#to the military man sacrifice is the highest calling. sacrifice of your life. sacrifice of your morals. sacrifice of your wellbeing. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mercurygguk · 3 years

Text

winter soldier | jjk

genre; winter soldier/avengers au, angst/smut/fluff

pairing; winter soldier!jungkook x avenger!female reader

summary; the love of your life died during ww2, they honored his death. you had never imagined you’d ever see him again until you’d join him in death, but here he is and he’s trying to kill you. he’s not himself at all. you, however, insist that the man you used to know is still in there somewhere.

word count; 6,764

warnings; descriptions of war/battle/fight scenes, descriptions of scars, the rest of the avengers joins the party, reader is like Cap A but not like Cap A, you know??, jungkook looking hella hot with his long hair and steel arm, inspiration from ‘captain america: winter soldier’, swearing, SMUT; explicit sexual activities, oral (f. receiving), love making at its highest- nothing kinky, just plain ol’ sex

a/n; okay so um, i’m binge-watching the avengers movies atm and i was watching Captain America: Winter Soldier. i kid you not, throughout the entire movie i was imagining what jungkook would look like as the winter soldier- jungkook combined with superheroes is like the perfect story, amirite?? ;)) enjoy!

ps. once again, i didn’t proof read so ignore my possible mistakes lol

(for reference, this is what jungkook’s hair looks like in this fic)

War.

Terrorizing. Horrifying. Absolutely petrifying.

There are several words to use when talking about it, describing it, reliving it. Once you’ve experienced it, it will haunt you till the day you die and even beyond that. There isn’t much positive to take from it, not many positive memories come to you as you think back to the time during war. Only one positive memory returns to you from those dark times...

Him.

Him who did not fit in with the military services due to his lack of strength and speed. Him who never let anyone step upon him and evolved with the job. Him who never backed down from a challenge or an order given from the highest ranks. Him who had braveness unlike anyone, loyalty like no other, a will to fight for what’s worth it and to win. Him who made you fall for him without meaning to. Him who promised he would always come back to you, no matter what happened.

And then one day he didn’t. They had told you he went down in the fight, died for his country, for his team. He hadn’t hesitated to sacrifice himself, thrown himself towards the threat in the hopes of ending it for everyone once and for all. That he did. He killed himself in the process of saving everyone else.

A hero is what they had called him. Honored his name, saluting as they all stood facing his military photograph, serious faces and emotionless eyes all over. Tears had filled your eyes that day, but they didn't fall. You refused to let them. There was no way you would cry because of a liar. A coward, really. Anger kept you going, anger aimed at him. A rage so intense that you would convince yourself that you hated him. Some people would call you selfish, selfish for hating a man who sacrificed himself for everyone else. They were right. You were selfish. But love makes you selfish, and you loved him. So ridiculously much.

Years later, decades into the new century he remains as a positive yet heartbreaking and frustrating memory in your mind and heart. You haven’t aged a day thanks to the advanced technology and the project you offered to be the experiment of, in the end of the war. After his death and the war seeming more out of control than ever, you thought there wasn’t much more to live for, so you volunteered. A successful masterpiece, professor Kim had said as you regained consciousness on the lab table. You were his greatest, most succeeded experiment. You still are, except for the fact that Kim Namjoon is no longer walking among people on earth.

Now you’re living as the successful masterpiece he has created. Stronger, faster – young too even though your real age is something near 98. It doesn’t show. You look like any other 23-year-old but with extraordinary strength and speed. Being a part of a team as the Avengers truly has given you a meaning of life, a purpose that you didn’t feel you had before joining this outstanding team of superheroes as some would call you.

But as you stand here, in the middle of a battlefield that is scarily similar to those back in the 1940’s, you feel small. Gunshots fire around you, flying past your head and ringing in your ears. Explosions going off from the shots fired by Stark, Iron Man as he’s known as. The grounds breaking from the power of Thor’s hammer, the bad guys falling like flies in the hands of Widow. You’re watching it all unfold, breathing for a split second as robots are charging at you with red, glowing eyes.

For God’s sake, just how many of these are there?

Keeping yourself from rolling your eyes in pure annoyance, you set off running towards them with an unmatched speed, fists up and ready to take them out. One goes down after another, surrendering to your very angry, very powerful fists. Your patience is running thin as the robots keep appearing from left and right, setting their focus on you as demanded by whoever’s controlling them. A person you haven’t managed to find yet, but determined to hunt down and put a bullet through their head.

“Hey, Thor!” You call out to the nordic God flying around you, punching fists through robots and throwing his hammer at them. He glances your way, finding you surrounded by robots, too many for you to fight by yourself. “A lil hand here?”

He nods in response, immediately dropping to the ground and plunging his hammer into the asphalt on the ground, lightning seeping through the ground and into the robots, taking them down and splitting them in half. Thor throws a smug smirk at you before turning back around to fight another round of robots. You roll your eyes, about to run off when shots are being fired at you.

“Shit!” You hiss, running to hide behind a tipped-over truck while fishing out a gun from the strap around your thigh. You lean out, aiming in the direction of the shots. There is a man with long, dark hair, a black mask covering half his face and a silver arm that does not look familiar at all. The mysterious man steps onto the railing of the bridge he fired shots from, hard glare focused on you as he steps out and lets himself fall to the ground beneath the bridge. He lands on his feet, supporting himself with the silver fist into the asphalt. He stands to his height, walking straight towards you and leaving a mark in the asphalt where he had landed. Your eyes widen as he holds up a machine gun, opening fire at you as you scramble to run off while loading more shots into your gun.

Peeking around the corner of the brick building you’re hiding behind, you hold your gun up to aim at him. You fire a bullet, hitting his silver arm. He doesn’t budge, the bullet not even leaving a bump in the silver.

“What the-” you gape, firing shots again. He holds his silver hand up, the bullets bouncing off like they’re made of cotton, still walking towards you with eyes focused on you. There’s something about him that seems familiar – maybe his build? Or the way he walks? Or was it the slightly curly hair on top of his head? You can’t quite pin it as you watch him get closer, fists clenched tightly at his sides as if he’s ready to throw punches at you. You contemplate running to him, throwing the first punch at him before he gets to you. There is a slight hesitancy in your body as you can’t shake off how awfully familiar he seems the closer he gets to you. Knowing what the right thing to do is, you step out from your hiding spot, collecting all strength as you charge at him. A yell of anger and confusion rumbles from your chest as you jump on the last step, fist pulled back only for it to be forced forward and into the center of the mysterious man’s chest.

He stumbles back slightly, gaining his balance quickly before he steps closer, throwing a punch at you as well. You dodge, throwing your leg into his side in a strong kick. He grunts as he catches your leg, pulling on it to force you towards him. You ram into him, his clenched fist connecting with your jaw. You groan in pain as you fall to the ground, landing before his feet. Squinting at him, you watch as he kneels down over you, holding you down against the ground. As he stares at you, raising his hand to deliver a punch to your face again, you realize it as your eyes meet his. You gasp softly, not believing the sight in front of you. It’s a known fact that you would recognize those deep, brown eyes anywhere in any given moment.

“J-Jungkook?”

The sound of your voice, the sound of his name falling from your lips has him freezing for a split second. His eyes shift between yours as he slowly begins to sink his fist. But not even seconds later he’s raising his fist again and that’s when you can tell that he does not recognize you. He is looking at you as if you’re a complete stranger, like he didn’t spend the last year of his life telling you that he loved you more than life itself.

His gaze fills with the only feeling he feels, hatred. He moves to force his silver fist down and into your face, a face he used to call beautiful as he traced his finger tips along the edges. You barely dodge it, trying your very best to meet his eyes again as you call his name.

“Jungkook!” You fight the tears that are brimming your eyes as you continue to dodge his hits the best you can, “Hey! It’s me!”

He’s not holding off, continuing to throw punches at you and hitting the asphalt as you squirm in between his thighs. He’s impeccably strong, the asphalt cracking under the jabs of his fists. His thighs are keeping you in place as he pins you to the ground, your arms locked along your sides. You know he’ll punch you to death if you don’t get inside his head. It seems nearly impossible as his eyes are trained on you, emotionless and angry, only a small glimt of the man you used to know in them.

“____! Might wanna duck down a bit,” Tony shouts as he flies in your direction, his glowing hand aimed at Jungkook.

Your eyes widen in horror as you scramble together all the strength you have, throwing Jungkook off you and away from the deathly ray of light coming from Tony’s palm.

“No!”

The shot hits the asphalt a few meters away from you, nearly grazing Jungkook but it doesn’t, thankfully. Tony is shocked as he comes to a halt in the air, staring between Jungkook and you. You wave a hand at him. “I got him,” you assure him as you pant out breaths of air, nodding towards Widow and Thor, “go help the others.”

The man in the iron suit in front of you seems to hesitate for a second as he looks at you. He catches the pleading look on your face, glancing back at Jungkook for a moment before nodding at you once and flying in the direction of Widow and Thor, aiming his shots at the robots that are still coming from all sides. You turn your attention back to Jungkook, the body of the love of your life but not the eyes or mind of him.

“Jungkook,” you try again, slowly stepping closer as he stays still, slightly shocked that you had saved him from Iron Man’s deadly shot, “it’s me, ____.”

You’re begging, tone pleading him and hands up in surrender as you slowly step closer to him. He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling in deep breaths. His eyes are dark, cold and distant as you get even closer. He’s frozen in his spot. He seems confused behind that hard expression, confused because you look less terrified than you did before realizing who he is. He doesn’t flinch or move away from your hand as it inches closer to his face, reaching for the black mask on his face.

“Hey,” you softly say, hesitating to touch him as you let a single tear escape and roll down your cheek. Something flashes in his eyes as he looks into your wet eyes, a small hint of recognition, familiarity too. Maybe he remembers. You hope he does. He lets you pull the black mask off completely, the strong line of his jaw appearing in front of you as well as his pink lips you used to kiss so often in that hidden place you liked to meet almost every night. “It’s me,” you whisper, “it’s ____.”

You’re afraid you’re imagining things as tears build up in the corner of his eyes, his jaw tightening. It’s too much for him. The memories returning with full force, the emotions filling his chest and warming it for the first time in 70 years. He wants to cry. He doesn’t know whether it's happiness because you’re right here in front of him, after he thought he would never get to see you again as he took his last breath back in 1944, or sadness because he’s well aware that he almost killed you if you hadn’t pushed him off you.

“____?” His voice betrays him as it cracks, your name coming out in a croaked voice. More tears escape as you hear your name falling from his lips for the first time since that morning in the military camp where he said ‘see you soon’ and then never returned. He freezes as you throw yourself at him, arms wrapped around him as you pull him closer in a tight hug. The sniffles and muffled cries you let out breaks his emotionless, cold heart and filling it with a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye as he lets his own arms snake their way around your waist, hugging you just as tight as you hug him.

Relief.

That’s what he’s feeling.

Jungkook wanders around inside Stark’s office, eyes exploring things as he calmly runs his silver hand over them. You watch him from a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest. Worry is filling your entire body as his back is turned to you. He still doesn’t seem like himself. There is something about him that makes you anxious, something about him makes you wonder if he’ll turn at any moment, falling back into whatever sort of amnesia he has been experiencing for the past decades.

You jump in surprise when the door opens beside you, revealing Tony. He notices your jumbled state, giving you a small, half smile. You turn your eyes back to Jungkook who’s picking at an ancient-looking sculpture on Tony’s desk causing Tony to take a step closer.

“Hey! Buddy!” He calls out, catching Jungkook’s attention. “Don’t touch that, please. It’s antique.”

Jungkook steps away from the desk, hands up in mock surrender, emptiness in his eyes as if he couldn’t care less about Tony’s antique sculpture. No one really cared about that sculpture. It’s doomed to break at some point when it’s placed in his office, in the Avengers building.

“Tony,” you catch the attention of the older man, looking straight at him with hopeful, desperate eyes, “can you help him?”

He turns to face Jungkook, looking him over from head to toe. “Friday, give me a scan of whatever’s controlling Jungkook.”

Anticipated, you wait while biting a nail. Jungkook doesn’t move an inch as Friday scans him for anything to help Tony figure out a way to help. He’s glancing from Tony to you, his eyes meeting yours. Seconds. It takes seconds from his stare meeting yours to something flicking behind his dark brown irises, something inside of him snapping like the tips of someone’s fingers. Your eyes widen in panic as you move to stand between Tony and Jungkook.

“Tony!” You shout, moving fast as you try to get in between the two men. Tony has already activated his iron hand, catching Jungkook’s silver fist right before it hits him square in the face. You come to a halt, staring in surprise as Tony tightens his hold on Jungkook’s fist, forcing him to the ground. “Tony, please, don’t hurt him. He’s not in his right mind!”

“Oh, really?” Tony scoffs, sarcasm dripping from each word. A small yelp leaves your mouth as Tony kicks his knee up under Jungkook’s jaw, knocking him out. Jungkook falls limp to the floor, eyes closed as he’s kicked unconscious by Tony. You kneel down beside him, brushing his long strands of hair out of his face. He looks peaceful as he lays there, completely unconscious, and yet there’s a furrowed look on his face, like he’s never free from whatever that is controlling him. You sigh deeply, head dropping as you cradle Jungkook’s hand in your own. Tony’s palm rests on your shoulder. You glance up at him. He gives you a small, reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll help him,” he tells you. You nod, knowing he spoke the truth.

“Thank you.”

The frustrated look and furrowed eyebrows are gone. He looks genuinely peaceful this time, long lashes resting on the top of his cheeks as he rests beneath the sheets on your bed. You can’t help yourself as you reach out, palm cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone in a soft caress. Hopefully you’ll have the love of your life back once he wakes up from the deep sleep Tony put him in.

You’re about to move away, retrieving your hand from his cheek just as you hear him whimper softly. Turning back to him, you watch as his lower lip begins to quiver, eyebrows furrowed tightly together. “No,” he whimpers again, head shaking in his sleep. “Please, no! Don’t!”

Worry fills you once again as you sit on the edge of the bed beside him, hands cupping his face between them. “Jungkook,” you softly call, trying your best to wake him without startling him. “Jungkook, my love, please wake up. Please!”

Startled, you gasp as his eyes shoot open, his lips parting as he gasps for air. He’s looking right into your startled, widened eyes. It takes a minute for him to realize who you are and where he is, the surroundings not seeming familiar at all, but it feels nice. The aura, the warmth and the dimmed lighting in the bedroom where he’s tucked under the sheets.

“Hey,” you breathe out as you smile, not sure what to say to him. Tony had made sure to help him, get whatever that was controlling him out of him, his head to himself now and slowly filling with memories, both good and bad ones. “How are you feeling?”

He groans as he moves to sit up. You help him straighten up, making sure he has a pillow for his back as he leans back against the head of the bed. He closes his eyes tightly together as he drops his head back, still trying to calm his erratic breathing. You sit back in the chair you had pulled to the bedside when you got here.

“I feel…” he begins, words feeling foreign on his tongue as he speaks with a croaking voice. He sighs deeply. This is a lot for his head to take in in just one day. “I feel like my head is about to explode.”

Your smile is careful as you look at him. “Makes sense,” you softly say, watching him glance at his arm only to notice the silver is still there, like he had hoped it would be gone. It’s easy to tell the arm itself is a symbol of a very dark time as he looks at it and then looks away from it. He isn’t fond of the silver arm, obviously having a love-hate relationship with it as it has given him power and strength he never had to begin with and problems he never voluntarily wanted in the first place. There’s pain in his eyes as he glances at you, shame as he cowers under your gaze.

You frown deeply. “What happened to you?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. He closes his eyes, not really wishing to go back to those dark times where his life was saved and changed for the worse. The dark times where he became a shadow of himself and a manipulated soldier, brainwashed to take orders from others.

“I, uh, I don’t think-“ he stumbles over his words.

You place your hand over his actual hand, your thumb brushing the skin there. He glances at where you’re touching him before looking up at you. You’re hurting, it’s easy to see. It’s not your own pain though, it’s his. You’re feeling pain for him, hurting because he went through things he never should have, things where death would’ve been much less painful. You want to kiss him, kiss it all better if that was possible.

