raising the stakes. His eyes flit across Billy's forehead, brushing over his lips and coming to rest on his eyelashes. Feathery and soft, like the arms of a teddy bear. Steve licks his lips, going up in flame when Billy's eyes track the movement.

"I lied." Steve says.

Billy doesn't look away. "I'm not sure what you--"

"The first time a boy ever kissed me." Steve says. "When a boy kissed me because he wanted to, that was more intimate than anything I'd ever felt before."

Billy's gaze falls impossibly lower, tracing the swell of Steve's lips. "How did it feel?"

And he says it like.

He couldn't possibly know.

And Steve says, "Like my heart was taking root," like.

Let me show you.

Billy takes a deep breath. "I don't think I've ever felt like that."

"Never?"

"Not once."

From across the playground Max's answering laugh makes Billy's skin turn gold. Caramel, ice cream topped with sugar. Steve feels his body inching closer, mouth opening as if to taste love on the air.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #spring #idiots in love #first kiss #day one

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Good Omens - “Angel’s Christmas Wish” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Crowley doesn't know what to get his angel for Christmas. It becomes such an issue, it creates a time-loop, forcing Crowley to re-live the day until he gets it right. (2263 words)

Notes: Written for @theantichristmaszine 2020 :)

Read on AO3.

“Oh, Aziraphale … darling …” A soft pause. A hard swallow. “Look at me, angel … please …”

Aziraphale’s eyelids flutter open - nerves and self-doubt fighting to keep them shut. And they almost win. It’s hard to be seen this way - vulnerable, open, full of this beautiful demon who’s doing his level best to please him, to fulfill his every desire.

And he’s succeeding.

Which is why opening his eyes is so hard.

Opening his eyes would mean letting Crowley see into him, expose the fact that he wants this, everything about it - the sacred connection between hearts and souls.

The carnal connection between skin and skin.

But Crowley’s pleas to him are so sweet, Aziraphale can’t deny him.

He stares up at his demon, eyes glistening with tears.

“There you are,” Crowley whispers. “I thought you might have disappeared on me.”

“Never, my dear. I’m right here. I’m with you. And I always will be.”

Crowley sweeps a thumb underneath Aziraphale’s eye and collects a single tear. He brings it to his lips and kisses it away. Then he leans in and kisses his angel again.

Aziraphale didn’t know he’d started crying but he can’t help himself. It’s not a habit of his. He’s not a ninny. But this moment, this one right here, with Crowley hovering over him, arms wrapped around him, moving with him in a slow rhythm, is the most magical moment of his entire existence.

From where this night began to where it ended up, this is nothing short of a miracle in Aziraphale’s eyes …

***

“Dearest? Why do you look so glum?” Aziraphale asks, handing Crowley a glass of champagne. “It’s Christmas!”

“Of course, it’s Christmas!” Crowley grumps, grabbing the glass from Aziraphale’s hands and knocking the alcohol back in one go. “It’s always Christmas!”

Aziraphale stutters a laugh, staring at Crowley as if his demon has suddenly gone bonkers. “What on earth do you mean it’s always Christmas? It isn’t always Christmas. Christmas only comes around once a year!”

“Not for us, it doesn’t,” Crowley mutters. “For some strange reason, we’ve been through this over a hundred times!”

“We as in the world? Or we as in you and me?”

“The world! And no matter what, I still get it wrong!”

Aziraphale watches Crowley rearrange his legs underneath him on the sofa. He gets up and paces, then sits down again. Aziraphale waits a moment longer before he comes up with a response. It’s not Crowley’s words that give him pause. It’s the tone of his voice, his body language. What he’s saying may sound ridiculous, but from the way he’s behaving - taking an anxious lap around the room with his shoulders tensed and his hands shoved into his pockets, as if waiting for a bomb to drop - Aziraphale can’t do much of anything other than believe him.

“You’re going to have to forgive me but I don’t understand,” he says, fishing for clarity. “This is the first Christmas we’ve spent together. Well, spent together as a couple. There was that one year …”

“No! No, it isn’t!” Crowley interrupts before Aziraphale can derail the conversation. “I don’t know what’s going on, Aziraphale, or how! I honestly don’t! But this is the 132nd Christmas we’ve spent together! We exchange gifts, have dinner, go to bed, wake up, and it’s Christmas all over again! And I can’t figure out why!” Crowley drops onto the sofa and buries his head in his hands.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, topping off his demon’s glass, then taking the seat beside him. “Well, that … that is a puzzler … isn’t it?”

***

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley utters. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I …” He doesn’t necessarily have Aziraphale’s attention, but it’s like the words aren’t for him to hear. Just for Crowley to say. But in the quiet of the room, Aziraphale does hear them.

“You know, my dear,” he says into the crook of Crowley’s neck, “if you had told me a year ago that we would finally get to this point, I would have thought you’d gone mad.”

“I was going mad,” Crowley admits. “Every time I saw you, I dropped hints like they were breadcrumbs and you … well, you never seemed to notice.”

‘Hints?’ Aziraphale’s brow wrinkles, thinking back on their every interaction, every conversation, trying to discern when Crowley had dropped any hints of any kind. Aside from saving those books from that church bombing (which may have made up for any hints Aziraphale missed) he is pressed to remember a single one.

“They must have been subtle,” Aziraphale deduces out loud.

“I was trying not to be too forward. Demon, you know.”

“Yes, my dear,” Aziraphale says with a fond sigh for his ridiculous lover.

Crowley chuckles. Then his brow wrinkles as well. “Wait … did you say finally?”

“Yes. I did.”

“But that would mean you thought we would get to this point eventually.”

“You did, too. What with all your hint dropping.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Crowley argues. “I hoped.”

Aziraphale pushes lightly on Crowley’s shoulders, tilting his head to look into his eyes. “I knew,” he says softly. “Deep down inside, I have always known.”

***

“Do you have any leads?” Aziraphale asks, getting caught up in the excitement of this mystery, even as his poor demon wallows in the angst.

“I think …” Crowley begins, tapping his heel on the floor as he thinks “… it’s the present.”

“What about the past? And the future? If we’re repeating time …”

“No no no!” Crowley interrupts. “Not the present present! The present present!”

Aziraphale frowns. “What?”

“Present as in gift. My gift to you.”

“But I love my present!” Aziraphale gushes, putting a hand to his waistcoat pocket and retrieving the gift Crowley gave him. “This is a perfectly beautiful pocket watch! No little screens or beeping buttons. Just a simple, elegant piece of machinery.”

“That’s just it! It is a perfectly beautiful pocket watch! And it’s just the kind of thing you’d appreciate. But it’s obviously not the thing! Not the right thing! Yesterday, I gave you a perfectly beautiful book of poetry …”

“Oh! Who wrote it?” Aziraphale asks, eyes gleaming.

“Wat? Uh … Byron, I think.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replies, slightly disappointed.