“You can tell me,” you whisper, pleading him to confide in you, to tell you what happened to him all those years ago.

He sighs deeply, turning his hand over to wrap it around yours. A rush runs through your stomach as he grips onto your hand with a hold so tight that you find yourself promising him silently that you’ll never let go again by giving his hand a small squeeze.

“They found me a few days later,” he starts, gaze focusing on the way yours and his fingers intertwine with each other like they’re meant to do it, “in the ruins of buildings. I-I wasn’t fully awake when they did, only just coming to my senses again after the explosion that was meant to kill me.”

You’re focusing on his hand in yours now, not able to look into his eyes as he tells the story of how he ended up here, 70 years later, and still looking like himself but with longer hair and impeccable strength.

“I didn’t recognize them. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They took me to this place, a bunker or something like that. There was this huge laboratory inside with equipment way ahead of its time,” he looks confused as he relives the horrifying moments, “I was placed in a chair and the next thing I know they’re sawing my arm off-“

You whimper. “Oh, god,” tears dwell in your eyes as you grip his hand tightly.

“____, I have never felt as much pain as I did that day,” he looks you straight in the eye, the pain from that day flashing over his face as he recalls it, the feeling of it. “And all I could think about while they turned me into this- this monster… was that I lied to you.”

You shake your head in denial. “No, Jungkook,” you whisper, “you couldn’t know. You couldn’t.”

He offers you a small half-smile, remorse covering his features as he reaches up with his silver hand, careful as he lets the fingertips of it brush your hair out of your face.

“I’m sorry I gave you an empty promise,” he whispers, silver fingertips brushing against the side of your face. You cover it with your own hand, letting him cup your face in the cold silver. He leans closer, hissing lightly as pain shoots up the side of his torso. “I’m sorry that I didn’t come back to you like I promised.”

“You did though,” you sigh deeply, resting your forehead against his. “You’re right here.”

He nods softly, his eyes shifting between yours.. “and I won’t leave again,” he assures you before hesitating, shrugging as he adds; “unless you want me to.”

You chuckle through the tears that had built up in your eyes. He’s smiling at you as you reach up to cup his face in your palms, brushing your thumb across his cheeks. He’s watching you, still not quite believing that you’re here with him. After so long. 70 years of wondering if you’re still alive. 70 long years of wondering where you were in the world. 70 unbearable years of longing for your touch, your soft, plump lips that made his heart stop beating for a few seconds each time they would touch his in a kiss.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he whispers into the small gap of air space between you and him. “Each time I’d return from a mission and become myself again after being under mind-control, you were the first thing on my mind. To be honest, I don’t think you ever left it. You’ve always been there with me, in the deepest parts of my consciousness. You kept me sane during the missions, kept me from forgetting myself completely.”

Listening intently, you close your eyes as your thumbs continue to brush over the skin on his cheeks. He continues, a deep sigh falling from his lips and clashing against yours causing goosebumps to rise upon your body. You’re shocked that you have gone this far without smothering him in kisses. You don’t want to risk anything, waiting patiently for him to make the first move in the direction of more physical affection, whether it’s a touch of his hand, a hug or more.

“And when I realized it was you earlier today...” his voice cracks, “when I realized I almost killed you- I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for that.”

“You can and you will,” you softly tell him, the undertone of your voice stern, “you didn’t kill me. You wouldn’t. You were gonna recognize me sooner or later.”

He exhales shakily. “You don’t know that,” he almost snaps, eyes closed tightly as he drops his silver hand from your face. He pulls away from your touch, the warmth of him disappearing the further he moves away. He’s not looking at you. Tears are threatening to spill as you stare back at him, lips slightly parted as you want to speak up. You want to tell him he’s wrong, but you already know that he will not take your words for what they are. He, and you, know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t pushed him off when you did.

“You’re right,” you say, catching his attention again. He barely glances at you, noticing the small remnants of tears in your eyes before looking back at his silver hand, clenching and unclenching it. A tear rolls down your cheek. “You’re so right, Jungkook. I don’t know if you would or not.”

You get up from the chair you’ve been sitting in since you brought him back to your apartment. Jungkook still refuses to look at you as you move onto the bed, crawling closer to him. You don’t hesitate as you lay a hand on his shoulder and throw a leg over his to straddle his lap. He finally looks at you, eyes slightly widened at your actions. His eyes meet teary ones again, his silver arm moving out of an old habit as he reaches up to wipe your tears away.

“But I like to think you would.”

Your lips press against his before he can reply to your words. Jungkook gasps and then grunts in response as you press your mouth to his, desperately and needy. His body freezes beneath you as you kiss him, tasting his lips for the first time in an unbearably long time. It takes him a while to realize that you’re kissing him, finally kissing you back as he cradles you in his arms, pulling you closer to his chest. The silver arm keeps a tight grip around your waist, holding you in place as the other runs up your thigh.

Pulling away, you gasp for air, letting your forehead rest against his. Jungkook is breathing heavily, his breath once again clashing against yours as you both catch your breath. Your eyes meet, seconds after he’s kissing you again, your tank top riding up as the silver arm keeps you tight against him. The silver touching your skin causes goosebumps to cover your skin, a chill running up your spine as you cup his face. His tongue licks against your bottom lip, you let him in. A moan escapes your lips as his tongue touches yours.

“I’ve been holding myself back ever since you woke up,” you whisper against his lips, making him smile as his hands slide under your top, pushing it up before pulling it over your head completely. You return to his lips, catching them with your own as you reach for the hem of his t-shirt. He helps you pull it off, your mind elsewhere as you throw it onto the floor. Your hands rake down his body, over the tensing muscles of his abdomen as he moves his kisses down your cheek and further under your jaw. Your breathing is ragged as you pull away, only a few inches so you can glance down at his torso. The sight horrifies you, your fingertips brushing over scars and healed wounds.

“Oh my god,” you whisper as you glance up at Jungkook, his eyes meeting yours for a few seconds before you look back at his chest. Your eyes wander, over his both small and larger scars to his silver arm. You feel your heart tightening as you take in the way the silver arm is sewed onto his body. You hesitate to reach up, Jungkook’s eyes on you as you let your shaking fingertips brush over the burned, scarred skin that keeps the silver arm attached. “I- This…”

His human hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. “I know,” he agrees without hearing the rest of the sentence. You look back at him, finding relief in his eyes as you rest your palms against his chest. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he then says.

“They literally cut off your arm,” you point out, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t even imagine how much pain he must’ve been in when they did this to him. “I wish I could have spared you this pain, spared you the torture you went through.”

He smiles softly. “I know, ____. But there's no way you possibly could’ve.”

You're carefully running your pointer finger along one of his scars when you look up at him, eyelashes framing your eyes so perfectly. He thinks you’re absolutely beautiful, even more so than the last time he saw you. You can’t do anything to stop the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I love you so much, Jungkook.”

His breathing stops for a second, his heart skipping a beat. He hasn’t heard those words since 1944. He didn’t even hear those words that morning you had sent him off, he hadn’t said those words when he promised to return. He should have. That way you’d never be in doubt of his love. He wonders if you’ve loved him since or if there has been anyone else in the meantime to love you the way he should’ve.

Silently, you watch him as his thoughts run one hundred miles per hour. Your palms are sliding from his chest to his shoulders and further up his neck to cup his face again. The love he feels is evident in his eyes as he focuses on you.

“I love you,” he whispers, carefully turning you over onto your back only for him to hover over you. You’re watching him, tingling in your stomach as you hear the words fall from his lips. He returns to kissing you, kissing the skin on your cheek, your neck and further down to the very top of your chest, right beneath the collarbones. He glances up at you as he kisses his way down the valley of your bra-covered chest. “I didn’t say it enough back then,” he mouths against your skin, another round of goosebumps rising beneath his lips, “I should have said it more. I’m sorry.”

You exhale deeply, arching your back into his touch as he reaches your navel and moves even further down to the waistband of your pants, your spandex pants that you so elegantly wear whenever you have a mission with the Avengers.

“Stop apologizing,” you breathe out, eyes closed as you succumb to his touch. The silver hand brushes over your stomach as it runs up to your chest, unclasping your bra on the front. It falls to the sides, revealing your perky nipples to the crisp air. You gasp softly as a silver hand brushes over both, the cold steel doing nothing but erecting them even more. “I've always hated it when you apologize.”

He smirks softly against your lower stomach, pressing one last kiss to the skin there before pulling the silver hand down to pull off your pants, and panties too. The pants are barely on the floor before he returns to your lower abdomen, kisses being spread across your hip bones and pubic bone. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his long hair as he runs his hands up the inside of your thighs. He spreads your legs, revealing your throbbing core to him.

“God, I missed this,” he breathed out, the air of his words hitting your wet folds. “Having you like this, all to myself.”

You whine from above him. “Jungkook,” you whimper, “please.”

It doesn’t take more for him to lean closer, tongue licking a stripe up between your folds and to your clit, his silver arm sliding across your abdomen to keep you down as he eats you out for the first time in decades. One would think he had lost his touch and knowledge of a woman’s body, but you can say that he certainly didn’t as he roots himself between your legs, tongue licking your wetness and prodding at the entrance.

“Oh god,” you moan, softly gasping for air as his human hand rests on top of your one thigh, fingers digging into the flesh there. You’re in heaven, on the ninth cloud as he slurps your arousal, licking your folds and clit as if his life depended on it. “Fuck, Jungkook!”

The sound of your name toppling from your lips as he hits a certain nerve makes his body flush with a warmth he almost forgot what feels like. You’re writhing in the tight hold of his silver arm, squirming as he licks you to your release. The orgasm is approaching fast and hard, Jungkook being the sole reason for it. No one could ever get you there as fast as him.

“I’m s-so close- oh!,” you pant, your walls clenching as Jungkook’s actual fingers slide into you. He pumps his hand in and out of you in a pace that is perfectly building up your orgasm. He takes nothing but a glance into his eyes as he leans down to softly kiss your clit that you’re toppling over, hitting the wall of your orgasm. “J-jungkook, my god!”

You jerk away as he leans forward, tongue licking up your release, tasting it on his taste buds. He hums with a small smile as he glances up at you, loving the way your eyes are almost bulging out of your head at the sight of him between your thighs. It takes nothing more than a few seconds before you shitting up, Jungkook meeting you halfway in a kiss. Tongues clash against each other, the taste of you on his tongue as he kisses you deeply, needingly.

“Please fuck me,” you mumble in between kisses, a desperate whining tone attached to your words. “Make love to me, Jungkook.”

He seals your words with a kiss, giving you a silent promise of doing just that. As if he’d lick you out and that would be it. No way.

You watch, teeth biting into your bottom lip, as he gets off the bed to remove the sweatpants you had dressed him in when you got back, getting him out of those military pants with belts and buckles all over them. His cock springs free, slaps against his abdomen as it stands proud into the air. A rush runs through your stomach at the sight, mouth slightly watering. Once the sweatpants and his boxers lie on the floor by his feet, he crawls back onto the bed. He moves closer, pushing you back onto your back as he hovers over you. You’re glancing at his silver arm for a mere split second, your hair reaching up to run along the hard edges of it. Jungkook can’t feel your touch but he’d like to imagine that he can as he watches your palm brushing over and further up to the nape of his neck. His eyes move back to lock with yours. You’re looking at him just like you did that last night of intimacy you had back in 1944, the night before he was sent off on a deathly mission. A huge wave of emotions hits him as he glances from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“I love you,” he softly says, eyebrows furrowed together as he looks at you, “so much, ____.”

You smile, pulling him down to meet you in a kiss. The kisses are soft, tender even as he reaches down to line himself up with your entrance. You gasp into his mouth as the tip of his cock prods at your folds. A hand of yours tangles back into his locks as he pushes inside, the tightness overwhelming for the both of you. He rests his forehead against yours, your breaths clashing together between you as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Shit,” he hisses, glancing down at your connecting hips. “Can i move?”

You nod your head, whispering, “yes.”

Jungkook watches the way your eyes roll to the back of your head as he pulls out and pushes back in, the sight causing him to do it again and again, wanting to see you lose yourself and succumb to the feeling of his cock brushing against your walls.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp as he gives you a particularly hard thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin as he hits that exact spot that makes you whimper out a soft, whiny moan. You’re clawing at his shoulders, his neck and chest as he sets a rhythm, keeping it steady as he grinds into you. He grabs your leg with his silver hand, helping you to wrap it around his waist. The other follows suit, locking with your other behind his back. He hits deep inside of you, his veiny cock sliding against your walls so deliciously.

It’s like that last night you had with him all over again just with more longing and more desperate kisses. Your stomach tingles with the overwhelming amount of emotions you’re feeling in this exact moment as you look up at him – his long hair slightly damp at the roots, his toned chest glistening in sweat as he works you both to a release, to a high you’re both so desperately in the need of.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans as you unawarely clench around his length, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Don’t do that or I’ll cum right now.”

“Sorry!” You squeak, chuckling as he eyes you with a small smirk. God, you wanna ride him so badly. “Oh, Jungkook,” you moan breathily as he hits your spot again. He’s watching you, eyes running over your face as it contorts in pure pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he grunts, leaning up on his hands to get a better angle. He rams his hips into you, his strength coming to show as he thrusts into you harder than ever before. The power of his thrusts have you seeing stars as your second orgasm nears you. Jungkook can feel it as you clinch repeatedly around him. He won’t last much longer if you continue to do that.

High pitched moans tumble from your parted lips as he speeds up his movements, desperately trying to get you over the edge before he topples over himself. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as you reach your high, the orgasm hitting you like a bullet.

“Oh my fucking god,” you moan, breathing ragged as he continues to fuck you to get himself to cum. His breathing is uneven, not matching his thrusts as all as he moves in and out a few more times before stilling inside of you, spilling his load and painting your walls inside.

“Fuck, I love you,” he breathes out as he drops his forehead to your collarbone. You’re smiling widely as you run your fingers from his shoulders and up into his hair. He lifts his head to look at you as you push his long, brown hair out of his face. You know him too well when he gives you a look, a small smirk on his lips. A joke is coming. You can just feel it. And you can’t help but grin at him as everything feels exactly like 1944 again. Also, you want to punch him for his next words:

“Not too bad for a 98-year-old, huh?”

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wisdomrays · 3 years

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QUESTIONS & ANSWERS: Why Was the Prophet Polygamous?: Part 2

Khadija was the Prophet's first wife. As mentioned above, she married him before his call to Prophethood. Even though she was 15 years his senior, she bore all of his children, except for Ibrahim, who did not survive infancy. Khadija was also his friend, the sharer of his inclinations and ideals to a remarkable degree. Their marriage was wonderfully blessed, for they lived together in profound harmony for 23 years. Through every trial and persecution launched by the Makkan unbelievers, she was his dearest companion and helper. He loved her very deeply and married no other woman while she was alive.

This marriage is the ideal of intimacy, friendship, mutual respect, support, and consolation. Though faithful and loyal to all his wives, he never forgot Khadija and mentioned her virtues and merits extensively on many occasions. He married another woman only 4 or 5 years after Khadija's death. Until that time, he served as both a mother and a father to his children, providing their daily food and provisions as well as bearing their troubles and hardships. To allege that such a man was a sensualist or driven by sexual lust is nonsensical.

'A'isha was the daughter of Abu Bakr, his closest friend and devoted follower. One of the earliest converts, Abu Bakr had long hoped to cement the deep attachment between himself and the Prophet through marriage. By marrying 'A'isha, the Prophet accorded the highest honor and courtesy to a man who had shared all the good and bad times with him. In this way, Abu Bakr and 'A'isha acquired the distinction of being spiritually and physically close to the Prophet.

'A'isha proved to be a remarkably intelligent and wise woman, for she had both the nature and temperament to carry forward the work of Prophetic mission. Her marriage prepared her to be a spiritual guide and teacher to all women. She became one of the Prophet's major students and disciples. Through him, like so many Muslims of that blessed time, her skills and talents were matured and perfected so that she could join him in the abode of bliss both as wife and as student.