“Wat? Wat’s wrong with Byron?” Crowley asks, curious if this could be the reason why they’re here today. If he can find out what’s wrong with his presents, then he can get Aziraphale the right one and the two of them the Heaven out of this mess!

“Nothing’s wrong with Byron. It’s simply that … well, I like your writing better.”

Crowley scoffs in frustration.

Nope. That didn’t help him at all.

“And the day before that, it was a perfectly beautiful bottle of 1947 Cheval-Blanc. Every gift I’ve given you has been perfectly beautiful in your own words. But it’s not, because I wake up every morning and here we are again, celebrating Christmas! And I want to move on from here, Aziraphale! I want to go forward with you! How do I do that? How do I break the loop?”

***

Crowley’s body is exceptional.

Simply exquisite.

If Azirapahle didn’t know for a fact that Crowley had refined his corporation himself, he would say that Crowley’s body is the Almighty’s best work.

Aziraphale knows things like physical beauty aren’t supposed to be important, but the fact of the matter is Crowley has created a facade that is not only pleasing to the eye, but which fits his personality to a T.

If one wanted an accurate first impression of the demon Crowley, they would not want to look to his true form, but into the eyes and winning smile of this glorious creature.

Unlike Hastur. That rotting, maggot-ridden, gray-skinned ghoul with the soulless black eyes?

That’s who Duke Hastur truly is.

Aziraphale can’t stop looking at his demon’s body.

Not to mention the things he can do with it.

Aziraphale supposes that’s part and parcel with being a demon - knowing how to inspire lust.

But the things Crowley is doing to him, the way he makes him feel …

… Aziraphale, with his vast knowledge of human linguistics, can’t seem to find the words for.

There are no words powerful enough to describe the sensation of Crowley’s lips on his skin, or his hands feeling out erogenous zones Aziraphale never realized existed. These corporations they use to fit in on earth, they are so frail. So delicate from the standpoint of a supernatural entity. When he first got his, he had to take great care always not to harm the thing.

But that became easier the more he grew to love it.

Apparently God made up for the frailty of the human body by giving them this incredible gift of physical intimacy. And for humans especially, an intimacy with no purpose other than for two beings to simply enjoy one another.

And Aziraphale is grateful that he gets this opportunity to sample it.

***

“If you ask me, I would say that we’re stuck in a loop you’ve created, since you’re the only one who seems to know it exists,” Aziraphale says, sounding utterly nonplussed by the whole sticky affair. “Therefore, only you can break it.”

“But how!? What am I missing? What is the right thing? What do I need to give you that I haven’t given you already?”

Aziraphale looks down into his flute of bubbling alcohol and smiles a wistful little smile. “Oh, my dear, that’s just the thing.”

“Wat do you mean?” Crowley asks, poised on the brink of desperation. He may have created this loop, but he very much believes that angel holds the key to shattering it. “Wat’s the thing?”

“You don’t need to give me anything. Nothing you would purchase in a store, at least.”

“Wat … wat else is there?” Crowley asks, perplexed.

Aziraphale turns his body towards him, leans in a hair closer, and looks deep into his eyes. “Think,” he says. “A little harder.”

***

“I’m yours, you know …” Crowley whispers through a veil that sounds like tears..

“What’s that, dear?”

“I’m yours.” He sniffs. “Have been. For as long as we’ve known one another. No …” Crowley wipes his left cheekbone with the back of his hand. “No, since the moment I saw you standing on that blasted wall. It’s the most ludicrous, most inconceivable thing in the world for me to say. There were so many times I thought I was lying to myself. But it’s true. Ever since then, Aziraphale …” Crowley stops, looks at Aziraphale to make sure he hasn’t lost him in his confession.

The smile on his angel’s face tells him that’s not likely.

“I’m yours,” he repeats.

“How come you never told me?”

Crowley shrugs. “Would it have made any difference? You’re an angel. I’m a demon. We aren’t exactly a perfect match.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my love,” Aziraphale says, putting a hand to his demon’s cheek. “We are a perfect match. And I know this because I’ve been yours as well … you foul fiend.”

***

Crowley shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, my dear …” Aziraphale clears his throat but tightens his jaw, what he’s about to say making him a bit uncomfortable “… at the end of any of these loops, have you made love to me?” He clears his throat again, his cheeks warming, glowing pink.

“Oh …” Crowley hadn’t expected that. He sits up, which moves him away from his angel - which wasn’t his intention “… uh … n---no. No, I haven’t.”

“Then you’re right.” Aziraphale dares to shimmy closer with his cheeks burning now. “You haven’t found the thing yet. Because, to be quite honest … that’s what I wanted. Th---that’s what I was hoping for.”

“You want me … to make love to you? For Christmas?”

“O---only if you want to. I would never assume … or imply … which is to say, I wouldn’t want to force you to …”

***

“Oh Gahhh …!”

“Don’t say it!” Aziraphale hushes, giggling. “The consequences of that could be disastrous!”

“I know, I know. It’s just … I think I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why humans call out her name … during sex, I mean. Making love … it’s kind of like praying, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale swallows hard, fear pooling in his stomach with the thought that now that Crowley has come to that realization, he’ll never want to do this again. “Do you hate it?”

“No. Not at all. Not so long as I’m with you.”

***

Aziraphale doesn’t finish his sentence.

Not because he falters.

But because Crowley’s mouth on his takes his breath away.

“I am … so stupid,” Crowley says against his angel’s lips, unwilling to leave his mouth. “I never realized. I should have told you,” he confesses between kisses - to Aziraphale’s mouth, to his cheeks, to the soft curls surrounding his face, “so many times. I should have told you how I felt. How much I loved you. And I tried. I tried so hard to think of something I could give you that would let you know …”

Aziraphale puts a hand to his demon's cheek, stares into amber eyes he has seen - and admired - hundreds of times. But now, he feels like he’s looking into them for the very first time. “You don’t need to give me anything. All I want for Christmas ... is you.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #Crowley

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ujimaarc · 5 years

Note

"My king looks so very tired. It makes one wonder why he is not still asleep as he should be? The sun is hours from rising, love. Return to our bed?"

Science is T’Challa’s general weapon to doggedly question truths beyond his mortal coil. Almost akin to being exposed to a child’s metaphysical imagination, one would want to try to have their wonderment quelled with comprehensible justifications. Opulent Okoume trees circled a lake that seems to have millions of crushed diamonds captured across the surface. The sky was infinitely darker than the preceding noon in the frame of a goddess over red-and-green Wakandan cotton.

The very same frame that had taken the Panther chieftain’s corporeal picture and entangled him in her statuesque dimensions. Above, the stars mapped out the physique of those that took the Great Cat mantle before him versus their usual random spread.

The cat of worship never failed at bringing a mythical challenge to her avatar, much to his chagrin. Failing at entertaining herself by making him uneasy with his understanding of her supernatural naturality is a reality she’ll embrace whenever he chooses to allow it to come.

Through the surreal mist, gold eyes belonging to a twelve foot anthropomorphic bats in the interest of the direction where her nude king sat with company. In a circle made up of a litter of sleeping panther cubs, T'Challa’s amber eyes break from their adoration for the revered creatures and to the one he honored with every breath-take and choice he made towards the betterment of his country.

Time—as she can tell—as she already knew—brought about a welcomed change in T’Challa’s demeanor. Bast is accustomed to noticing his powerful muscles tensing in discomfort and the subtle shifts his jaws do when she spontaneously arranges for them to have their little talks. In this meeting, his composition is the warm radiance of a warrior that unearthed the greatest feeling he’ll ever know ( this time, he would have no qualms with his feline pantheon whisking him off without warning—and this she knew. This is why she sought him at his most vulnerable ).

Whilst entwined in a web of worship in the form of a storm held together by a solid sensuous darkness of her champion’s sinews, Bast patiently waited to converse until the flirtatious kisses ended; until desires to tame an insatiable animalistic hunger stilled; until pillow talk with respect to their longing for this intimate reciprocity ended in amber cat-eyes and oceanic eyes consumed with one another came down into a contented slumber.

“ I am happy for you, my son.” Her tone is thick-accented, flowing strong and finer than her people’s wine. “ I have conversed with your predecessor about the affairs of his heir’s heart—Wakanda’s Queen. Your father had been impregnated with the thought that you had foolishly deprived yourself of having and more importantly keeping romantic love in his life. I trust my champion is aware that T’Chaka wasn’t alone in the belief that his son had gone mad. ” The panther’s smile gives a slight peek into a maw full of imposing fangs. A maw that gradually assumes the full pink lips to her human design of an alluring midnight black woman.

She kneels outside the cub circle and reaches over to caress her avatar’s cheek. Her palm’s warmth is comparable to how Queen Mother touched him. Her earthly musk intoxicated his senses and almost stirred him away from caring about the purpose of this unexpected meeting. Mention of his father concerns and the thought of Ororo snuggled against his form back in the real world necessitated his focus on the conversation.

“ There was a Burundian proverb that haunted my mind ever since I made the contumelious decision to break the greatest woman this world has led me to know. “Where there is love, there is no darkness.” ” Without needing to delve into the darkness that kept him engulfed ( for Bast has always known her champion’s trials and tribulations and will continue to know until his time is up and he is to join his ancestors ), he goes on to gently whisper, “ The fault lies in no one but myself for influencing that impression. Embarrassingly enough, It took me longer than it should have to make, as they say, heads-and-tails, of my feelings and what was ultimately the right course of action to take. ”

“ —And after you finally followed your heart, you’re here,” Bast perceived. “ Now that you are, a part of you is in disbelief, virtually unable to comprehend that it’s a reality that the Wind Rider has given you the privilege of having her heart once more and that you two share the same bed once again. ” She fills their surroundings with syrupy laughter then. In ways, he is not the mid-thirty-year-old king of an unconquerable land, but a boy still learning about the ways of the world around. A fault not on him, for he is a mortal dealing with extraordinary mortal hardships, but an amusing one to observe nonetheless. “ Unlike the past chieftains of the Panther clan, you’re criminally harder on yourself—more than most your enemies. ”

It’s a truth she hasn’t admitted to him yet, but But bast enjoyed watching her representative put the elephantine puzzle pieces of his life together. Each piece that connected created a powerful layer that formed around the undying legend of the Great T’Challa, for as long as this Earth is never obliterated. It was only recently that he solidified that belief when he sought reconciliation with the herald of mutant-kind and won her over again.

T’Challa paused, became reflective—of his royal status and of Ororo. They came a long way. They were going a long way. He was able to be confident in that. She made that possible. He would like to call it… Kismit.

Flashing back…

Just yesterday night, the sliver of placid pine that underlines her sultry voice enticed him to join her in a dance that commands the attention of every Wakandan in attendance. Like a curious little boy, he only wished to shy amongst the audience and bare witness to the full sight of her curves in motion. To watch the entranced faces of those in the Royal Palace admire and appreciate she who ruled their king’s heart work her art form in a way they have never seen before.

Her two identities—Kenyan and African-American—mixed with her own unnamed flavor delivered mysticism by her lonely, but she wanted to be joined—needed to be joined. By him. By the man that yearned for her to be back, by his side, as his love. She set her sights on him and merrily navigated her hypnotic rhythm his way, and pulled him to be united under the spotlight without resistance. How could he resist? Even his ancestor, Hu’Nahn The Defiant could understand his lovestruck successor’s fall.

Their smiles were pliant to each other’s preciously-powered, cosmo-imbued propinquity. The luxurious world around them was lost, the two stepped in an enchanting rhythm, with each step building up a new universe around them. Having their fingers interlocked like they were put him in a bind of childish need and discipline. She spins like a miniature tornado ( one she free willingly allows him to have control of ) and his arm around her lower-back prevents her fall from his grace. There they found their eyes lost in their respective vibrantly-hued depths like children experiencing the cliche “love at first sight”, and wealthy fits of laughter would soon follow. She complimented his reaction time, then hit him with a threat that no one else could hear: if he had missed his cue and missed catching her, he would be in for a miserable night and none, not even his Dora Milaje would be able to save his hide.

His Highness made her aware that he has indeed been catching every cue tonight and how he intends on properly responding when their space is their own.

( How can he who possesses the natural instinct of man, the uncanny senses of the panther, and the stubborn bull-like focus miss any of Storm’s venereal transmitted signals? From the blatant flirting to the way she talks to him in codes in front of others, the few chances she stole to whisper when others were out of earshot, and the little signs of impatience she showed, wanting the night to reach its end. )

Twenty minutes later T’Challa delivered a timeline of messy garbs ( some that’ll need to be rethreaded, others pulled off as gentlemanly and womanly possible under carnal influences ) reverential touches and kisses, and the unplanned one-on-one session taking place currently in the spirit plane.

“ I’m merely a king and a man that’s mused by all the blessings his love has given him. ” He finally said, commitment clear in his voice. “ I am the opposite of afraid: with an inquisitive mind, I can’t help but wonder about the channels that I can take to keep things the way they are going—I am purely enthusiastic about our new journey. ”

All of what he says please Bast. It is good to hear him speak confidently again and understanding that’s retreating his brooding phase. This was quality that will keep her fed—for now. “ Very well. You present no reason for me to doubt your words, my Black Panther. It is her first day back and the reception on her return has gone exceedingly well. After all that you two have done for the world, you both deserve to have your own semblance of happiness.” Her visage became faint in an expanding mist, along with her voice as if was quickly retreating into another plane that’s making it impossible for him to be near. “ May you and Wakanda’s future Queen prosper for a long to come. We will have a chat again. Your woman is awake. ”

When T’Challa opens his eyes, he finds himself in a position that he wasn’t in prior ( as previously mentioned, he was in Ororo’s arms. Plane-walking? ): he was standing in front of his window, posture struck militantly, with his hands cuffed just above his tailbone. A sweet, husky voice broke his amber-hues from their attention on the moon and the stars above to the dark-skin beaut regarding him in confusion from behind him in his—their—bed. His conversation with Bast is pushed at the back of his mind, as he saunters over to their bedside. “ Apologies, my love. ” Our king sat down on the edge, reached over to have his thumb stroke her defined cheekbone, and touched her full lips affectionately “ I have been thinking about giving you a personal taste of home for breakfast: for starters, how does Mandazi sound to you? Coconut milk, cardamom, and coconut are the main ingredients for that, correct? ”

@fierceststorm

#fierceststorm #tchalla x ororo #[ longest post this blog will probably ever have ]#[ dis took MONTHS - tchalla so hard v-v ]

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likesugarandcyanide · 6 years

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Vanilla sex with Henry was deliciously carnal; unspoken and unlike anything else the content ginger had ever experienced. Evelyn couldn’t describe it – tender perhaps. Henry was anything but that. Yet, under the wrong circumstances he could be. It usually took his crazy father beating him to draw out the weakness; an emotion Evelyn didn’t believe suit him.