Her life and service to Islam prove that such an exceptional person was worthy to be the Prophet's wife. She was one of the greatest authorities on hadith, an excellent Qur'anic commentator, and a most distinguished and knowledgeable expert on Islamic law. She truly represented the inner and outer qualities and experiences of Prophet Muhammad. This is surely why the Prophet was told in a dream that he would marry 'A'isha. Thus, when she was still innocent and knew nothing of men and worldly affairs, she was prepared and entered the Prophet's household.

Umm Salama of the Makhzum clan, was first married to her cousin. The couple had embraced Islam at the very beginning and emigrated to Abyssinia to avoid persecution. After their return, they and their four children migrated to Madina. Her husband participated in many battles and died after being severely wounded at the Battle of Uhud. Abu Bakr and 'Umar proposed marriage to her, aware of her needs and suffering as a destitute widow with children to support. She refused, believing that no one could be better than her late husband.

Some time after that, the Prophet proposed marriage. This was quite right and natural, for this great woman had never shied from sacrifice and suffering for Islam. Now that she was alone after having lived many years in the noblest Arabian clan, she could not be neglected and left to beg her way in life. Considering her piety, sincerity, and what she had suffered, she certainly deserved to be helped. By marrying her, the Prophet was doing what he had always done: befriending those lacking in friends, supporting the unsupported, and protecting the unprotected. In her present circumstances, there was no kinder or more gracious way of helping her.

Umm Salama also was intelligent and quick to understand. She had all the capacities and gifts to become a spiritual guide and teacher. When the Prophet took her under his protection, a new student to whom all women would be grateful was accepted into the school of knowledge and guidance. As the Prophet was now almost 60, marrying a widow with many children and assuming the related expenses and responsibilities can only be understood as an act of compassion that deserves our admiration for his infinite reserves of humanity.

Umm Habiba was the daughter of Abu Sufyan, an early and most determined enemy of the Prophet and supporter of Makkah's polytheistic and idolatrous religion. Yet his daughter was one of the earliest Muslims. She emigrated to Abyssinia with her husband, where he eventually renounced his faith and embraced Christianity. Although separated from her husband, she remained a Muslim. Shortly after that, her husband died and she was left all alone and desperate in exile.

The Companions, at that time few in number and barely able to support themselves, could not offer much help. So, what were her options? She could convert to Christianity and get help that way (unthinkable). She could return to her father's home, now a headquarters of the war against Islam (unthinkable). She could wander from house to house as a beggar, but again it was an unthinkable option for a member of one of the richest and noblest Arab families to bring shame upon her family name by doing so.

God recompensed Umm Habiba for her lonely exile in an insecure environment among people of a different race and religion, and for her despair at her husband's apostasy and death, by arranging for the Prophet to marry her. Learning of her plight, the Prophet sent an offer of marriage through the king Negus. This noble and generous action was a practical proof of: We have not sent you save as a mercy for all creatures (21:107).

Thus Umm Habiba joined the Prophet's household as a wife and student, and contributed much to the moral and spiritual life of those who learned from her. This marriage linked Abu Sufyan's powerful family to the Prophet's person and household, which caused its members to re-evaluate their attitudes. It also is correct to trace the influence of this marriage, beyond the family of Abu Sufyan and to the Umayyads in general, who ruled the Muslims for almost a century.

This clan, whose members had been the most fanatical in their hatred of Islam, produced some of Islam's most renowned early warriors, administrators, and governors. Without doubt, it was this marriage that began this change, for the Prophet's depth of generosity and magnanimity of soul surely overwhelmed them.

Zaynab bint Jahsh was a lady of noble birth and a close relative of the Prophet. She was, moreover, a woman of great piety, who fasted much, kept long vigils, and gave generously to the poor. When the Prophet arranged for her to marry Zayd, an African exslave whom he had adopted as his son, Zaynab's family and Zaynab herself were at first unwilling. The family had hoped to marry their daughter to the Prophet. But when they realized that the Prophet had decided otherwise, they consented out of deference to their love for the Prophet and his authority.

Zayd had been enslaved as a child during a tribal war. Khadija, who had bought him, had given him to Muhammad as a present when she married him. The Prophet had freed immediately him and, shortly afterwards, adopted him as his son. He insisted on this marriage to establish and fortify equality between the Muslims, and to break down the Arab prejudice against a slave or even freedman marrying a free-born woman.

The marriage was an unhappy one. The noble-born Zaynab was a good Muslim of a most pious and exceptional quality. The freedman Zayd was among the first to embrace Islam, and he also was a good Muslim. Both loved and obeyed the Prophet, but they were not a compatible couple. Zayd asked the Prophet several times to allow them to divorce. However, he was told to persevere with patience and not separate from Zaynab.

But then one day Gabriel came with a Divine Revelation that the Prophet's marriage to Zaynab was a bond already contracted: We have married her to you (33:37). This command was one of the severest trials the Prophet, had yet had to face, for he was being told to break a social taboo. Yet it had to be done for the sake of God, just as God commanded. 'A'isha later said: "Had the Messenger been inclined to suppress any part of the Revelation, surely he would have suppressed this verse."

Divine wisdom decreed that Zaynab join the Prophet's household, so that she could be prepared to guide and enlighten the Muslims. As his wife, she proved herself most worthy of her new position by always being aware of her responsibilities and the courtesies proper to her role, all of which she fulfilled to universal admiration.

Before Islam, an adopted son was considered a natural son. Therefore, an adopted son's wife was considered as a natural son's wife would be. According to the Qur'anic verse, former "wives of your sons proceeding from your loins" fall within the prohibited degrees of marriage. But this prohibition does not apply to adopted sons, for there is no real consanguinity. What now seems obvious was not so then. This deeply rooted tribal taboo was broken by this marriage, just as God had intended.

To have an unassailable authority for future generations of Muslims, the Prophet had to break this taboo himself. It is one more instance of his deep faith that he did as he was told, and freed his people from a legal fiction that obscured a biological, natural reality.

Juwayriya bint Harith the daughter of Harith, chief of the defeated Bani Mustaliq clan, was captured during a military campaign. She was held with other members of her proud family alongside her clan's "common" people. She was in great distress when she was taken to the Prophet, for her kinsmen had lost everything and she felt profound hate and enmity for the Muslims. The Prophet understood her wounded pride, dignity, and suffering; more important, he understood how to deal with these issues effectively. He agreed to pay her ransom, set her free, and offered to marry her.

When the Ansar and the Muhajirun realized that the Bani Mustaliq now were related to the Prophet by marriage, they freed about 100 families that had not yet been ransomed. A tribe so honored could not be allowed to remain in slavery. In this way, the hearts of Juwayriya and her people were won. Those 100 families blessed the marriage. Through his compassionate wisdom and generosity, the Prophet turned a defeat for some into a victory for all, and what had been an occasion of enmity and distress became one of friendship and joy.

Safiyya bint Huyayy was the daughter of the chieftains of the Jewish tribe of Khaybar, who had persuaded the Bani Qurayza to break their treaty with the Prophet. From her earliest days, she had seen her family and relatives oppose the Prophet. She had lost her father, brother, and husband in battles against the Muslims, and eventually was captured by them.

The attitudes and actions of her family and relatives might have nurtured in her a deep desire for revenge. However, 3 days before the Prophet reached Khaybar, she dreamed of a brilliant moon coming out from Madina, moving toward Khaybar, and falling into her lap. She later said: "When I was captured, I began to hope that my dream would come true." When she was brought before the Prophet as a captive, he set her free and offered her the choice of remaining a Jewess and returning to her people, or entering Islam and becoming his wife. "I chose God and his Messenger" she said. Shortly after that, they were married.

Elevated to the Prophet's household, she witnessed at first hand the Muslims' refinement and true courtesy. Her attitude to her past experiences changed, and she came to appreciate the great honor of being the Prophet's wife. As a result of this marriage, the attitude of many Jews changed as they came to see and know the Prophet closely. It is worth noting that such close relations between Muslims and non-Muslims can help people to understand each other better and to establish mutual respect and tolerance as social norms.

Sawda bint Zam'ah ibn Qays was the widow of Sakran. Among the first to embrace Islam, they had emigrated to Abyssinia to escape the Makkans' persecution. Sakran died in exile, and left his wife utterly destitute. As the only means of assisting her, the Prophet, though himself having a hard time making ends meet, married her. This marriage took place some time after Khadija's death.

Hafsa was the daughter of 'Umar ibn al-Khattab, the future second caliph of Islam. This good lady had lost her husband, who emigrated to both Abyssinia and Madina, where he was fatally wounded during a battle in the path of God. She remained without a husband for a while. 'Umar desired the honor and blessing of being close to the Prophet in this world and in the Hereafter. The Prophet honored this desire by marrying Hafsa to protect and to help the daughter of his faithful disciple.

Given the above facts, it is clear that the Prophet married these women for a variety of reasons: to provide helpless or widowed women with dignified subsistence; to console and honor enraged or estranged tribes; to bring former enemies into some degree of relationship and harmony; to gain certain uniquely gifted men and women for Islam; to establish new norms of relationship between people within the unifying brotherhood of faith in God; and to honor with family bonds the two men who were to be the first leaders of the Muslim community after his death. These marriages had nothing to do with self-indulgence, personal desire, or lust. With the exception of 'A'isha, all of the Prophet's wives were widows, and all of his post-Khadija marriages were contracted when he was already an old man. Far from being acts of self-indulgence, these marriages were acts of self-discipline.

Part of that discipline was providing each wife with the most meticulously observed justice, dividing equally whatever slender resources he allowed for their subsistence, accommodation, and allowance. He also divided his time with them equally, and regarded and treated them with equal friendship and respect. The fact that all of his wives got on well with each other is no small tribute to his genius for creating peace and harmony. With each of them, he was not only a provider but also a friend and companion.

The number of the Prophet's wives was a dispensation unique to him. Some of the merits and wisdom of this dispensation, as we understand them, have been explained. All other Muslims are allowed a maximum of four wives at one time. When that Revelation restricting polygamy came, the Prophet's marriages had already been contracted. Thereafter, he married no other women.

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orthodoxydaily · 3 years

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Saints&Reading: Sat., Apr., 24, 2021

LAZARUS ATURDAY

by Archbishop Andrei (Rymarenko)

“In the same way we cry to Thee, O Conqueror of death: Hosanna in the highest, blessed is He Who comes in the name of the Lord” (Troparion (hymn) sung on Lazarus Saturday).

Great is this Holy Day, brothers and sisters! Just think of it, “Conqueror of death”! There have been many conquerors in the history of humanity: many gifted doctors have conquered many sicknesses, many military leaders have conquered tremendous armies, even entire countries. There have been conquerors of space such as the inventors of automobiles, airplanes; conquerors of distance — the inventors of the telephone, telegraph, and so on. But “Conqueror of death” — the whole world does not know of anyone else but Jesus Christ. He alone. Even the so-called “unbelieving world” cannot mention another name. No one among the most prominent people would ever even attempt to make such a claim. But He is, was, and will be — our Savior and our Lord.

During His historical evangelistic life He proved this in three instances: the resurrection of the daughter of Jairus, the resurrection of the son of the widow of Nain, and here in today’s Gospel, the resurrection of Lazarus.

The death of the daughter of Jairus was a recent one. She died while Christ and her father were going to her. Even Christ called it slumber; but the people “laughed Him to scorn, knowing that she was dead. And He put them all out, and took her by the hand, and called, saying, Maid, arise! And her spirit came again, and she arose straightway: and He commanded to give her meat” (Lk. 8:53-55).

In the case of the son of the widow of Nain, death, seemingly stronger, came into its own: the dead man had already been laid on the funeral bier. They had carried him not only from the house, but already through the city gates. In order to touch the bier, the Lord had to stop the carriers. And only then did He say, “Young man, I say unto thee, Arise! And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak. And He delivered him to his mother” (Lk. 7:14-15).

And now Lazarus. The victory of death here was final, one hundred percent. Lazarus had been in the tomb four days already. There was weeping, but no one had any hope of an instantaneous resurrection. Even one of the dead man’s sisters said to the Lord: “I know he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Even the Lord Himself, when He “saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, He groaned in the spirit, and was troubled,” and He wept. Finally He said, “Take ye away the stone.” Here, even the sister of the dead man could not contain herself and said to Him: “Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.” So the stone was removed from the tomb where the dead man was lying, and Christ cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come forth! And he that was dead came forth bound hand and foot with grave clothes: and his face was bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him, and let him go” (Jn. 11:17-44).

Besides physical death, there is mental death. Physical death is visible to everyone, but mental death is usually not noticeable to people. It is felt only by the dead person himself. Bishop Theophan the Recluse said much about this. Sometimes it happens that a sinful thought darts into your mind and awakens a sinful feeling, but the soul catches itself and calls to the Lord in repentance. And the Lord, as with the daughter of Jairus, will as if stretch out His hand and say, “Soul, arise!” And life will return to its joyous flow. But sometimes it happens that we do not catch ourselves in time and sin enters more deeply into our soul (like going out from the house) and the result will be full acceptance of the sin, and turmoil. But also here, by the prayers of our Mother, the Church of Christ, who cries before the Lord for her children, we can be alerted; and the Lord will tell us as He did the son of the widow of Nain: “Soul, I say unto thee, Arise!” This is salvation.

But what shall we do if sin completely enslaves our soul, as if covering it with a tombstone; and so day after day goes by and passions start to exude their sinful stench, just as with Lazarus? What should we do then? Well, then we need confession, the sacrament which Christ established after His Resurrection, when He said to His disciples, “Receive ye the Holy Spirit: Whose so ever sins ye forgive, they are forgiven” (Jn. 20:22-23). See how all this is reflected in the resurrection of Lazarus. Lazarus, on his own, could not go out from the tomb because it was blocked by a stone. He couldn’t even walk, because he was bound hand and foot with funeral bandages. And here Christ said to His disciples, “Loose him.” In application to us, this means that the Lord orders our clergy, who have received in the Sacrament of the Priesthood the gift of the Holy Spirit, to loose our sins. What joy!

And more: death is not the cause but only the result, the consequence of sin. And Christ is, first of all, the Conqueror of sin, and then along with it, the Conqueror of death. So let us triumph: “Hosanna in the highest!”

The Priest Martyr Antipas (92)

A disciple of the holy Apostle John the Theologian (Comm. 26 September), was bishop of the Church of Pergamum during the reign of the emperor Nero (54-68). During these times by order of the emperor, everyone who would not offer sacrifice to the idols lived under threat of either exile or execution. And then too on the island of Patmos (in the Aegean Sea) was imprisoned the holy Apostle John the Theologian – he to whom the Lord revealed the future judgements of the world and of Holy Church.

"And to the Angel of the Pergamum Church write: thus sayeth He having the sword sharp of both edges: I do know thine deeds, and that thou dost live there, where doth be the throne of Satan, and that thou dost cleave unto My Name nor didst renounce My faith even in those days, in which My slain faithful witness Antipas was amongst ye, where Satan dwelleth" (Rev. 2: 12-13).

By his personal example, firm faith and constant preaching about Christ, Saint Antipas began to sway the people of Pergamum from offering sacrifice to idols. The pagan priests reproached the bishop for turning the people away from their ancestral gods, and they demanded that he stop preaching about Christ and instead offer sacrifice to the idols. Saint Antipas calmly answered, that he was not about to serve the demon-gods, which flee before him who was but a mortal man; rather, it is the Lord Almighty that he worships and would continue to worship – the Creator of all, together with His Only‑Begotten and One-in-Essence Son and Holy Spirit. The pagan priests retorted, that their gods existed from of old, whereas Christ was not from of old and was crucified under Pontius Pilate as a criminal. The saint answered, that the pagan gods were the work of human hands and that everything said about them was filled with iniquities and vices. He steadfastly confessed his faith in the Son of God, incarnated of the MostHoly Virgin. The enraged pagan priests dragged the PriestMartyr Antipas to the temple of Artemis and threw him into a red-hot copper bullock, wherein usually they cast the sacrifices to the idols. In the red-hot furnace the priest-martyr prayed loudly to God, imploring to accept his soul and to fortify Christians in the faith. He expired to the Lord peacefully, as though asleep (+ c. 68). Christians by night took the body of the PriestMartyr Antipas, untouched by the fire, and with reverence they buried him at Pergamum. The tomb of the priest-martyr became a font of miracles and of healings from manifold sicknesses. Particular recourse to the PriestMartyr Antipas is made during times of tooth-ache.