Since the moment she first met Henry Bowers, tender was not a word she would use to describe him. It made their relationship a challenge, but one she thought was worth the effort. Looking at him now, curled up on his side – a broken mess – Evelyn wasn’t sure he ever was strong. She laid next to him under her floral duvet and stroked her fingers through the strands of unkept blonde hair on her pillow. His back was to her; bare skin marred in nasty welts from the petty lashing he received. The details were unclear, especially when Henry tried to explain them to her after the argument with his father. His voice was coarse, more so than usual and defeated. It was all so very hard to swallow.

Evelyn asked him to stay over; Henry was hesitant, but her soft lips moving against his easily won him over. Things will get better for you, baby. I’ll be here, she assured him. She didn’t really know to help, but pity wasn’t something Henry cared much for. They had sex; he kept her on his lap and pushed into her no harder than he could take – Evelyn played with his windswept hair and kissed him whenever he curled up his nose in discomfort. Neither of them finished satisfied, but no comments were made.

By the time they laid down – after Evelyn insisted he smear an antibiotic onto his wounds – it was a little passed twelve o'clock. The radio was quietly playing True Colors, merging beautifully into the 2nd verse with lines that Evelyn could only describe as dry. She hated the ill feeling it brought to her. Heated tears distorted her site as she cried silently. It was pathetic; she wasn’t the one hurting. Evelyn wanted to wrap her arms around Henry and sob loudly into his back. Instead she sat up and crawled to the edge of the bed. She wasn’t sure if Henry was asleep, but she tried to be as quiet as possible while moving towards the door. Yet, her foot connected with the leg of the bed and she swore at her lack of graceful slinking. For fuck’s sake. Shut up. Her eyes went to the figure on her bed; he couldn’t have been asleep. Evelyn saw his foot moving beneath the warm blanket.

“Can’t sleep either,” she whispered, sitting at the end of the bed. Her voice sounded weak.

Henry snorted, “No shit. That stuff ya gave me ain’t helpin’ any.”

“All I got, baby. Just gonna have to let it do it’s job.” Evelyn felt worthless. Even more so when Henry grunted as he rolled onto his stomach. She huffed a tired sigh and moved back to her side, curling up beneath the duvet. The urge to cry had passed on – for now. “Had to pee, but it went away.” Henry rolled his eyes; her room was gloomy but she saw it.

“Don’t go pissin’ yerself, dork.”

Love you too, she almost said. Instead she gently laughed. Her smile just as quickly faded. “Promise me you’ll be okay. Don’t know what I’d do without ya.” Evelyn was sugar coating her words a bit, but with Henry she had to.

Henry resisted the urge to call her a name and tossed his arm lazily over her bare hips, rubbing circles into her skin. She was soft and warm; something Henry enjoyed about her. “Whatever makes ya feel better, baby.” This way, he wouldn’t have to lie.

#Henry Bowers #ficlet #On a roll with these #Hardest one to write #it 2017 #Bower's Gang

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superbeitmenotyou · 5 years

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Al Penn and Kieffer Sutherland in designated Survivor on Netflix The admiral of the united states can’t capture a smash.

His rating within the polls as he runs for re-election is shaky. contributors of assembly bang him as an “adulteration admiral.

” His campaign manager pleads with him to focus more on getting re-elected, besides the fact that its capacity taking part in dirty towards his opponents. And his smiling affectation alongside a businessman and the multi-millionaires -year-old wife has sparked an immense uproar. Troubles also accost the admiral’s guys and women.

His arch of personnel is preoccupied along with his biologic-absorbed spouse who has relapsed. His Latino carnality-presidential opts for is grappling with the sharp focus on his indigenous id. And the president’s transgender sister-in-law has been receiving loss of life threats. this is definitely not the White condominium of admiral Trump.

it is the White House of “unintended president” Tom Kirkman, the reluctant flesh-presser played by means of Kieffer Sutherland on the centre of ‘distinct Survivor,’ which has returned for an RD division on Netflix afterwards actuality annulled through ABC. The demonstrate has gone through a makeover with a beneath division, a brand new showrunner and a whole new autograph group of workers that has injected the sequence with more principal storylines.

The rebooted ‘distinctive Survivor’ is among the aboriginal examples of Netflix rescuing a broadcast network collection that had been dumped. The alive provider also picked up ‘Lucifer,’ which become alone by means of Fox after three seasons.

but whereas ‘Lucifer’ in its just-launched fourth season largely keeps the tone and vibe of the community version, ‘designated Survivor’ is clearly distinct.

- NEAL BEAR | got the ambassador “here is a series about these days,” says got ambassador and new showrunner Neal Bear, whose credit include ‘ER,’ ‘below the dome’ and ‘law & order: particular Victims assemblage.’ He also happens to be a paediatrician. Bear says he desired to deliver one of the vital situation-oriented flavours from his past suggests to ‘designated Survivor.’ The ball can also have the same White condominium atmosphere and a few contributors of the customary forged, however, the plots are more contemporary, framed within the arena of a political campaign. The accent is rawer, with profanities that might on no account be accredited on advertisement TV. actual documentary photos with precise Americans discussing considerations corresponding to infant marriage and the prohibitively excessive can charge of prescription medicine had been amid into the demonstrate.

“There are so many issues that I wish to explore that I will be able to explore with this Belvedere,” Bear says in an interview at a cafe close his Brentwood domestic. With simply a number of exceptions, advertisement network suggests, he says, have moved far from exploring topics consistently tackled by means of those groundbreaking dramas, together with gun control and abortifacient.

“I can’t see the networks accomplishing these sorts of suggests now,” he says, “because their company mannequin is appealing to the widest variety of individuals viable without offending them. I don’t believe you get that variety of mighty storytelling that we used to do, that I was able to do.”

the brand new ‘designated Survivor’ has introduced some frequent faces to the solid together with Anthony Edwards ‘ER’ as Mars Harper, Kirk man's chief of body of workers; Julie White ‘Transformers’ as his take-at-any-cost crusade supervisor Lorraine Simmer, and Lauren Holly ‘wooden Fences’ as Harper’s opioid-addicted wife Lynn Harper.

At its amount, ‘designated Survivor’ is a character-pushed exploration of what can occur when a baby-kisser who is dedicated to public service is verified by his own very own ambitions.

“We wish to ask the query, ‘Can Tom Kirkman bathe in a muddy political stream and never get soiled?’” says Bear, his phrases abounding at a quick-fireplace tempo as he becomes extra aflame in anecdote the display. “We see him go down and bottom ward and bottom ward. It’s an apologia of our instances — can a man of dignity, honour and integrity preserve those values in nowadays political local weather? It’s a big fight.”

Sutherland, who is additionally an executive ambassador, says in a phone account that he becomes overjoyed with the collection’ new artistic course, stepping into areas that had fabricated admiral at ABC a little bit squeamish.

“Neal had an extremely potent feel of what he desired to do,” Sutherland says. “We may lean into an extra useful feel of what became happening on the White condominium. I am actual beholden to Netflix for that.”

within the collection at the start created with the aid of David Guggenheim, Kirkman, a low-level cupboard member, becomes an administrator in arch after the president and pretty much all individuals of Congress are wiped out in access at the Capitol right through the accompaniment of the abutment address. apart from depicting the pain of Kirkman, his wife Alex Natasha Cellphone and their two infants as they regulate to their new role as the first family, the exhibit also incorporated an artifice revolving round hard-bitten FBI abettor Hannah Wells Maggie Q, who discovers there’s a frequent conspiracy in the back of the explosion.

The ball turned into a brusque about-face for Sutherland, who denticulate with critics and admirers with his portrayal of bent agent Jack Bauer in ‘.’ instead of searching down nefarious guys and extenuation the world, Sutherland traded Bauer’s gun for a swimsuit and scholarly glasses.

That dramatic about-face from Bauer attracted Sutherland: “It was a captivating chance to do a show about a good guy, and even if he and his household could be able to sustain their moral compass and appropriateness being befuddled into the admiral. It provided loads of alternatives to talk about in reality vast considerations and remember on some level why the bureaucracy of executive makes what looks glaring to the relaxation of us — the correct component to do — so complicated. you could see politics through a more innocent prism.” however ‘designated Survivor’ in its aboriginal two seasons turned into often an afraid mix, leaping amid the White house studies and the action-aggressive abstruseness artifice driven via Wells.

Bear says he was pitched the series within the aboriginal season, however, became it bottom ward afterwards speak me with producers who had developed the drama.

“I remember asking, ‘What’s the conspiracy? where does it go?’” he recalls. “individuals couldn’t retort some of these questions. I study the pilot and concept it turned into interesting, but changed into worried it wasn’t the correct show for me again. having completed network TV. for -ordinary years, I discovered it extra limiting as time progressed.

”Sutherland acknowledges that he also acquainted the exhibit every now and then fell brief all the way through the first two seasons: “there have been instances after we struggled to attain its competencies. Kirkman became practically a sufferer, put in an unwinnable situation.” behind the curtain problems and artistic adjustments also created difficulties. A circulate of showrunners got here and larboard. Viewership trailed off, peculiarly within the Nd division, and ABC passed on a renewal.

Peter Minelli, the arch method administrator of film and TV. for e One, the flat and creation business behind the collection, says, “In both seasons, we could t locate the correct showrunner. however, we found that in Neal, who has done a masterful job. And it’s the variety of serialised exhibit that Netflix wanted.”

Switching up the theory — accepting Kirkman run for re-election as an independent — was key to moving the tale ahead. “we are able to take on the correct and the left,” Bear says with a smile. “nobody is secure from our keyboard.”

“The second you originate with a campaign, Tom Kirkman has made the choice to regain vigour,” Sutherland says. “It’s well-nigh a click on towards him — he wishes this now. You need to look at the explanation of why.”

“For each Neal and I, it turned into an interesting place to launch,” Sutherland continues. “We see the effects of him actuality president for years. The look for energy — why do you desire it and what are you going to do with it?”

Kirkman is additionally a widower — his spouse changed into killed right through the d division in a site visitors accident. Sutherland says he changed into dissatisfied, but not devastated by using ABCs choice to now not adjustment an RD season.

“We had a pretty good relationship with ABC for years,” Sutherland says. “With a community, it’s never about one distinct exhibit. It’s a whole band-up for a whole night, so there is a thousand explanation why something may additionally now not determine. It wasn’t as lots of a disappointment as you may suppose.”

Furling that optimism became the realisation that ‘designated Survivor’ and Sutherland have a major international fan spoiled. while ABC most effective had the American rights to the sequence, Netflix had the foreign rights and saw the cost in deciding upon up the series. Sutherland additionally appreciated the conception of a ten-episode division — the sequence on ABC had episodes within the first division and in the Nd.

besides exploring Kirk man's own experience, Bear had a laundry record of concerns he wanted to explore: voter indifference, the high can charge of drugs for all times-bullying diseases, world abating, how the gene-modifying expertise CRISP should be would becloud very well be acclimated as a biological weapon.

“I instructed Kieffer I used to be going to give him a transgender sister-in-legislation and solid Jamie Clayton, who was on ‘Sense’ and is an auto aerialist,” he says. “I gave Lauren Holly’s persona an opioid dependency — I definitely wanted to get into the groups that aftermath them.

I needed an HIV fable showing two African American homosexual men in adulation, and what it’s want to be ephemeral. That’s in no way been executed on TV. before.”

abiding cast affiliate Adam Canto, who performs countrywide safety adviser Aaron shore, is termed as Kirk man's carnality presidential working buddy. “He’s the primary casual Latino vice presidential applicant,” Bear says. “He’s seen through the crusade supervisor Lorraine as actuality Latino enough. however, issues get a bit dicey when his girlfriend Isabel Elena Ovary is a little too Latina. That’s an activity to show people off. That occurs in the back room the entire time. We desired to include the truth of that.”

Maggie Q is additionally abiding by the series, however, her persona has been kicked out of the FBI. She’s now a CIA investigator who begins looking into the possibility that an enemy force is using CRISP in a bio-agitation campaign.

remaining at the centre of the collection, although, will be Kirkman. “Inherently the audience might be acclaim for him, in the course of the crusade and the concessions and selections hell must accomplish,” Sutherland says. “It’s going to place his morality and appropriateness in the query. And the audience will delay until the end to peer if he can come back from that or now not. That’s a fascinating ball to me. It’s so simple as that.”

Don’t omit it! DESIGNATED SURVIVOR is streaming now on Netflix.

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fictitiousfactoids · 7 years

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Dear Mary Ramirez,

You make some interesting points with your arguments on why you didn’t march for women. But, I did. As did my friends, and many (MANY) others (including other countries). And we all have valid reasons for why. But, instead of supporting our right to protest, you mock and humiliated our cause.