John 11:1-45

1 Now a certain man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. 2 It was that Mary who anointed the Lord with fragrant oil and wiped His feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick. 3 Therefore the sisters sent to Him, saying, "Lord, behold, he whom You love is sick." 4 When Jesus heard that, He said, "This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified through it." 5 Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. 6 So, when He heard that he was sick, He stayed two more days in the place where He was. 7 Then after this He said to the disciples, "Let us go to Judea again." 8 The disciples said to Him, "Rabbi, lately the Jews sought to stone You, and are You going there again?" 9 Jesus answered, "Are there not twelve hours in the day? If anyone walks in the day, he does not stumble, because he sees the light of this world. 10 But if one walks in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him. 11 These things He said, and after that He said to them, "Our friend Lazarus sleeps, but I go that I may wake him up." 12 Then His disciples said, "Lord, if he sleeps he will get well." 13 However, Jesus spoke of his death, but they thought that He was speaking about taking rest in sleep.14 Then Jesus said to them plainly, "Lazarus is dead. 15 And I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, that you may believe. Nevertheless let us go to him. 16 Then Thomas, who is called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, "Let us also go, that we may die with Him." 17 So when Jesus came, He found that he had already been in the tomb four days. 18 Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, about two miles away. 19 And many of the Jews had joined the women around Martha and Mary, to comfort them concerning their brother. 20 Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met Him, but Mary was sitting in the house. 21 Now Martha said to Jesus, "Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died. 22 But even now I know that whatever You ask of God, God will give You. 23 Jesus said to her, "Your brother will rise again."24 Martha said to Him, "I know that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day."25 Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live.26 And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die. Do you believe this? 27 She said to Him, "Yes, Lord, I believe that You are the Christ, the Son of God, who is to come into the world." 28 And when she had said these things, she went her way and secretly called Mary her sister, saying, "The Teacher has come and is calling for you." 29 As soon as she heard that, she arose quickly and came to Him. 30 Now Jesus had not yet come into the town, but was in the place where Martha met Him. 31 Then the Jews who were with her in the house, and comforting her, when they saw that Mary rose up quickly and went out, followed her, saying, "She is going to the tomb to weep there." 32 Then, when Mary came where Jesus was, and saw Him, she fell down at His feet, saying to Him, "Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died." 33 Therefore, when Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her weeping, He groaned in the spirit and was troubled. 34 And He said, "Where have you laid him?" They said to Him, "Lord, come and see."35 Jesus wept.36 Then the Jews said, "See how He loved him!" 37 And some of them said, "Could not this Man, who opened the eyes of the blind, also have kept this man from dying?" 38 Then Jesus, again groaning in Himself, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone lay against it. 39 Jesus said, "Take away the stone." Martha, the sister of him who was dead, said to Him, "Lord, by this time there is a stench, for he has been dead four days." 40 Jesus said to her, "Did I not say to you that if you would believe you would see the glory of God?" 41 Then they took away the stone from the place where the dead man was lying. And Jesus lifted up His eyes and said, "Father, I thank You that You have heard Me. 42 And I know that You always hear Me, but because of the people who are standing by I said this, that they may believe that You sent Me.43 Now when He had said these things, He cried with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come forth!"44 And he who had died came out bound hand and foot with graveclothes, and his face was wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to them, "Loose him, and let him go."45Then many of the Jews who had come to Mary, and had seen the things Jesus did, believed in Him.

Hebrews 12:28-13:8

28 Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom which cannot be shaken, let us have grace, by which we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear. 29 For our God is a consuming fire.

1 Let brotherly love continue. 2 Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels. 3 Remember the prisoners as if chained with them-those who are mistreated-since you yourselves are in the body also. 4 Marriage is honorable among all, and the bed undefiled; but fornicators and adulterers God will judge. 5 Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." 6 So we may boldly say: "The LORD is my helper; I will not fear. What can man do to me?" 7 Remember those who rule over you, who have spoken the word of God to you, whose faith follow, considering the outcome of their conduct. 8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #ancientchristianity #originofchristianity #resurrection #spirituality

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awkwardpenguinproductions · 3 years

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Stealth Chapter 3: The Injustice

Part 5 of Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

The third time is because of an injustice.

After ten months of living in the Stronghold, Zuko has the entire complex mapped out in his mind, every room and corridor, and every possible means of entrance and exit for all of them. He knows that the higher up the Central Tower one goes, the higher one's rank must be to be permitted entrance. Colonel Shinu's office, and the offices kept for visiting officials on military business, are on the second highest level. The highest security holding cells, the ones meant to hold powerful benders, are on the highest level. Zuko visits both those levels every couple of months, to keep his hand in and keep the soldiers assigned for guard duty on their toes.

Right now, though, he's in a much lower level of the Tower, in the vents above the dorm occupied by one of the companies of infantry that are stationed long-term at the Stronghold. Jun Company, if he remembers correctly. The company is on downtime, and most of the soldiers are gathered around their captain's bunk as he hands out their mail. Once the captain is finished with his task, the crowd disperses and he picks up his own scroll.

The soldiers read their letters eagerly, commenting on bits of news, both good and bad, from their families and friends. Zuko listens intently, curious at what life is like for people outside the palace city or the Stronghold. A lot of the soldiers of Jun Company come from the outer islands of the Fire Nation archipelago, and their news involves lots of boats and fishing and weather. Many others come from towns and cities on islands deeper in, and they talk more about trade, and crafting, and complaints about various officials. Everyone talks about their parents, siblings, children, spouses. On the whole, everyone seems pretty pleased with what they read, although some are simply happy to hear from their loved ones, even if their news is bad.

However, the captain in the corner growls and crumples his letter in his hands.

"Everything okay, Captain Daichi?" A nearby sergeant asks.

"My aunt says they haven't received any of my cousin's death gratuity, and it's been over a year," the captain sighs, placing his head in his hands.

"Your cousin was in the 41st Division, right Cap?" Another soldier asks, and Zuko's blood freezes in his veins. "My sister said that one of her neighbors had a kid in the 41st, and they haven't heard or gotten diddly squat after the initial death notice."

Other members of the company chime in with comments as well, all similar in subject: none of the families they know who had a son or daughter in the 41st Division have gotten the payment of gold the survivors of soldiers killed on active duty are owed, nor have they gotten any notice of when they can expect it.

Zuko slips away, shimmying back to a spot he can exit the vent, and then sticking to the shadows as he retreats to the Yuyan dorm. Various members of the Troop glance his way, but aside from a few waves of greeting, no one bothers him. He slips into his bunk, hugging Pandan to his chest and pulling the blanket over his head.

Zuko has to breathe shallowly to keep his firebending from responding to his fury. It's bad enough that Father (should he even call him that anymore? Commander Toshiaki and Captain Hiroki have acted more like fathers in the months he's known them than Fire Lord Ozai has acted in years) has gone ahead with the horrible plan to kill an entire division full of kids Kai's age for no reason at all; but to not even compensate their families for the trauma of losing their loved ones? Or even tell the survivors why they're not being compensated? Zuko knows, in an intellectual way, that some people join the Fire Nation Armed Forces not only for patriotism, but as a way to support their families. As bad as it would be to lose a loved one, and Zuko knows all too well how badly that hurts, it must be at least as horrible to lose the income that person provided, and to not at least get an explanation why… it would look like the Fire Lord doesn't care about the lives that could be in danger because they have no way to make ends meet.

And Zuko knows that the Fire Lord doesn't care, but the people don't know that, and the Fire Lord can't afford to alienate such a huge swath of the Fire Nation's population. He would have ensured that proper protocol was followed, if only to keep up the appearance of a sympathetic and benevolent ruler to his people who sacrifice so much for their nation.

Which means that something within the bureaucracy has gone wrong. And Zuko is going to find out just exactly what.

A few more days of spying around the infantry barracks and asking some carefully worded questions, and Zuko is positive that this is more than just a bureaucratic mistake. The problem is too widespread and affecting too many people. But knowing about a problem and being able to do anything about it are two different things, and the first is far easier than the second.

Until the Finance Ministry official arrives at the Stronghold.

He comes in a fancy carriage pulled by a dragon-moose, wearing Caldera Court robes instead of sensible traveling clothes, and clutching a box to his chest. He demands to be taken immediately to see Colonel Shinu, and is promptly escorted into the Central Tower. Zuko is immediately burning with curiosity and suspicion, and slips away. Ten minutes later, he's laying motionless in the vent that opens into Colonel Shinu's office, listening to the official (Sota by name) announce that he will be conducting a financial audit of the Stronghold and its operations, and requires a secure office in which to conduct his work. Colonel Shinu's face turns to stone at this pronouncement, but he can't really say no, since doing so would make the slimy rat-viper think that he has something to hide and be that much more obnoxious about his audit. Easier and less headache to just let the guy do his thing and get him out of everyone’s hair as quickly as possible.

Except that he doesn’t get out of everyone’s hair. Zuko watches as Minister Sota moves into an office, and continues watching for a month, but the minister never shows any visible sign of moving out. Zuko’s suspicions continue to grow with each passing day. He doesn’t know how long it takes to perform an audit of a base’s finances, but he can’t imagine it taking more than two or three weeks, since Colonel Shinu keeps impeccable records and ensures that his entire command staff does the same. Commander Toshiaki takes two days to compile his report on the Troop’s finances—Zuko knows this because the Commander asked him to assist the last two times it had to be done. The only reason it takes that long at all is because the Commander, who can perform archery tricks that should be impossible according to every known law of physics, has to write down every equation before he can laboriously calculate them with his fingers. Minister Sota’s job is all about mathematics, it shouldn’t take him over a month to check calculations that are already complete.

And then there’s the minister’s behavior. He’s as snooty and insufferable as anyone can expect a government official to be, but he also refuses to allow Stronghold custodial staff to clean the office he occupies without his direct supervision, declines any and all invitations to join the Colonel for dinner or even a drink in his quarters, and creeps around the Stronghold like he constantly expects someone to drag him off to be fed to tigerdilloes at any moment. As far as Zuko can tell by listening to the mutterings of the Stronghold's clerks, Minister Sota is ordering financial ledgers to be delivered to his office, and then when he orders them removed, they appear as though they hadn't been touched at all in the hours (or days, or weeks, in one case) between delivery and retrieval. It's like the man is only pretending to do his job, but if he's not doing the work that he says he came to do, then what exactly is he doing instead?

Zuko wants to find out, but there's no way that Colonel Shinu would allow a search of Minister Sota's office and quarters without really good reason, and simply because the man is acting suspicious is not a good reason.

Six weeks after Minister Sota's arrival, Zuko is called to Colonel Shinu's office ten minutes before light's out. He enters the office to find Commander Toshiaki is already there, and Zuko freezes. Is this it? Almost a year of training and living with the Yuyan Archers, and now they decide to kick him out? Will he be able to say goodbye to his squad, and Master Ryoichi, and the rest of his friends? Will he be able to keep his weapons––the bow he's finally able to shoot with consistent accuracy, the dual dao that had appeared on his bunk a week after joining Chihese Squad, the four sets of throwing knives he'd received for his fifteenth birthday? He's much more confident in his ability to care for himself than he was a year ago, but… he loves living at the Stronghold. He doesn't want to leave.

He doesn't want to be alone again.

He doesn't realize that he's hyperventilating until Commander Toshiaki's hands land gently on his shoulders and his dark Yuyan eyes meet Zuko's own bright gold.

Peace, Cadet Zuko, he signs, movements slow and easy. Nothing is wrong. The Colonel and I have a mission for you.

Well now Zuko feels really stupid. With a sharp mental shake, he forces his dry mouth to swallow, and bows with the Flame in salute to the Colonel. The Colonel returns the salute with a much shallower bow.

"Commander Toshiaki tells me that you're the most skilled infiltrator he's seen in several years," the Colonel begins, standing at parade rest with his hands behind his back. "You originally entered this facility in the back of a supply cart, correct? And then there's the matter of the tank that mysteriously ended up on the roof of the Central Tower several weeks ago, but since no one has seen fit to come forward to take responsibility for that incident, it is merely speculation and not worth wasting time on." The Colonel's expressionless mask cracks with a small smirk, and Zuko fights down the urge to blush and merely blinks in return, not twitching from his own parade rest.

The Colonel goes to sit at a low table where tea is laid out. "At ease, both of you."

Zuko and the Commander both sit at the table, and the Colonel pours tea for the three of them. Winter has arrived again, and Zuko wraps his hands around the cup and savors the extra warmth.

"I'm sure you've noticed our esteemed guest, Cadet Zuko?" He asks.

Zuko nods, and almost lets go of his teacup to sign before remembering himself and gripping it tighter.

"You have permission to speak freely, Cadet." Colonel Shinu's tone is knowing, and Zuko is sure that he's hiding a smirk behind his cup.

Still nervous, Zuko slowly raises his hands. With all due respect, Colonel, he signs, just barely remembering to use the proper sign for "commanding officer" instead of the teasing slang the Archers use outside the Colonel's presence, for all that the esteemed minister is rarely seen outside of his assigned quarters and office, it would be hard to miss his presence. He does his best to keep his face as serious and professional as possible, so that they don't think he's trying to be impertinent, but Commander Toshiaki's lips twitch anyway, and Zuko feels his shoulders tighten.

The Colonel raises an eyebrow. "I have a feeling that I'm going to regret allowing you to speak freely," he says, but this time he doesn't hide his small amused smile behind his teacup.

Commander Toshiaki places a soothing hand on Zuko's shoulder before signing, I know that you've been keeping an eye on the minister when you've had the opportunity. Please report your observations, Cadet.

Zuko is now really confused, but obeys the order. The minister rarely leaves his assigned office, and only to go to his quarters. He avoids letting anyone into his office without him being there, not even the custodians. He avoids socializing with anyone, even when it could be advantageous to him. It's like… he's hiding here. Not just hiding something, he's taking advantage of the Stronghold's security to hide himself.

Now the Colonel's amused smile has turned surprised and impressed, and Zuko doesn't try to stamp down the pleased flush he feels, taking a sip of the tea. It's not quite as good as what Zuko remembers of Uncle’s brews, but it's warm and he feels awkward just holding the cup.

“Very perceptive, Cadet,” the Colonel praises. “Minister Sota has been acting quite suspiciously, and I agree that he’s definitely hiding something. However, I can’t order a search of his office based only on suspicious behavior. And I don’t want to spook the man into doing something foolish by making it obvious that I suspect him. Which is why I asked Commander Toshiaki to suggest someone who could be counted on to make a discreet investigation of the minister's office, and report on what they found."

Zuko nearly chokes on his tea. Before now, his missions for Commander Toshiaki have been mere exercises to pinpoint and rectify issues with the Stronghold's internal security. This is real espionage, and something entirely different.

And yet… if the Commander hadn't called him into this meeting, he probably would've resorted to something like that anyway. Over the past month and a half, more letters have arrived about the surviving families of the 41st Division not receiving their due compensation, and the overall tone of the letters has been increasingly frustrated and desperate. It can't be a coincidence that this suspicious-acting Finance Ministry official shows up just as this issue is gaining traction with the population. He doesn't know if the Colonel and the Commander are aware of the situation with the 41st's survivors' compensation, and he doesn't want to bring it up without proof, but this is the perfect opportunity to find out if there actually is something behind his suspicions without potentially alienating his commanders.

Zuko bows with the Flame. I am honored by the confidence Commander Toshiaki has in me, he signs.

My confidence is well deserved, the Commander replies with a warm smile.

"I understand if it takes you some time to prepare and perform the task, but I'd like you to keep in mind that your target could decide to vacate the Stronghold at any moment," the Colonel says. "Commander Toshiaki is going to let your squad leader know that you've been tapped for a mission at my request, but changing your duty roster in any way might trigger suspicion in the target."

I understand, sir, Zuko replies, completely unsurprised.

"Excellent, I look forward to your report. Dismissed, Cadet."

Zuko stands and bows with the Flame again, before turning on his heel and marching out of the office. He's got work to do.