That’s okay, but I feel that you need to become aware of WHY we marched. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to address each point of your letter, and educate you on why we marched.

“I didn’t march for you because I didn’t need to.”

You’re right. YOU don’t need to. But, many women in other countries are still not viewed as equal citizens. America was the same way until the late 1940s, when the 19th amendment was ratified. But, amendments can be repealed too. Drinking was abolished with the 18th amendment, and repealed with the 21st. But, women like Susan B. Antony marched and protested for your right to vote, attend the same colleges as men, and even hold jobs in the same fields! (Look up woman doctors before the 1950s, go on, I’ll wait… Here, I’ll even make it easy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Women_in_medicine)

So, yes, YOU do have these rights… but, we marched to KEEP them.

(Woman’s suffage information: https://www.nwhm.org/online-exhibits/progressiveera/suffrage.html and http://www.history.com/topics/womens-history/the-fight-for-womens-suffrage )

(Information on the 19th amendment: http://www.history.com/topics/womens-history/19th-amendment )

“It’s a lie that because of sexism, women don’t make as much money as men.”

Yes, in control groups were independent variables can be eliminated the pay gap is almost unnoticeable, and is ‘explained’ away by ‘women choose jobs that pay less.’

First, how many of those women do you think aimed for a lower-paying career because of early discrimination:

“How will you spend time with your family if your working?”

“Do you think your job will let you have kids before you’re 40?”

“Well, you can’t expect your husband to do all the housework.”

Surely these statements affect how you view a profession, and how likely you are to pursue it. After all, men don’t have to worry about getting pregnant, so they don’t need to take care of kids. And men don’t have to do laundry or cleaning, that’s what their wife is for (By the way, my husband is a stay at home dad, so these statements are rhetoric, not personal.)

Women are EXPECTED to not work as much to take care of family members, and when compared to men with families, THEY SPEND MORE TIME DOING IT. Yeah, I said it. Surely you’re the first to volunteer to stay home from work when your daughter is sick. So, women are stereotyped away from jobs that would pay them more, because they would TAKE MORE TIME.

A much better breakdown of the whole wage gap can be found here: https://www.americanprogress.org/issues/economy/reports/2014/05/19/90039/explaining-the-gender-wage-gap/

“It’s a lie that because of sexism, we don’t have full rights over our bodies.”

Oh, ABORTION, you’re talking about ABORTION… Okay, let’s do this. I think we need to pull this entire paragraph apart.

“You are technically (we’ll chat about what you’re allowed to do later) able to do whatever you please with your body.”

Yes, we are. But we’re also the ones who have to live with the consequences of the actions when two consenting adults were involved (I’ll get into non-consenting parties here in a bit.) and the other party decides they’re not going to be responsible. We’re the ones who miss work (again there’s our pay) to go to appointments, and to actually HAVE the child; we have to then house them, feed them, cloth them, and take care of them, because we’re now a responsible single mother. Where’s the restricting law that forces the father to be involved? Well according to this breakdown: http://family-law.lawyers.com/childrens-rights/when-parents-are-unmarried.html , Father’s only job is to give you money if he knocks you up. He has to take action if he wants to be involved with the child care, you can’t force him. (What’s that saying? It takes two to tango?)

“No one’s stopping you, or any other woman.”

So, here’s where we cover non-consenting parties, or rape. While no one is stopping a willing woman from participating in carnal activities, sometimes they are forced to ‘participate’ unwillingly. I’ve got two scenarios here, we’ll walk through each one.

First one: victim of one time rape becomes pregnant with assailant’s child.

So now, on top of having to PROVE the assailant is the father, and now that he’s in jail and can’t care for the child because he committed rape, you want the survivor to practically grow a reminder of that trauma for the next nine months? “But adoption?” But nothing, they still have to live to give birth. And not everyone is strong enough to live through that. And I don’t think anyone should HAVE to. “But what if the father wants the child?” NO. Don’t care about his opinion at this point, because he’s in jail, remember? He can’t care for it.

Second one: Victim of continual rape (That sex slave meme that’s so popular right now…) is pregnant, but escaped assailant.

So, in America, a pimp has a knocked-up prostitute that managed to escape his control. She is now homeless, jobless, and about to have a child. Chances are, even if she did by some miracle have health care, she’ll end up in the same situation because she now needs to care for the child. Without a home, she can’t get a job, and without a job, she can’t afford a home. So, she’s stuck, turns to the only thing she knows, and will likely get pick up by another pimp who will then use her child to control her. Cycle continues.

In countries where they sell/buy/trade sex slaves, the women will again end up in the same cycle, especially with the current ban on immigrants/refugees. If they do manage to escape their situation, they again have no money, no job, and, in this one, nowhere to run. The woman in these countries are oppressed to begin with, and will either be executed for defying their ‘husband’ or given back to him so that he can continue what he’s doing. (Interesting though, that everyone that posts that meme is also against letting refugees in…)

Worse case scenario for these examples: these women desperately turn to trying to perform self abortions which are WAY more unsafe than a professional doing one, and either mutilate or kill themselves in the process.

“But these ladies think that being a woman gives us gals the right to decide what happens to other people’s bodies—bodies that are biologically, genetically, and scientifically separate bodies even though they’re growing inside of us when we’re pregnant.”

First, see the above where guys aren’t forced to live with the consequences of having a child, other than the pay cut, if they don’t want to. It has less to do with ‘being a woman’ and more to do with ‘well, I’m the one carrying it.’ Pretty sure men would want the same right if they were the ones getting pregnant. But I digress. What I really want to talk about here is the late term abortions. Especially the ‘growing inside of us’ phrase.

What if it’s not?

What it, physically it’s growing, but, it never developed a brain, so (if it even survives birth) it’s going to be born brain dead. What if the lungs have stopped developing, or the heart, and it won’t be able to support itself once it’s cut from the umbilical cord. What if my doctor tells me to stop planning the nursery and start planning it’s funeral.

Would you be able to live with the knowledge that you're not awaiting your child’s birth, you’re waiting for it’s death? If you are, you’re a much stronger person than me. I don’t think I’d be able to even speak to the first person to ask me how my baby is after I got that news. We’re talking about people who have a wanted pregnancy where something goes horribly wrong (Here’s one woman’s first hand experience with this: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/xojane-/this-is-what-its-really-like-to-have-a-late-term-abortion_b_8264562.html)

(Here’s information from an actual doctor: https://drjengunter.wordpress.com/2016/10/20/donald-trump-confuses-birth-with-abortion-and-no-there-are-no-ninth-month-abortions/

and if that’s not enough, forbes seems to have found it creditable: http://www.forbes.com/forbes/welcome/?toURL=http://www.forbes.com/sites/tarahaelle/2016/10/20/no-late-term-abortions-dont-rip-babies-out-of-wombs-but-they-are-needed )

“It’s a lie because of sexism, women have to pay a special tax for products that we biologically must use.”

Well this one’s been debunked, actually. Unless you live in PA, NJ, MA, MD, or MN (or one of the lucky states with no sales tax). And no, it’s not outright called the ‘tampon tax’. That would clue us in on this. But, do you know what isn’t taxed in most states with a sales tax: Necessities. Medical Supplies are lumped in with that (http://www.salestaxsupport.com/blogs/industry/medical-industry-tax/which-states-tax-medical-devices/) But… Sales taxes are still applied to tampons. And some states (Looking right at you Texas) even label feminine hygiene products as a luxury, so not only do texians pay a sales tax, there’s also an applied luxury tax. I mean, the Texas senate called them a ‘prop’. Double whammy. Funny, though: In ND, adult diapers aren’t taxed. Since, you know, they’re for bladder dysfunctions. And, New York doesn’t tax wine at wine tastings or dry cleaning (but tampons are still taxable). And, as far as men not being charged for a ‘comparable product’: Viagra isn’t taxed because it’s prescribable. Ask a doctor to write a prescription for tampons and see what they say.

(Sources: http://fusion.net/story/142965/states-that-tax-tampons-period-tax/ , http://time.com/money/3907775/states-tax-tampons-candy-america/ ,and http://dfw.cbslocal.com/2016/02/10/another-debate-on-the-luxury-tax-on-tampons/ )

“It’s a lie that because of sexism, we women are the only ones who have to worry about harassment and abuse”

Okay, I’ll agree with you on this one. After all, no one should suffer this. But there is OH SO MUCH victim blaming. (Hell, just a google search will give you this, but just in case: https://www.google.com/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#safe=off&q=colorado+senator+tells+rape+victim ) Society places the blame on the survivor instead of the assailant. “You shouldn’t have been there”, “Well, if you weren’t drinking”, “Where you wearing something provocative?”. NONE OF THAT MATTERS! If someone wanted to be ‘raped’ then it wouldn’t be called ‘rape’, and charges wouldn’t be pressed (It’s called BS/DM, and ‘50 shades’ did a horrible job of portraying it). It wouldn’t be called ‘harassment’ if it was wanted attention. And here’s where feminism gets confused with fem-nazism so much: true feminist want equality for EVERYONE, regardless of genitalia (fem-nazis are the ones who only care if you have a who-ha).

“It’s a lie that because of sexism, people don’t care about our smarts.”

More women DO go to college. This is true. But how much of that is because they can’t get into trade labor? Here’s an excellent article about women in trade labor: http://www.chicagotribune.com/business/ct-women-in-trades-0417-biz-20150420-story.html

So, if the only way to get a job is to go to college, you go. Because you’re going to need that money to feed your illegitimate child and afford your taxed tampons. But mostly to pay your school loans once you’re out. After all: 51% of college grads from 2014 ended up in an unskilled workforce: http://www.careerbuilder.com/share/aboutus/pressreleasesdetail.aspx?sd=10%2F9%2F2014&id=pr846&ed=10%2F9%2F2099 .

“It’s a lie that because of sexism, there aren’t more female leaders”

I’m actually going to aim for a different part of this paragraph: “Want to be a leader? Pick that path. No one’s stopping you.”

Remember that whole discussion on career choice? Well, do you think you’ll have time to raise your kids if you're a CEO? Do you think you can put that on hold and have kids? Because you can’t, according to society. So, you’re better off being a secretary, or maybe a nurse, that pays well… and has available jobs!

“It’s a lie that because of sexism, we don’t all get paid maternity leave.”

Only if you work in America: http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/09/26/u-s-lacks-mandated-paid-parental-leave/

Estonia gets 87 weeks! (For those not good at math, that’s over a year. There’s 52 weeks in a year.) Out of 41 developed countries, we are the only ones who have no legislation protecting parents (both mother and father) for taking time off work to care for their newborn or adopted child. This isn’t economics, this is just ignorance. Mexico has paid paternity leave. Japan’s in the top four, and they’re workaholics over there! (even CHINA has better legislation than us, and they govern how many children you’re allowed! http://www.loc.gov/law/foreign-news/article/china-maternity-leave-further-extended-by-provinces/ )

Another interesting fact is that having paid paternity leave doesn’t seem to negatively impact businesses as much as they say: http://fortune.com/2015/02/05/paid-parental-leave-costs/

“Finally, it’s a lie that any of our human rights as women are going away just because someone whose politics these ladies don’t agree with suddenly became president.”

http://www.cnn.com/2017/01/26/politics/executive-orders-presidents-actions-presidential-memoranda/index.html

It’s actually quite common for new presidents to start signing away things they don’t like from the old president. I mean, he’s already tried to discriminate against a religion: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/29/nyregion/trump-travel-ban-protests-briefing.html?_r=0

So, no, you didn’t need to march for feminism. And it’s great that you’ve never experienced the persecution others have, simply for being born a woman. But we still marched for you, and your daughter, and mine, and millions of women all over the world. Because America may have voted to have a chauvinistic narcissist representing us on the world stage, but that doesn’t mean that he defines American values. And maybe, because we were born in a country with more privileges, we should be the first to take the stand when something isn’t right.

(And for the record, I voted for Sanders)

#this was long #women's suffrage #womansmarch #march on washington #realtosome #equal rights #just gonna leave this here #i should probably sleep

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profbenonyeukwu-blog · 6 years

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EVANGELISM WITHOUT THE HOLY SPIRIT (Part 2)

REV. PROF. BEN ONYEUKWU

NCE(Eng.), ND/HD (Journalism),Dip,BA, (Theology),MA,PhD

EVANGELISM WITHOUT

THE HOLY SPIRIT (Part 2)

PROBLEM OF THE EDUCATED ILLITERATES

“Study to show yourself approved to God, a worker who does not need to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth”, (2 Timothy 2:15).

INTRODUCTION:

Well observed, many of the early Pentecostal notable preachers grew up in poverty stricken surroundings. With a few exceptions, most of them had little or no education. A Christian source reveals that men like, William Branham was born in a dirt-floored log cabin in the remote mountains of Eastern Kentucky, U.S.A.. He was the poorest of the poor. Oral Roberts was born to poor parents… T. L. Osborn was one of 13 children and was raised in the poverty of a depression farm in Okbahoma, etc. The source also cites that their counterparts from the non-Pentecostal and Charismatic backgrounds attained reasonably high standards of education. For example, Francis MacMutt has a B. A. from Harvard, M.F.A from Catholic University of America and a Ph.D from Aquinas Institute of Theology. Father Ralph DiOrio was ordained at Sacred Heart Seminary, Illinois in 1957. He holds a B.A. degree in Philosophy and a Masters of Education in Psychology. Dennis Bennett graduated from Chicago Divinity School with a graduate degree in Divinity, etc.