It takes another week to do his surveillance and formulate his plan. Some careful questioning of the custodial staff reveals that despite his apparent paranoia, Minister Sota keeps to a rigid schedule: rise at two hours past sunrise and go immediately to his borrowed office, eat all three meals at his desk, loom over the custodial staff as they work, and at an hour before midnight return to his quarters. It's the period of time between the hour before midnight and sunrise that interests Zuko––that seems to be the only time all day that Sota vacates the office, and therefore is the best time to enter and perform his search.

As much as it puts him on edge, he schedules the operation for the next new moon, two weeks after his meeting with the Colonel and Commander. He watches the target even more closely in the interim, hoping to get some warning as to whether the coward is going to bolt, but Sota seems firmly entrenched and disinclined to go anywhere.

The night of the new moon arrives, and Zuko slips out of the Yuyan dorm and to the bathroom. It takes him mere moments to transform from bedraggled teenager in dark pajamas to charcoal-colored shadow in a blue mask.

The lights in the corridors of the Stronghold are almost entirely extinguished, in respect to Agni’s slumber, and most firebenders would be hard-pressed to find their way without much more light than is available. But shadows have always been Zuko’s friends, both Before and After, and he slips in and out of them silently, with the ease of long practice.

He arrives at the target’s borrowed office with ten minutes to spare. He spends them crouched just around the corner, eyes closed, waiting patiently for the target to emerge.

Sota does, at precisely an hour before midnight, slamming the metal door shut with a clang that echoes down the corridors and alerts the entire Stronghold that he’s turning in for the night. His heavy footsteps stomp in the opposite direction of Zuko’s location, and he can’t decide for a moment if Sota is really that arrogant or if he’s just a complete idiot. Could be that he’s both.

He gives the moron fifteen minutes to remember something he’d forgotten and return for it. When he doesn’t, Zuko strides forward silently and tries the door. It opens easily, and while Zuko appreciates not having to pick the lock, he puts another tally in the "Sota's an idiot" column.

The office he enters is cluttered with scrolls and ledgers, and for a moment Zuko despairs of actually finding anything in the mess. Then he remembers the box that Sota had arrived with, and decides to start there. It takes some fancy footwork to weave around the stacks of paperwork and books without disturbing anything, but he has the time to be careful.

He finally finds the box in honestly the stupidest place––under the desk. There's another check for the "idiot" column. Maybe two checks, since the office comes equipped with a safe that Zuko still needs more practice to crack. He should probably check the safe anyway, just to be thorough.

Focus, dum-dum, Zuko chides himself, and studies the box, memorizing its position before he moves it. It's the ugliest thing he's ever seen, glossy red lacquer painted all over with gilded phoenixes and covered in shiny brass hardware. It would look right at home in a stuffy noble's mansion, and here in the utilitarian Stronghold it sticks out like a sore thumb. It's also got a massive iron padlock on it, which just screams "OPEN ME, I'M IMPORTANT".

He's just about to slide the box out from under the desk when a noise out in the corridor makes him freeze. Footsteps. Not the arrogant stomping of Sota, thank Agni, and a Yuyan would never announce himself so obviously, not even that moron Zheng. A regular guard, then, doing his rounds. Zuko channels his frustration into the vertical leap he makes to catch hold of the exposed iron pipes near the ceiling, pulling himself up and stretching out along the length like a pygmy puma lounging along a tree branch. He breathes silently and waits.

The door opens, and the guard takes a step inside, glancing around, before exiting and closing the door again. Zuko makes a note to suggest that the guards be reminded that they aren't to be making simple cursory searches on their rounds. That guard's bad habit is Zuko's gain, however, so he supposes he'll let it slide this time.

Once the guard's footsteps fade away, Zuko drops silently back down to the floor and pulls the gaudy box out from under the desk. The lock is hilariously simple to pick, and he has it done in seconds. He opens the box to find…

Scrolls.

For a moment his brain blanks on why a bunch of scrolls would be kept in a ridiculously ostentatious box secured with an iron padlock, and then he picks up one of the scrolls and unrolls it a bit.

41st Division Roster. Commanding Officer: Major General…

Zuko rolls the scroll back up and puts it back in the box. Another scroll lists the next of kin of every member of the 41st, with village names and home islands included, while others are covered in columns of numbers. Some of the columns don't add up. His rage is burning in his chest, but he carefully tucks a scroll dated a month before the minister showed up (it takes a month to sail from Capital Port to this area of the Earth Kingdom, so this scroll is probably the most recent Sota has in his possession) into his sash, and keeps his breath shallow to avoid giving his inner fire any more fuel.

Okay, he has the proof he needs, now he needs to get out of here and report to the Colonel. And quickly—the sun will rise in about two hours, and Zuko needs to be back in the Yuyan dorms before anyone realizes he’s gone.

Zuko has to use the ductwork to avoid the increasing patrols as the Stronghold wakes up. He takes a detour to Colonel Shinu’s office where he writes a brief outline of his findings and leaves it on the Colonel’s desk along with the stolen scroll. Almost as soon as he scrambles back into the vent, the Colonel himself enters the room. Zuko doesn’t wait around to see the man’s reaction.

He makes it back to the dorm with about ten minutes to spare. He’s so focused on trying to sneak back to his bunk without waking any of the light-sleeping Yuyan that he almost doesn’t notice the eyes boring into the back of his skull.

Almost. The hairs on the back of his neck raise, and he snaps around into an automatic firebending stance.

Commander Toshiaki raises a hairless eyebrow.

Zuko freezes in place.

The Commander smirks and silently strides out of the dorm.

Zuko shivers for a moment, then transforms himself back into sleep-rumpled teenager as fast as he can. He stuffs everything in his footlocker, yanks off his boots, and dives into his bunk as the gong signaling wake-up sounds.

A week later, Colonel Shinu orders an inspection of the entire Stronghold, and according to the base gossip chains, Minister Sota is caught with a box full of highly incriminating documents and a safe full of Fire Nation gold pieces. He, the documents, and the gold are put on a ship bound for the Fire Nation within the day.

Three months after Sota is shipped out, Zuko is called back to Colonel Shinu’s office and informed that Sota has been found guilty of embezzling from the Fire Nation Treasury. He had stolen the gold meant to be given to the surviving families of the lost 41st. The lost gold has been recovered, and Sota’s assets seized as well, and the survivors are scheduled to receive their payments by the spring equinox. Sota himself is banished to the colonies. Zuko’s not sure how he feels about that, but it’s not really any of his business, anymore, so he puts it out of his mind.

The Colonel congratulates Zuko on a job well done, and hands him a small but bulging money-sack. Payment, he says, for services rendered.

Zuko hides the sack in the deepest, darkest corner of his footlocker, and goes to hang out with the rhinos for a while.

Mission accomplished.

That is the third time.

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#atla #atla fanfic #awkpenproductions presents #dragon of the yuyan #part 5 stealth #chapter 3 the injustice

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years

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Stormlight Archive Character Thoughts - Kaladin

I’ve got piles of thoughts about the Stormlight Archive, and I want to start getting them written down in the lead-up to Rhythm of War.

For people who haven’t read The Stormlight Archive yet - spoilers! (For the first three books only.) If you’re interested in reading the books in future - or, for that matter, if you’re not interested at all and would rather not have them clogging up your dash - you may want to apply some kind of filter to skip these posts.

Kaladin is easily one of my favourite characters, and a lot of that comes from how deeply he cares about people, even people he doesn’t know, and his astounding level of determination. More than any other character in the books, he has to fight for every inch he gets, he has people placing roadblocks in his path literally every time he takes a step forward, and he powers through it all.

Let’s recap. First, at only fifteen years old, he joins the army to protect his younger brother, only 13-years-old, who has been forcibly conscripted due to the town’s brightlord having a grudge against Kaladin’s family. It’s like a sadder version of The Hunger Games, where he can’t even volunteer in place of his brother, just go with him and hope. Soon after their conscription, his brother is forced onto the front lines and killed in front of him.

Kaladin keeps going. He excels in the army and is made a squadleader before he is out of his teens. He spends all his pay bribing officers to send young people who are unprepared for war to his squad, and he protects them; he bribes the support staff to prioritize his men when taking injured soldiers from the battlefield, so they will live. He becomes a legend to his men, who call him Stormblessed. His men are slaughtered by a Shardbearer, a terror that no ordinary soldier could hope to overcome. Kaladin kills the Shardbearer. His commander, the one lighteyes Kaladin still trusted, steals the Shards, slaughters his men to cover it up, brands Kaladin as a slave, and sells him.

Kaladin keeps going. He tries, time and time and time again, to escape, alone or with others. Sometimes he succeeds, briefly. But he is always recaptured, his companions killed. He breaks. He thinks he’s given up. Despite having given up, he tries to save another ill slave, offering medical advice on how he can be save. The slave-traders kill the man anyway. Kaladin is sent to the Shattered Plains as a bridgemen, an existence that is nothing but a painful journey to inevitable death.

He keeps going. He decides, against all odds, to save the men of his bridge crew, who are too beaten down to even want to be saved. He tries to order them to train; they ignore or laugh at him. He tries to inspire them to train; they look at him like he’s crazy. The man in charge of the bridge crew hates him and wants him dead, but is also afraid and in debt; Kaladin puts some of the minimal pay he recieves into bribing him to leave him alone. He tries to buy antiseptic to prevent injured brudgemen from dying of sepsis. He can’t. It costs more money than he will ever have. When the crew go on brudge runs, he stands in the most dangerous place, where he is most likely to die. He runs onto the battlefield, unarmed, to rescue wounded bridgemen from his crew. He heals them as best he can with his limited resources. When the commanders refuse to bring the injured men back to camp because their lives have no value to them, he finds a way to bring them back. The commanders refuse to feed the injured men. He gives up his own rations to feed them, but he’s going to run out of food, money, and medical supplies.

He keeps going. Acting on information from the apothecary, he gets his men assigned to heavy manual labour (which doesn’t make them happy with him) outside of camp and gathers antiseptic from a grass that grows there, to tend his men’s wounds and to sell to the apothecary for profit. He works nights to extract the antiseptic, with the help of a couple other members of his bridge crew. He keeps trying to train his bridge crew so they’re stronger, more practiced, and less likely to die on bridge runs, but many are still too beaten done to have anything to do with it. When he goes to sell the antiseptic to the apothecary, the apothcary tries to cheat him and buy it for a pittance.

Kaladin sees through it the apothecary’s deception, pushes him, and gets a decent price. He uses the money to buy food for his men, Rock makes them stew, and the group finally start to bond. The next day, when he starts training, most of them are willing to participate. Throughout this time, bridgemen kerp getting wounded, keep dying on runs. If this continues, there won’t be enough people left yo carry the bridge. This is intentional on the part of the commanders: they want him to fail, want to deny him any more crew members to replace the ones he’s lost. And then, when he demands more men and can pick one - he picks a one-armed man. Because the man would die immediately in any other bridge crew, and Kaladin is still the person who, when he was a squadleader, had unprepared soldiers sent to his squad so he could keep them alive.

He keeps going. He trains his squad to carry the bridge at their side, so they can use it to block arrows and not be defenseless on bridge runs. He tries this on the next run, because it’s the only way they won’t all die. It works. It also causes the army’s attack to fail, because enemy arches fire at the soldiers and the other bridge crews instead of his crew. And he’s finally told why his men are sent running into battle unshielded and unarmoured. Killing them distracts the enemy from soldiers who have value. He’s been labouring and striving with all his strength to save men whose only military purpose is to die. The commanders string him up in a highstorm to die.

Miraculously, he lives. And he keeps going. Secretly, he begins training his men to fight, in the slim hope that they can excape from the camp, fight off pursuers, and find freedom. On top of this, he starts rescuing and healing wounded men from other bridge crews. Because their lives have value, and no one else values them. And finally, they have a chance to escape - if they walk away and let a losing army be slaughtered by its enemies.

They turn back. A group of people who, months ago, were hopeless, apathetic, and waiting to die, sacrifice their chance at freedom to save men they do not know, soldiers of armies who have never shown any value for bridgeman lives. Men who barely know how to use a spear fight in a battle, a battle against unbelievable odds. (In organizing the retreat, Kaladin manages to take command of men who are stratospherically higher-rank than him, through sheer force of will and level-headedness.) And they win. And thanks to this, they win their freedom. Kaladin’s begun to realize he has powers he doesn’t fully understand.

He’s given immense new responsibilities. Where one he was in charge of maybe thirty or forty bridgemen he’s now in charge of hundreds of brudgemen and soldiers. He learns to identify other leaders. To inspire. To delegate. He considers telling Dalinar about his new powers, and then, just as he’s almost decided, the man who murdered his crew and branded him as a slave comes to the camp, and Dalinar wecomes him as a dear friend. Kaladin tells Dalinar the truth. Dalinar tells Kaladin he has no proof, and all the evidence and testimony is against him; and to all appearances, Dalinar does nothing. Dalinar appoints the man as the new head of the Knights Radiant, the group that Kaladin’s powers genuinely make him one of.

Kaladin keeps going. Despite all of this, he throws himself into a fight against four Shardbearers to protect Dalinar’s son, a man Kaladin doesn’t even like. Against all the odds, he wins. Sering a chance for justice, he demands the right to duel Amaram, his betrayer. Instead, he’s thrown in prison and narrowly escapes the king having him executed (note: Kaladin had previously risked his life to rescue the king from posdibly the most dangerous man in the world). For the second time, he has defeated a Shardbearer, an act that is supposed to instantly make you one of the highest-status people in the kingdom. For the second time, he’s been betrayed and punished for it instead. And then he finds out that the king is also responsible for ‘exiling’, to Kaladin’s hometown, the brightlord respinsible for his brother’s death.

And this is the point where he breaks and decides he’s okay with the king being assassinated. And then, because of that decision, he loses his new abilities and he loses Syl. And he still keeps going, and fights (and kills) a monster out of nightmares to save someone he doesn’t particularly like, and nearly dies doing it. And then, over a space of weeks, he pulls himself together, realizes he was wrong, and stands in defence of the king while still severely injured, about to pass about from blood loss, in a fight he has no chance of winning.

And, oh yes, he does all this while having clinical depression (in addition to some serious situational depression due to the absolute hell that his life is for a lot of the time).

Yes, I’ve skated over a lot of things here, and the involvement of a lot of other characters, but when you put all this together it is amazing. And that, not his powers, is what makes Kaladin a wonderful and intensely admirable character to me. His bond with Syl, and his abilities, are a result of the person he’s continually chosen to be, against constant, unimaginable obstacles. They’re not something that was just handed to him. Do I love his epic moments? Yes. But they work because they’re grounded on the foundation of everything else he’s chosen to be and do.

(I’m hoping to do a separate post focusing specifically on his arc in Words of Radiance, and on Moash’s arc, because there are a lot of nuances there that I want to dig into.)

And in Oathbringer, I love his scenes with the Singers in the first part. He meets people who he expects to be monsters, who both legend and personal experience has told him are monsters, and he empathizes with them and helps them. Because they need it, and because he cares. And I believe that on the long run, that will be a major and important strength, not a weakness. Throughout the books he’s struggled with the question of how you draw a line between the people you’re supposed to protect and the people you’re supposed to kill when there’s no obvious moral difference between the one and this other. I think that’s going to be resolved, and that his capacity for empathy, inspiration and leadership is going to be involved in helping the humans and the Singers to find peace.

#the stormlight archive #brandon sanderson #kaladin stormblessed #character thoughts

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prayamericagreatagain · 3 years

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Memorial Day Prayer May 31, 2021

Prayer

Holy Father, Sovereign Commander of all Armies Past, Present, and Future,

We come before You today with somber hearts and minds as we reflect on the brave Americans of every generation that have devoted their lives in defense of our country, our liberty, and our founding ideals.

Yet, even in our weighty reflections, it seems only right that we commit to our own bravery, not for ourselves, but in honor and memory of our military heroes who sacrificed everything for us. Therefore, we set our faces like flint, as we follow in their great footsteps and continue their mission, as I believe, they would most want us to do.

Sovereign Lord, we first and foremost offer sincere praise to You, and with the honored fallen, worship You in spirit and truth. We praise You Father God, that all is well. Though there are vicious enemies abroad, enemies being encouraged and paid to cross our borders illegally, and even an illegitimate regime sitting in our highest government offices—encouraging our enemies while denigrating our citizens—even amidst this tribulation, we are greatly encouraged because You, Father God, remain seated on the Everlasting Throne. “Of the increase of Your government and of peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and forevermore. The zeal of the LORD of Heaven’s armies will do this” (Isaiah 9:7).

“For to us a child was born, to us a Son has been given, and His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6). And as spoken by Isaiah and confirmed by the Son of Man Himself, all authority in heaven, and on earth, has been given to the Son, Jesus Christ, (Matthew 28:18), Who is also the first fruits of our resurrection (1 Corinthians 15:20).

Amidst our mourning for the honored fallen, we have this hope of a Prince of Peace, who rules in justice and righteousness, in whose Kingdom there will be no war, but life eternal. And it is in this hope, the hope of glory, that we pray.

For every parent who weeps for a child, to every child who mourns for a parent, and to every husband or wife whose heart has been torn in two, Almighty Lord, we ask You to comfort their pain, to ease their sorrow, and to wipe away their tears.

Every citizen of the United States of America owes his/her deepest thanks to these families. May we never fail as a nation to express our deep gratitude for the sacrifice of every fallen hero. Jesus Himself said, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lays down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). And in the path of our Great Fallen Hero, our honored fallen have followed and displayed their great love.

Pray the rest: https://prayamericagreatagain.com/memorial-day-prayer-may-31-2021/

#MemorialDay HappyMemorialDay MemorialDay2021 NeverForget HonorTheFallen HonoredFallen TheHonoredDead NationalHeroes WeWillNeverForget WeWill

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writingwitheli · 4 years

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GrandMech

Most mechs were hard to function, even with experienced pilots.

They didn't move like people do, the mechanics don't really allow for that. You have to know the engineering intimately to clearly envision how the thing was going to react to your direction. Most pilots spend months learning their piece before going into the field. There were simulators, and for a while the board argued for mechs to be built in a uniform manner for faster learning.

But technology went a bit too fast for that. And the things were way too expensive to mass produce.

Grandma Katersfield knew this well. It was her life's work.

I mean she wasn't my grandma. But she kinda was. She was everyone's grandma, in a way. Most mechs these days still have her work in them, even if there were scraps rebuild around it. Some people called it practical. Pilots called it good luck. The engineers called it "Finally someone who knows what they're fucking doing."

When she passed away, in her garage (had she ever existed anywhere else?), the military held a funeral. Most of the planets held a funeral. The board, somewhere in their core-planet bunkers, held a meeting.

The war wasn't over, and we weren't winning. And we'd just lost our best engineer. It was a big fucking hit for morale. There were losses everywhere.

Presumably after sending a swarm of government drones through the property, the board very quickly touted "Katersfield's Final Work", and "The culmination of everything she's ever done". Some people pointed out the public images that showed how the thing was half-done. But enough people wanted hope that everyone gradually bought into the idea.

The board appointed Katersfield's daughter to lead the finalization of the thing. Ann wasn't exactly an engineer, but they knew how the public would read it. They gave her a team of their best to work with.

When construction was nearly done, the board officially announced that Katersfield's son-in-law would be piloting it. Everyone expected it; he was the only striped pilot in the family. But it hit the top of everyone's news anyways.

The public test run was expected to be simple, and broadcasted live as far as the outer-space colonies.

It… didn't go so well.

Okay, it went very badly.

I mean.

Bad.

What followed was a lot of media confusion. The board hastily tried to put the blame on over-eagerness. People were fired. We lost four moons while our squadrons re-evaluated their lives.

Mark and his husband, Will Katersfield, had a very public divorce. Some people argue it was the media pressure. Some people suspect that the board forced them apart. I think it was a long time coming.

For a while the board pushed forward other candidates. They ran competitions for new mech designers and engineers and electricians. Offered an absurd amount of money and resources. A lot of cool stuff came out of it, but nothing really compares to Katersfield's work.

It was three years after that when media went into a frenzy over a low-grade video of the mech doing cartwheels over the family farm. Fucking cartwheels, man. I can't even do those in my own body most days.

Every news ship went down there as quick as they could. A bunch of civilians, too. Granny says a board member actually showed up in person.

Everyone was immediately on Ann about it. She was the only one that really stayed on the farm. She knew the machinery well enough. And maybe she'd inherited the pilot skills of one of Katersfield's late spouses.

To the dismay of the board, Ann insisted that the pilot was Thoma, one of Will's children. The media went ballistic. Kids weren't even supposed to be piloting mechs in the first place.

Thoma gave an interview to their school teacher and described the sensation of piloting upside down as "even better than going all the way around the bar on a swing and then having Grandma's cookies with two scoops of ice cream!" Their wide grin with missing teeth was eventually made into metal-cards for soldiers to attach under their breast plates and remind them of home.

At some point, Ann made the mistake of admitting that she'd taken it out for a test-run while she was tuning up some joints (she hadn't been an engineer when this started. But things change).

The board came down hard. They publicly announced that Ann was the cartwheeling pilot, and further that she'd accepted a high raking military title with absurd honors and enough pay to buy a moon. They posted a date with a public countdown clock for her departure to the front lines.

Now the way Granny tells it; Ann didn't know about any of this until her neighbor came by with the milk and a congratulations. Granny would probably piss on the board if she still could. Don't let her try it.

Ann did go. She didn't have many options, really. Her bio-logs phrase the situation as "the board made a decision. I complied."

We pushed back the front by two whole planets. Ann wasn't much of a pilot; she spent too much time thinking, but the war pushed around her. Most of the time it only took a three second clip of her unnaturally smooth landing and quick gravity adjustment to a new planet. My old mech would take two minutes to land and readjust. A lot can happen in two minutes.

The official report says Ann died on Mitas 9. The board will probably censor this whole damn thing if I try to explain what happened, but just remember that official reports are. Well. Official.

The mech was commandeered immediately. They cleaned it up, threw on a new coat of paint, and put their highest ranking pilot in the hotseat.

Everyone was in a hurry to get back to it and have a plan ready before Ann's death was publicly announced. Yeru knew the schematics by heart and spent one month living with the mech every hour of every day to make up for lost time. The board went as far as making them legally exempt from standard reports. Yeru's bios were never made public, but you can pull them from the military archives in Section B. They clearly knew their way around a mech, and honestly seemed to be a good person as far as I can tell.

The board had seemingly learned from prior incidents. The Generals hosted a secluded military showing of the first test-run. Those archives are probably deleted, but all you really need to know is that Yeru never made it off the ground.

For a few months, the military looked into sabotage. Yeru's bio-post about the joints being "just plain creaky no matter how much I oil the thing" convinced a bunch of higher-ups that the mech had been swapped out or something.

I know. Creating a whole fake mech to replace it with? Somehow managing to swap the thing out with as much board, military, and media surveillance as it has? Absurd.

Also I'm sure you're well aware that plenty of good mechs have creaky joints. I hear you ran Sacrifice 2 for a while there. Lt. Jen complained about how loud that thing was for months after he shared a hangar with it near Osylus. Not sure if that was your time or not. I'm going to tell him it was, so he'll have something to complain to you about. When he does, ask him about the wardrobe cloning incident. I'm sure he'll know what you're talking about.

Anyways.

The news about Ann went public, and the board pushed it down the feeds with reports about a new Stealth Carrier that would move faster than a pilot-ship. It did. Everyone loved it. I'm sure it's shit compared to the last carrier you were on.

Thoma, meanwhile, had grown up and gotten their way through military school. It might seem strange to you now, but Thoma actually didn't touch a mech the first decade of their service. They had a few friends and plenty worshipers, but still hadn't officially earned enough stripes to be a pilot. The Generals wanted to make sure Thoma was knocked down enough to keep from getting big-headed about it. But Thoma didn't really care.

Thoma fought hard and studied harder. They proved themselves again and again. You can look up the public records of their medal-acceptance speeches. Every damn time they would say "This is a great honor. Can I trade it in for a mech?"

Pissed a lot of people off, but it was fucking hilarious if you ask me.

Eventually Thoma led a fairly large squadron and took a half a continent in a week. When I asked them about it, they said they had sent a text message to the Generals saying "I could've gotten all of it, if I had my own mech :,(". I know them well enough to know they probably actually sent a frowny-face emoji to the Generals. Don't do that. It's hilarious. But, Don't.

Probably.

For now, anyways.

The board reluctantly let Thoma break the mech out of some museum somewhere as a reward for their service. They weren't intending for Thoma to actually run as a pilot since Thoma had already gotten to be in charge of things. It would be a media mess, at best, a military loss at worst.

Thoma did a fucking backflip over live media.

Anyways the board and the Generals argued about it for a week, but eventually did the only thing they could do. They made Thoma a pilot. There were lots of assurances that Thoma would still be holding their responsibilities as Planetary Sergeant. No one cared. Thoma had done a fucking backflip; the Katersfields were at it again.

I'm told that week of debate consisted of at least fifteen other pilots trying the mech out and reporting up failures of various kinds. Don't worry about that, you'll do fine.

I'm sure you know most of the story from there. Thoma took Belet 5 through Belet 11, and some other smaller planets along the way. Majestic. War hero. Idol. Etc etc.

The board immediately pushed Thoma’s son, Madene, into the military and straight into pilot's school. They make a lot of dumb decisions, but even the board could see the pattern here.

You might not have read this about me, but I used to be an electrician. I worked on Thoma's team for a while. The Generals gave Madene special permission to visit us sometimes so he could learn the mech hands-on. He'd always wanted to be an artist or a planetary refurbisher. That was clear from the first day we met.

I'll tell you this now, it's not part of public record: Madene ran the mech just fine when it was just us around. Thoma would give some long drawn-out speech about minding your manners and being careful with her. It was their Grandmother's soul in that machine, after all. Madene didn't really listen, but the mech ran just fine anyways.

When Madene was nearing graduation, the Generals sent their scouts around to see how things were going. The mech ran straight into their drones and fell convulsing onto the ground.

It was a hard time for a while, Thoma was upset with Madene and Madene was embarrassed. There were lots of arguments, and the Generals tried to pretend Madene just didn't have enough experience as a pilot. The idea that Madene did it on purpose didn't get recorded, but it's what a lot of people assumed. I don't think that's what happened, anyways.

Madene tried really hard after that. He pushed himself in school, and as a result they let him try out a bunch of other mechs. He proved he could handle it just as well as some of our better pilots. He took Entrapment marching around the school-system planet four times.

Thoma tore their knee in a pretty brutal fight, and since they were nearing retirement anyways the board arranged for a public hand-off of the mech.

I used to talk to her when I worked. My old pilot - the one I worked electricity for before Thoma - had always been superstitious about this sort've thing. She used to spend a good half-hour reassuring it before she's let me do any work on it. I guess I'd picked up the habit. You might want to pick it up, too, if you haven't already.

I'd asked her to help Madene out. He'd worked so hard and I could tell Thoma was slowing down.

You might have seen the media of that. Afterward Madene was particularly… verbal. Even if you didn't see that, I'm sure you heard about what happened to him after. Don't be too harsh on him, it's really not his fault. We were all too hard on him.

All the media says the Generals did a lot of research and realized I was better suited as a pilot and they shifted me over. How that actually happened was… well. A little boring.

One of their scouts had caught me helping her move over so I could get a better angle at the spinal wiring.

Blah blah blah. I'm sure you know the highlights from there.

So here's where we get to the advice that was the whole point of this message:

I admit the public eye is a little difficult to get used to. Honestly I recommend you just ignore it. They'll say shit no matter what you do.

Don't call her by the name the board gave her. I know that's what you learned in school and in training. Don't do it.

Don't piss her off.

Be patient - her memory isn't what it used to be.

Don't tell her what to do. I read your file, you have a lot of experience. I know this will be the hard part.

If the mediacom switches to one of those awful family gameshows. Just. Let it happen. No, they do not get less annoying to listen to. Yes, she knows they're all the same.

The internal heating will be On when you're on any below-regulation temperature planet. I know you're from the outer colonies. I know that will be too warm for you. Get over it and try not to dress down too much; she's easier to maneuver when you're in layers.

The one exception to the above is her tune-ups and maintenance. She doesn't like it. She never does. We have four crews to make it easier and I still do it myself sometimes to help her get over it. You're going to have to get good at negotiating.

If you leave a battle with a sudden craving in your neurons for hot and hearty soup, go get some hot and hearty soup. She'll get stubborn with you next time if you don't.

Granny will take care of you from there.

-Captain Layfar

#writing #scifi #mecha

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feelingfredly · 4 years

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By Invitation Only

Summary: Bingo Square # 10

"I'm sorry, this is a private apocalypse. You will have to leave."

The door looked like every other door in the alley.

“You're sure this is the right place?” His question disappeared into the sounds of the night—hovercycles revving the next street over, the whirring of an ancient ventilation system trying to work against the humidity of the night, and the constant murmur of people getting on with their lives, totally unaware that they were living next door to the deadliest gang in the history of civilization.

They called themselves Ningyōzukai— The Puppetmasters—and according to Kisuke’s latest calculations they were responsible for the deaths of almost five million people over the past three years.

“Is anyone ever sure, Kurosaki-kun? Perhaps this is Schrödinger’s door; the monster is or is not there until you open it. However,” the snarky philosopher voice was replaced by normal Kisuke voice in his ear—also snarky, but more somehow, “my calculations indicated an over ninety-seven percent chance that this is a primary viewing site for Aizen’s operations and a sixty-four point three percent chance that he is actually in attendance this evening. They are the best odds we’ve had so far.”

Just then, a sleek black Arasaka limo turned into the alley. That kind of wealth was definitely outside the local demographic.

“Looks like the odds just went up.” Ichigo ducked farther back into the shadows and touched his visor jack, activating the heat sensor. In the city it usually wasn’t useful, too much ambient interference, but this close body heat was hard to miss.

“Two passengers and two guards. Only two pulse pistols, but there’s a signature that might indicate vibroblades—three I think—on the one on the left. Definitely some extra bells and whistles.” Kisuke sounded almost bored as he relayed the information. Well, he’d seen Ichigo take on twice this many targets without sweating, so maybe he was. With Kisuke it was hard to tell.

He rolled his shoulders and shook out his sword arm. The nanite armor on his hands flexed and he allowed himself a satisfied grin. Almost time.

The four exited the car and headed for the door. Ichigo focused on the two passengers, trying to get a good view for Kisuke’s scrapers. More data was always useful.

“Do we recognize these people?” he asked.

The larger one was male, brunet, and handsome in a too-pretty kind of way. He looked to be in his late thirties, but for anyone with an aesthetician on speed dial that didn’t mean much. His clothes screamed money, from the snow-white haori he wore over his suit to his actual leather boots, and he was clearly amped, with two visible jacks on the shaved side of his head. He didn’t have any tracks on his face, though, so he probably was limited to human vision. His companion, though, clearly wasn’t.

Tall, thin, and sharp-edged, the second man almost glowed in the low light. His hair was silver, his skin so white that Ichigo suspected that he’d had a full-body tattoo, but it was his eyes that gave him pause. The man barely opened them, but Ichigo could see the mirror-sheen of military-grade optics from across the alley. That and the silver tracings that circuit-boarded his skin marked him as loaded with biosoft, it was just a question of what kind.

Ichigo didn’t think he made any noise, but the ghost turned and looked right at him, and he braced himself. Shit. There went the element of surprise.

It was just his fucking luck that with all his upgrades the guy was probably faster than he was. On top of that, with the past two weeks of constant rain Ichigo had finally given in and reprogrammed the soles on his boots so he didn’t slip in the runnels of unidentifiable muck that ran through Karakura’s alleys, sacrificing a fraction of his agility on the altar of not slipping and landing on his ass if he had to make a quick getaway, and then today, irony being the only constant in his life, the rain was nowhere to be seen. The night sky was clear, and the alleys were cleaner than they’d been before the deluge, a momentary mirage of civilization in the desert of concrete ruins that lined the edges of town, a sparkling clean carpet welcoming this man and his entourage in the warm Karakura night.