However, attention is hereby drawn to the fact that the successes of both the educated and the uneducated gospel ministers cited in this work were not based on their education or otherwise, but on their yieldedness to the acts of the Holy Spirit. Biblical inference as well shows that both the apostles Paul (the educated) and Peter (the un-educated) were all dependent on the Holy Spirit for their ministerial successes. But, that was the scenario of the past. Today, the Pentecostal Christianity parades to the amazement of all well informed preachers of influence. If that is so, why then, the high level of gospel perversion in this generation? On this note, the writer cites the:

LACK OF THE EDUCATION THAT FOSTERS THE WORK OF THE HOLY SPIRIT

By formal standards, one who must serve as a church operative (pastor, evangelist, teacher, apostle, prophet, etc) should as a matter of the demands of the work be spirituo-intellectually trained and not just a person of human intellectual pursuits. This is where the role of the Bible college or seminary becomes vital. All things being equal, courses taught in such institutions are spiritually designed to suit the operations of the Holy Spirit in the field of evangelism without which a given ministry loses divine flow. Unfortunately, most of the people who feature as gospel ministers today exhibit qualifications in Medicine, law, journalism, marketing, architecture, accountancy, banking and finance, etc. without formal theological training. In fact, such people are better described as “educated illiterates”, and are not qualified for the ministerial positions they occupy. Who has ever practiced medicine with a qualification in theology? Who has, at any time been allowed to become a legal practitioner with qualifications in Marketing, Journalism or Medicine? Here lies another point of confusion and perversion in evangelism, as it is not possible for someone without a spiritually structured formal education in theology to correctly divide the word of truth, (1 Tim. 2:15). For sure, this is one of the aspects of training that the Apostle Paul has in mind as he advises that one should endeavour to;

(1) Study to show oneself as one approved to God, (verse 151)

(2) a workman who does not need to be ashamed, (verse 15);

(3) but rightly dividing the word of truth, (verse 15), etc.

LACK OF INTUITIVE TEACHING OF THE HOLY SPIRIT

Without controversy, there are “spiritual illiterates” who do not understand the things of God by reason of their depraved disposition. For the man without the Spirit of God cannot understand the things of the Spirit, because they are spiritually discerned, (1 Cor. 2:14). Evangelism is a spiritual work, and the preacher who is not connected to the Holy Spirit is on his own, no matter the type and level of education he/she acquires, and is incapable of receiving messages from God. But, one that is linked-up with Him (the Holy Spirit) intuitively learns from Him and in turn disseminates such information to the people. The testimony of the Apostle Paul authenticates this truth, and I quote, “I want you to know, brothers that the gospel I preached is not something that man made up. I did not receive it from any man, nor was I taught it; rather, I received it by revelation from Jesus Christ”, (Gal. 1:12).

The above explanation does not discard the relevance of Bible College or seminary training as highlighted in the previous unit of this piece, but an effort to complement it. To be candid, training in the seminary equips one with the modus operandi of the Ministry, as well as the exegetical principles of God’s word, as it remains the prerogative of the Holy Spirit to inspire and teach one what one should preach or teach, if one is really to be called a man or woman of God. On the account of the foregoing, “head knowledge” becomes retrogressive in terms of life changing gospel. So, one is an “educated illiterate” in the field of evangelism, when one is not:

(1) Formally trained for the work, (1Tim. 2:15);

(2) Knowledgeable of the things of the Spirit, (1 Cor. 2:14);

(3) Intuitively aware of what to preach or teach, (Gal. 1:12), etc.

LACK OF MENTORSHIP TRAINING BY MEN OF THE SPIRIT

Spiritual mentorship has been one of the ways God transfers His Spirit, Knowledge and Power to the multitude of men and women who serve Him. In the Old Testament, Elijah was Elisha’s mentor. In the New Testament, the Apostle Paul influenced Saint Luke. Records of a near history of the Pentecostal movement show that Oral Roberts’ early methods in his independent deliverance ministry may have been influenced by his observation of William Branham. T. L. Osborn was also influenced by Branham’s Ministry and authority. A. A. Allen was captured by Robert’s power over his audience. Robert W. Schamback said that everything he learned was learned at the side of A. A. Allen. This method of ministerial training remains a point of misunderstanding on the part of those who castigate some Pentecostal ministers for poor command of English Language in the name of public commentary. One good reference is a statement credited to one Dr. Chuks Osuji in a write-up by Evangelist Samuel Ezeji on the page 19 of the Announcer Express Newspaper of Thursday April 23 – 26, 2009 where he was quoted as saying that some of the (Pentecostal) preachers he hears on Radio do not have good command of English. Let it be pointed out here that those ministers who have under-taken mentorship training from other men of God may not be proficient in English language, but have been trained informally by God through His Spirit – filled men, and by divine standards are educated and qualified for the ministry, of which the said Dr. Osuji and the likes may not have known by reason of the concept they hold, for it is by a humble approach to God through sincere prayers that He opens the inner-eyes of one to understand the things of the spirit, as the carnally minded persons cannot understand the things of God, because they are spiritually discerned, (1 Cor. 2:14).

Here, a testimony would buttress the writer’s point. The Rev. Dr. Mac Nwulu of the blessed memory, the founder of the Trinity College of Ministerial Arts, Aba, Nigeria in the 80s narrated how God, prior to his conversion, healed him through an illiterate Pastor after an ailment defiled every medical attention by experts, and I quote, “as I was sinking into the darkness of the world beyond, after doctors had hopelessly tried their best, a pastor in the process, who could not speak correct English came over and laid his hands on me and said, “Brother Jesus is healing you”. As soon as this statement of prayer was made, I saw myself lifted out of the darkness and every sickness vanished”. Now, who is the doctor in this case, the medical doctors or the illiterate Pastor? Your answer is as good as that of the writer. But, to strike a position, the medical doctors are “illiterate doctors” in term of divine healing, whereas, the illiterates Pastor remains an “educated doctor” attached to the Kingdom Healing Fountain / Clinic (KHF/C). By this, the writer wishes to draw the attention of Dr. Chuks Osuji and other friends to the fact that the pastors they portray as illiterates are in the sight of God and those who know their inestimable values, “Divine Doctors”, and also advises that they be cautious in addressing religious issues, especially as they affect the men of God, as they may be fighting God, thinking they are doing His work, (John 16:2). Therefore, be informed that:

(1) Mentorship mode of training is one of the ways God equips his servants for the work of the ministry, (Acts 4:13);

(2) The Apostle Peter and other disciples of Jesus were trained that way, (verse 13);

(3) The gospel ministers of today who are trained that way are qualified for the work of God, (verse 13), etc.

In conclusion, this part of the long essay on Evangelism Without The Holy Spirit” has been the writer’s attempt to bring to the fore that there are types of education that are not suitable for the work of evangelism, which in turn alienate the Holy Spirit from one’s ministry. Those who are fashioned with such (secular) education, but occupy ministerial offices, without going through any of the modes of the training highlighted in this work are not good materials for the gospel. Where this is the case, and eventually the Holy Spirit becomes alienated, skillful manipulations and falsehood set in, giving way to self-styled evangelism, which in other words is evangelism without the Holy Spirit. This is one of the major problems that ravage evangelism at present. PRAY FOR REVIVAL.

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