The moonlight was too weak to fight the hazy halos of light around the windows, acid-washed LEDs casting long green shadows, pink neo-neon burning on a peepshow marquee at the end of the alley, and over it all the scrolling data Kisuke was feeding him, but Ichigo’s attention was fixed on the ghost. One heartbeat. Two. And… nothing. The man tilted his razor-sharp chin to one side and paused but made no move and raised no hue and cry. Then they turned to the door and the danger point had been passed.

“Odds have increased, indeed, Kurosaki-kun. That is Aizen Sosuke, your target for this evening.”

A bullseye flickered in his visor and settled not on the ghost, but on the brunet. Ichigo looked a little closer. He’d only seen vids of the man before and Aizen looked different in person—no glasses, the lab coat and meek posture of a scientist traded for a confident swagger, his whole aura altered. No one would suspect that this dangerous-looking man was the mind behind the cybernetics of HuecoMundo or the charitable works of his Espada. This man was the Puppet Master himself, here to sell death and destruction to the highest bidder.

“The man with him is Ichimaru Gin. Reports indicate that Gin is a fanatic follower. He was picked up as a child from the wastelands outside Tokyo after the food riots in ’67. After that he was first in line to receive many of Aizen’s new products. He’s probably more synth than human by this point.”

Ichigo nodded his understanding, knowing Kisuke’d register the movement.

“With both of them there, plus the personal security and the site security, this may be more than you want to take on by yourself. You can track them tonight and I’ll contact Byakuya and see if he and Renji can join up with you later.”

Ichigo knew the odds weren’t great, but he couldn’t shake the image of the last town the Ningyōzukai had targeted. Unwilling to pay Aizen’s protection fees, they’d gone into the pool of possible targets, and then the boss of the next town to the west had bid heavily for them to be next on the program. The betting window was thirty days—how much damage the attackers would take, how many casualties in the first 24 hours, how long the citizens would hold out, how long it would take to decimate the population—and the actual destruction took less than a week. Matsuo was nothing but a ghost town now, the citizens occupying cells in the neighboring boss’s body bank, the illegal organ sales filling his coffers obscenely, with Aizen getting 40% off the top.

No. He couldn’t put this off if it meant another town being destroyed while he twiddled his thumbs.

Ichigo shook his head once and Kisuke sighed, but he could hear the satisfaction in it.

The two men and their bodyguards had made their way to the door, the brassneck minding the door bowing deeply to them before allowing them to pass and closing it behind them. The pause allowed him to get a good look at the locking mechanism and the points of weakness in the frame, and Kisuke almost cackled as he dove into the building’s mainframe.

“Alright, Kurosaki-kun, if you’re certain.”

Ichigo smiled. “Is anyone ever certain, Urahara-san? Perhaps I’m simply…”

Kisuke cut him off. “Perhaps you’re a congenital smart-ass just waiting for someone, smarter and better looking, to come along and teach you a lesson in manners? Yes. I can totally believe that. Now, if you don’t mind, Kurosaki-kun, I’d feel better about this if you actually focused on the job at hand.”

He laughed under his breath. “Okay, Kisuke. If you insist. I’d almost think you were worried about me.”

A short huff filled his ear. “Worried about training your replacement. I have invested far too much time in you to sacrifice it all because you weren’t paying attention. Now. The door is on a separate circuit from the rest of the building. They really don’t want anyone just cutting the power and waltzing in, but the software hasn’t been updated in a while, so just…”

Ichigo ignored the rambling. Kisuke always babbled when he was thinking. He walked across the alley and knocked on the door.

A screen to the left of the doorframe lit up and the brassneck peered at him through the grainy camera. “Who are you and what is your purpose?”

Ichigo gazed blankly back at the camera and repeated the message he’d memorized. “I am Chikamatsu Monzaemon, here to tell tales of sewamono and jidaimono and to move the puppets on their strings.”

The brassneck nodded. “Please place your hand on the scanner.”

Ichigo took a deep breath and pressed against the biolock, waiting for Kisuke to work his magic.

“You know if you’d waited a few more seconds I wouldn’t have had to rush.” Kisuke sniffed and the lock buzzed its approval of his fake palm print.

“You love the rush,” Ichigo murmured fondly as the door swung open. The doorman’s robotic face registered a blip of confusion but decided to ignore whatever Ichigo was saying, clearly limited in its processing, the real security being the system that Kisuke was currently battering into submission.

“No weapons are allowed past this point. Please move forward to the weapons check and place them in the tagged locker. You will be given the code to retrieve them when you leave.”

Ichigo turned on his heel as if to follow the robot’s directive, only to stop and spin back, trench knife in one hand and katana in the other, the smooth swing of the blades separating the brassneck’s head from his body.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing over the sparking remains, “but I refuse to make Aizen-sama’s acquaintance so underdressed.”

Kisuke snorted in his ear. “No one is there to hear your dramatics, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo kicked the head to one side, like a soccer ball. “You know that you’re the only audience I need, Kisuke. How’s the progress?”

His partner hummed. “I’ve isolated the main viewing room from the rest of the security system. They shouldn’t know you’re coming.”

Ichigo flexed his arms. “Best news I’ve had all day. Patch me in.”

He stepped over the sparking chassis on the floor and headed deeper into the building.

Information flickered across his vision—floorplan, heat signatures, data ports, ventilation system—ahhh… that’s what he wanted. The largest of the private viewing booths.

Currently it showed four human or human-adjacent heat signatures, and three that were probably sentry-bots. There was one void, which meant that someone in there was wearing a skinsuit made to prevent their being seen on surveillance like this.

“The readings I got of Aizen in the alley showed a normal heat signature, Gin too. Watch out for the mystery player.”

Ichigo laughed under his breath. “You say that like I wouldn’t, Kisuke. You know how careful I am.”

The data streaming into his head turned a lurid pink and flashed HA HA VERY FUNNY for a split second and he had to smother another laugh. It was a constant battle between them, each telling the other to be more careful and neither listening very well. The key, though, was knowing when to listen. After the past few years with Kisuke, Ichigo thought he knew that pretty well.

Urahara Kisuke took risks that most would balk at, but rarely with Ichigo’s well-being, and never without a damn good reason. Ichigo, in turn, would follow almost all of the other man’s advice… until he didn’t. It worked for them--probably because they knew it wouldn’t work for anyone else.

The other hallways were mostly empty. Two of the upper halls had service bots, probably loaded with food and drinks for the gluttonous members of Aizen’s little club. Each one there by invitation only available for an extortionate price.

“How many viewing rooms are active?”

Kisuke hummed. “There are six active, but only four are currently occupied. One on the ground floor, one on the first, and then the other two are all the way up on the top floor. Must be high rollers to share a floor with Aizen himself.”

Another hum. “According to the datascrape, tonight’s target is,” he cursed softly under his breath, “Huangshi. Outside Wuhan. Close to a million citizens. Run by a warlord who goes by—oh, this explains a few things— Huangdi .”

Ichigo parsed through his Chinese history and came up short. “Okay, it may explain things to you, Kisuke, but I don’t get it. What does the Yellow Emperor have to do with Aizen choosing this city to destroy?”

He darted down the long, dark hallway, making sure that the cameras he passed were still offline after Kisuke’s first take-down.

“Well, it wouldn’t mean anything if the occupant of the front row to tonight’s cataclysm wasn’t a self-styled Yandi . He came up through the ranks of one of the newer populist cults in Wuhan, but really started making a name for himself after he had several biotic alterations that turned him into a walking flame-thrower. He killed at least a half dozen cultists by burning them to a crisp before turning his new-found talents on the management. He took over the whole group in less than five months, earning the nickname Flame Emperor of Wuhan.”

The dots were beginning to look connectable.

“So, Huangshi is run by someone who is setting himself up as Huangdi, the Han Emperor that ended the Yan dynasty. Subtle. Why not just take out a hypersign that says, ‘I’m coming for you, Fuckboi?’”

It was always this way. Fight like hell to take a territory, then become unsatisfied with what you have, only to take more and more until a bigger fish comes along and swallows you whole. Unfortunately, this time it wasn’t just one greedy fish paying the price. No, a million people who just happened to be unlucky enough to share a city with him were going to pay, too.

“Who are the other viewing parties? Yandi’s entourage?” Readouts showed a total of twelve people in the two lower rooms. And look at that… they shared a ventilation shaft.

“No. The group on the ground floor are Aizen’s bodyguards. I’m predicting they are just watching to pass the time between patrols. Second floor seems to be a potential client here with an investor to size up the opportunity Aizen promised them.” A note of bitter satisfaction crept into Kisuke’s voice. “What a shame that when the time comes for them to sign their contract their bank accounts will contain nothing but dust.”

Ichigo followed the floor plan until he found the central exhaust fan for the heating system. It was spinning gently, simply circulating air rather than actually trying to vent anything. He pulled a pair of canisters from the bag slung low across his back with one hand, and a collapsible baton from a holster on his thigh with the other.

“Can you isolate the exhaust fan on the ground floor?” he asked.

“It would take a minute or two, why?”

Ichigo snapped the baton open and stabbed it into the grate over the fan between the moving blades. The fan shuddered and groaned but stopped. Perfect.

“No reason,” he said, popping the canisters open. Each can was filled with a combination of tech-ticks—nanites that attached themselves parasitically to wetware that wasn’t hardened against them, rendering them useless over time—and a potent knock-out gas. It would only take moments to flood the lower viewing rooms and remove those people from the equation. The damage from the tech-ticks would be permanent and expensive to repair—really, one of Kisuke’s best inventions—but it would be a small price to pay for the terrible decision they’d made to associate with Aizen and his lot.

He pulled a vibroblade from his pack and sliced through the grates covering the branching ventilation shafts and then dropped the gas grenades into them.

“Start sleepy time countdown now,” he said.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too soft-hearted, Kurosaki-kun?” Kisuke didn’t believe in leaving targets free to rejoin a battle. He was more efficient than that. Ichigo, though, didn’t figure the people in these rooms would join the fight to protect Aizen. The security staff looked like bakebrains and wannabe bioroids who’d signed on for a paycheck. The clients might want to stay on the bastard’s good side, but when it was their skin on the line it was more likely they’d run from the building as fast as their hardware could carry them. The tech-ticks would slow them down and mark them in such a way that they could deal with them later if they persisted in their homicidal tendencies, but he didn’t sign on for wholesale slaughter, even if it would make him safer in the long run.

“Soft-headed, maybe,” he murmured, “but never soft-hearted. Why? Are you accusing me of having a heart, Kisuke?”

The man on the other end of the line snorted. “Yes. You’re a sloppy, sentimental, bleeding-hearted man that secretly watches kitten and puppy videos when he’s supposed to be doing recon, and your countdown is at zero. The occupants of viewing rooms one and two are incapacitated. I have, in case you’re interested, placed chrono-locks on the doors from the outside. They will not be leaving for twelve hours, even if the sedation wears off before you’re finished here. You’re welcome.”

Ichigo grinned. “You’re the best, Kisuke.”

“Yes. I am. Now focus. You’ve got a job to do.”

He backtracked to the main corridor and down to the elevator banks. “Which one is operational?”

The data readout in his left eye flashed a yellow rectangle over the nearest set of doors and he pressed the call button. Kisuke had deactivated the other transports to prevent any other party crashers from interrupting the evening.

The elevator was old and noisy—nothing like the high-end security droid guarding the hall when he finally arrived at the top floor.

Kisuke was muttering again about time—he always wanted more—but Ichigo took one look at the guardian and knew this was up to him.

“I'm sorry, this is a private apocalypse, you will have to leave." The sentry droid looked disturbingly human, except it hovered two inches off the floor and Ichigo’s sensors read three different power supplies. Its face was painted more elegantly than the most expensive joyboys in Tokyo, and its clothing cost more than Ichigo’s hoverbike.

It was really too bad.

“Private, you say?” He stepped towards the droid, blocking its vision as he dropped a microfilament whip down along his thigh and shook it loosely. “I’m sure I’m allowed. I have an invitation from Aizen-sama.”

The droid cocked its head to one side. “Invitation? I was given no information about any other guests for this apocalypse. I must insist that you leave, at once, or I will be forced to treat you as a threat.”

The power supply located in the droid’s upper left torso showed a rapid increase in activity, indicating pop-ups in one or both of the arms. Whether they were for sleeper darts or bullets was anyone’s guess. Ichigo breathed in, once, and focused on the microfilament he couldn’t feel.

“Allow me to assure you,” he moved—weight balanced on the ball of one foot, knee bent, as he swept around slashing through the droid’s carapace in four precise cuts… three placed directly through the power supplies so there’d be no regeneration, and the fourth across the eyes to stop any potential visual records from being scraped from the droid later. “I’m supposed to be here.”

The pieces tumbled to the floor, the deep pile carpet muffling the sound, and Ichigo stepped over it, moving on towards his next target.

“How’s the bank coming?” he asked.

Kisuke made a satisfied sound. “The Red Emperor’s coffers have been emptied. I skimmed ten percent and the rest is now sitting in a Westphalian bank account waiting to be used towards reparations for damages that might come from tonight’s scheduled cataclysm. If we somehow manage to prevent it completely, well, then we’ll just have to figure out something else to do with all that beautiful filthy lucre.”

Ichigo had no doubt that Kisuke had already mentally spent every credit. He might be easy, but he certainly wasn’t cheap.

“Excellent. When Aizen tries to take his last pound of flesh in payment and finds nothing but bones, hopefully he will call off the attack. Can’t imagine that he’s ever offered services pro bono.”

No. Aizen Sosuke hadn’t a shred of mercy or generosity. Terrible qualities if you wanted to befriend the man, but excellent if you wanted to predict or manipulate him.

Ichigo moved silently to the viewing room Kisuke marked on his readout.

“The mystery player has moved across the hall and is now confronting the Red Emperor. You’d better get in there if you’re hoping to end the evening with minimal bloodshed,” he warned.

Two steps down the hall and then a pause at the locked door, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the last room on the floor. Aizen’s room. No movement showed through the heat sensors. They could be sitting having tea for all he could tell.

The other room, though, was falling into chaos. He could hear shouting through the door, faint but definite, and then a single scream, like a wounded animal.

Too slow, apparently.

He pushed the door open and stood back from the opening. No sense in making himself a target right off the bat. The mystery player, though, wasn’t interested in him.

“The Ningyō No Masutā is gracious and forgiving, but he is not a fool to be taken advantage of. He offered you your dreams, and for a mere pittance, and you have insulted his honor by not fulfilling your promises. Since it seems that there may have been outside influence in this, you will keep your life—this time—but do not confuse his intentional generosity with blindness. Your responsibility to him is your responsibility to protect and guarantee, even if interfered with.”

The speaker dropped his sword—an actual sword , it looked ancient—and bowed his head.

“Spread the news of his greatness and be thankful that you can.”

The room was in chaos. Several people were sobbing and there was blood everywhere. A small woman kneeled crouching before a huge man dressed in dark red silks, his belly held up by a suspensor belt, holding her crimson skirts against the bleeding stump of his arm where a hand should have been.

The hand was on the floor.

The speaker was short and dark, braids bobbing around his head like little snakes, and his eyes were completely white. He was probably blind, in the technical sense, but there was no way he didn’t see everything happening around him.

Ichigo could see silver filaments running along the length of his bare arms. He wasn’t wearing a skinsuit… it was embedded in his skin. He couldn’t imagine the hours of work, the expense, the pain, necessary to make such a thing happen. It was incredible.

“Kaname Tōsen,” Kisuke murmured. “I didn’t realize Aizen had his claws so deeply in him. He’s… not the same. Be careful, Kurosaki-kun. He’s a zealot, and you know how unpredictable those can be.”

Ichigo digested that bit of information. For Kisuke, that was a serious warning.

As if he knew he was the topic of conversation, the man in question spoke.

“You, Kurosaki Ichigo,” Tōsen didn’t turn towards him. “You are late. My master is waiting for you across the hall. Do not make him wait longer, or his impatience will become mine.” With that, his sword twitched, as if hungering to be unleashed. Impatience indeed.

“Well, then,” Ichigo nodded at him, “since you seem to have this under control, I’ll just scoot along. Anything you’d like me to pass along?”

His unflustered response was a roll of the shoulder. “I need not tell my master anything. He already knows everything he needs to. Now go. Quickly.”

The order itched between Ichigo’s shoulder blades, and he hesitated, almost wanting to linger just to see what the other man would do. But if Aizen already knew he was there, there was no point in delaying the inevitable, even if his natural reluctance to follow orders was being challenged.

“This wasn’t the plan, Kurosaki-kun,” Kisuke’s voice was very bland, which meant he was worried. “It is one thing to surprise a snake when it’s sleeping. It is another to challenge it head on.”

Ichigo rolled his shoulders and walked toward the door at the end of the hall. The floorplans indicated that it opened into a large room that ran the whole front of the building. This high up, it probably had quite a view. He wasn’t going to miss that.

“Do you have eyes on the main room?” he asked.

“No. Haven’t been able to get eyes. The plans indicate cameras were installed, but I can’t find a trace of them. Aizen probably had them removed.”

Made sense. Almost anything was hackable if you were good enough, and Kisuke was definitely good enough. The only option would be to dumb the room completely. Heat signatures would be reliable, still though.

“Am I still looking at a party of two now that Tōsen is out of the picture?” He had two stun grenades, but they were touchy in close quarters like this. His two knives were better… and he was better with them.

“Gin hasn’t moved since he entered the room, which is a little concerning because it could be a mirror, but you won’t be able to tell until you get in there. I can say that there are only two heat signatures in the room. I just can’t tell you where they’re going to be. Let me check just one more thing.” Kisuke sounded frustrated, and Ichigo knew he was probably chewing through every piece of data he could scrape to find out something—anything—that would be useful. Sometimes, though, you just have to take the jump and hope for the best.

“Kisuke,” he said, “it’s now or never.” He kept his voice soft and gentle, but they both knew that once he made up his mind there was no going back.

Kisuke sighed, and Ichigo thought he could hear a shudder in it.

“Don’t turn your back on him. Gin may look dangerous, but Aizen is dangerous. And don’t…” his voice cracked just once. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Ichigo laughed—a sharp, dark thing—and he remembered the first time he met Kisuke, standing over three unconscious bodies that had mistakenly thought the tall, pale gaijin would be easy pickings. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then, as if summoned, the door opened.

He walked the last steps down the hall, the hilts of his knives shifting loosely against his back and thigh, and he paused infinitesimally outside the threshold, foot raised but not crossing, and that was when he saw it. A microfilament spool mounted just at the edge of the door’s frame—a sudden and terrible surprise for anyone incautious enough to waltz in uninvited, the weapon poised to take off an arm or a head, whatever was unlucky enough to be in the way.

“Good evening, Aizen-san,” he said, pitching his voice to carry into the room ahead of him. “I was told to hurry because you were waiting for me, but I can only hope you don’t think me foolish enough to lose my head over such an invitation.” He snapped out his short knife and stabbed it into the door frame, breaking the mounting piece from the rest, causing the microfilament spool to fall to the floor with a clatter. “I didn’t expect much from you, but I have to say I’m disappointed in your hospitality.”

Ichigo gambled that there would be no other weapon in the immediate vicinity and walked through the door. The room was filled with light from golden lamps on low tables around the space, and the beauty of the Karakura night poured in through the bank of windows. Aizen, tall, dark-haired and handsome, his dangerous swagger from the alley still very much present, stood facing him with a look that balanced somewhere between annoyed and entertained on his face.

Ichigo recognized that look. Kisuke wore it often.

“My hospitality is typically reserved for honored guests or friends or family. You, Kurosaki Ichigo, are on none of those lists. Although,” he paused and looked him up and down suggestively, “you might be able to persuade me to add you. If you prove interesting enough.”

Ichigo couldn’t completely stifle his laugh. “Oh, really? And just what would you find interesting? I somehow doubt our definitions would align.”

Aizen sauntered across the room towards him. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” His voice dropped to a purr. “I mean there has to be something about you keeping Ki-chan entertained.”

There was dead air in his ear. Not radio silence—dead air. Kisuke had cut the line. Why had Kisuke cut the line?

“He gets bored, you know,” a second voice sounded behind him. Gin. Gin was standing behind him. “Your Kisuke. He likes the chase. The rush. He ain’t so much with what comes after.”

You love the rush. How many times had he said that?

Aizen watched the expressions play across his face and smirked. “Don’t tell me.” He clapped his hands gleefully. “He didn’t tell you.”

Ichigo saw red. Fuck that . He didn’t care what the guy knew about Kisuke, he wasn’t putting up with that shit.

“Tell me what? That you’re a murdering bastard who’s destroyed almost a dozen cities and deserve to be chopped into little pieces and fed to the koi outside the Summer Palace?” Ichigo cocked his head to one side and cast a look up at the brunet. “No, I’m pretty sure he told me all that. In those precise terms, actually.”

Gin barked out a laugh and Ichigo breathed a little easier as the tall man crossed the room to the low couch and slung himself out across it. Keeping Aizen in front of him would be much easier if he didn’t have to worry about the ghost behind him.

“That sounds just like him. He always got—colorful—when he was bitter over something and trust me… he’s bitter.” Venom dripped from Aizen’s words. “Bitter that I moved on without him. Bitter that I took his little idea and turned it into something so much bigger. So much… more. Ki-chan just couldn’t see the big picture. This is what dreams are made of. Infinite power. Infinite knowledge.”

“Infinite crazy, you mean.” Ichigo stepped towards the brunet. “If Kisuke isn’t here with you creating your made-to-order apocalypses, it’s because he doesn’t want to be. He doesn’t want any part of it. Or any part of you. Get real, Aizen-sama .”

There was a tiny intake of breath in his ear. Kisuke.

“Gin!” Kisuke could have whispered it or shouted; Ichigo was too focused on the hand on his shoulder and the blade at his throat to tell.

The ghost really did move faster than he did. Luckily, not faster than Kisuke’s nanites. He hoped. He leaned back a little against Gin; if the other man thought it was to get a little space between his carotid and the sword… well, it wasn’t illogical.

“You see,” Aizen was still talking, allowing Gin to hold him as a captive audience, “that’s where you’re wrong. Or one of the many places you’re wrong. My Ki-chan is here—through you. He’s watching, and listening, and taking his voyeuristic pleasures just as he always has, he’s just lazy. He lets us do his dirty work for him, and he just sits back and revels in it. And we let him, because we love him.”

Long legs ate the few steps between them and Ichigo was forced to look up to meet Aizen’s gaze. Equally long fingers gripped his chin and forced it even higher before he pressed their mouths together, sharp teeth digging into the soft meat of Ichigo’s lower lip, his vicious tongue swiping up the blood welling up there.

“Aren’t you…” Aizen closed his eyes and let out a breathy sigh, “delicious. I can taste the boosters in your blood. Ki-chan has outdone himself. Maybe I should keep you around. It might help keep Ki-chan more… amenable.”

Ichigo had had about enough. He shifted, rolling forward onto the ball of one foot and then dropping his full weight. The surprise bought him a split second and with it he struck his elbow backwards into Gin’s torso, wresting a gasp from the ghost, and his face from Aizen’s grasp.

“Now, Kisuke .”

A whisper sounded behind him, slowly growing louder, and he knew if he looked back that the hundreds of tech-ticks that had been riding on his back would be warping his view of the bodyguard, each one latching onto something, anything, that it could eat away at, like tiny techno-piranha.

Aizen laughed. “Do you think I wouldn’t have hardened Gin’s bioware against Ki-chan’s little toys? I thought you were smarter than that, but I guess you are just a pretty face.”

Ichigo felt Gin’s hands fall away and heard him groan. “Aizen-sama,” he gasped, “something is wrong.”

A ferocious frown spread across the brunet’s face. “No! It’s not possible. You were updated before we left. I made sure.”

Breath racked through Gin’s chest. “Urahara must’ve changed something. I… I don’t…”

The instant of confusion was all Ichigo needed. He raised the trench-knife in his hand and gritted his teeth as he punched it through Aizen’s chest, just below the glowing orb imbedded in his sternum.

An almost fond smile crept across the taller man’s face and he shook his head slowly. “So… not just a pretty face after all. You have conviction as well. I hope Ki-chan got a hi-def recording of this. I want to see it. I want to see it with his eyes.”

Aizen’s expression tightened, his lips twisted in a grimace of pain, and Ichigo braced himself for the blood and the screaming… but they never came. Instead, like water breaking against a blade, everything that was Aizen Sosuke shivered and shimmered around his weapon and then burst into a million pieces, waves of nanotech crashing to the floor, dead.

“Shit,” Kisuke cursed in his ear. “It was a doppelgigai. He’s improved the life-sign imitation since the last time I had to deal with one. Damn it all.”

“Well, well, well,” the voice behind him sounded much less breathless, and Ichigo spun to face the ghost. “Wasn’t sure what to expect from you, but that was worth the price of admission.”

Gin’s color was normal, and his breathing natural. Apparently—another fake.

“Amazing recovery,” Ichigo said, slowly stepping away from the skittering pile of Aizen-that-was.

“Isn’t it, though?” Gin put away his sword and raised his empty hands. “It won’t last long, I’m afraid. I’ll have to fry a few circuits before rejoining Aizen-sama, but it’s worth it.”

Ichigo made some quick calculations and came to an unexpected conclusion. “Not a fan, then?”

Gin cocked his head to one side. “The man’s a monster. Brilliant, but doesn’t have enough soul left to fill a shot glass. I got close to try to take him out, but he’s beyond me. He might not be beyond your friend, though. Aizen’s got a real blind spot about the blond.”

Ichigo could understand.

“The next apocalypse won’t be so easy to derail. Mining town called Ganymede. The army there is poised to attack, and Aizen is taking his pound of flesh in the form of Yttrium.”

Kisuke murmured in his ear. “He must still be working on those superconductors. We can’t let him get his hands on it. There’s no telling what kind of damage he’d do.”

Ichigo nodded to both of them. “Rare metals are key. So, what’s the play?”

Gin stretched, his long body lean and deadly, and smiled. “I don’t have one. I just have a message for your fella—next time, don’t miss. He’s coming for you, Ki-chan, and he’ll take your little strawberry here down the instant he sees him next time. You can’t hide from him anymore.”

He swung a long thin finger back and forth. “Tick tock, tick tock. Your time has run out.”

“Catch you later, Pretty,” he winked at Ichigo, and then, like the ghost he resembled, opened the door and disappeared.

Ichigo ground his teeth. “Strawberry, my ass. I’ll choke that puff of smoke the next time I get my hands on him.”

“Worry about Gin later,” Kisuke was already feeding his data stream with new maps and directions. “Get back here. New data. New plans. Hurry, Kurosaki-kun. And please,” Kisuke cleared his throat, “be careful.”

***

It took three days to get home. Three days where every question he threw at Kisuke over the comms was deflected or ignored completely. Three days of impersonal data overload with hundreds of names, faces, events, weapons, plans, and everything that could possibly tie them together being thrown at him.

“Enough, Kisuke,” he finally said, choosing radio silence over the artificial lightness of his tone, or the cold distance when he was so far in his own head that there was nothing Ichigo could do to reach him. “We’ll figure it out when I get back.”

Silence hung between them, but it was the open line that gave him hope. Kisuke hadn’t shut him out. Not yet.

Not ever if he had anything to say about it.

Finally, at the end of his journey, Ichigo stared into the optical scanner above the door, and then did a 360° turn before pressing 6 of his ten fingers against the biometric lock keypad.

“Tadaima!” His voice echoed through the stairwell and he started up it, taking the spiral steps two at a time. Gods, he was glad to be home.

He dropped his gear beside the stairs and toed off his boots, moving quickly through the living room and down the hall to Kisuke’s work rooms.

“Kisuke?” he called.

“In here, Kurosaki-kun,” the voice came not from the labs but from their bedroom.

That, Ichigo thought, could be either very good, or very bad.

He crossed the threshold and saw Kisuke’s bags packed and sitting beside the door, silent witness to the shit that was about to go down. Very bad it was.

“I am most relieved that you have returned safely,” the blond was sitting on a little chair by their dressing table, back rigid, the ridiculous green and white striped hat that he preferred casting his eyes in shadow.

Ichigo hated that hat.

“Why?” he asked, dropping bonelessly on the bed. “Looks to me like you’ve made all the decisions you wanted to make already. Didn’t need me for any of it.”

Kisuke lurched forward a little. “That isn’t…”

“Isn’t what, Kisuke? Fair? Isn’t the polite spin you were going to put on it? Cut the crap. You’re running, and whether it’s because you’re trying to protect me or running back to Aizen, what I have to say clearly doesn’t matter, or you wouldn’t have already made up your mind.”

Kisuke’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “I haven’t.”

Ichigo pushed himself up on his elbows. “You haven’t what, Kisuke? Packed? That isn’t what it looks like.”

“I did that the first day.” His voice was softer than usual, missing the snarky edge that carried it over the comms to him on jobs. “I don’t think I’ve ever moved faster in my life.”

Ichigo laughed at that. Kisuke could strike like a viper in a fight, but the idea of him packing in a hurry? Not your typical Kisuke.

“Why?” He almost didn’t want to ask the question. He figured he already knew the answer.

“I was scared. Angry. Needed to do something.” Kisuke shrugged. “Couldn’t get the image of Gin’s sword at your throat out of my head. Packing seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

It had taken him years, but he’d learned the hard way that pushing Kisuke into a corner rarely gave him the responses he wanted. This time, though, he pushed. “And now?”

Kisuke breathed in slowly and let it out even more slowly. Once. Twice. “Now I’m not so sure.” He looked up, pushing the brim of the hat back so Ichigo could see his eyes. “I’m still scared. Still angry. Seems to me, though, that if what I’m scared of is losing you, then leaving is a 100% probability of fulfilling that fear with no help from the Asshole at all.”

What I’m scared of is losing you … Ichigo felt his breath hitch at the words and he forced himself to nod. “The math does seem to work that way.”

The older man made a noise in the back of his throat. “So, if you’re not too upset over finding out that Aizen and I used to be involved, or that he’s using my technology to commit these atrocities, then I…” his voice faded away.

“Then you’d what?” Ichigo pushed again.

“Well,” his voice was small but steady this time, “I could use some help unpacking.”

Ichigo couldn’t stop the relieved laugh that shook his frame. “Is that all?” he held out a hand for Kisuke’s, pulling him off the chair and onto the bed beside him.

Kisuke stretched out, wrapping his long arms around Ichigo’s waist. “Yes. Well, that and tracking down the money behind the attack on Ganymede, hijacking the yttrium, getting Gin away from Aizen, and possibly stabbing the real bastard in the guts this time. But, no hurry. Just the unpacking first.”

Ichigo buried his nose in the junction between Kisuke’s throat and collarbone, breathing in deeply the scent that always brought him back home, no matter where they were, no matter what madness Kisuke was planning.

“I think I can manage that.” He dropped feather-light kisses against Kisuke’s skin. “At some point we will have to have an invitation made up, though.”

Kisuke squirmed. He was always a little ticklish there. “An invitation? For whom?”

Ichigo held his partner tightly, the fear and anger of the past few days bleeding out of him as he allowed Kisuke to hear the smirk in his voice. “Aizen-sama, of course. We wouldn’t want him to miss his own apocalypse. I can’t imagine anyone who deserves one more.”

For the rest? They had all the time in the world.

#@uraichievents #cyberpunk ninja Ichigo #cyberpunk genius Kisuke #Aizen the Psycho Ex #Good Guy(ish) Gin #working on that trust thing #Bleach

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admiralbell · 4 years

Text

The following is a transcript of William Bell’s acceptance speech after being nominated as the Republican candidate for President of the United States, delivered July 2, 2020.

Co-chairs, delegates, friends, and fellow Americans - I gratefully and humbly accept your nomination for President of the United States.

[cheers and applause]

I stand before you tonight as a man who understands and appreciates the immensity of what lies ahead of us. I say us, because from the very start, this campaign was never about me. It took on this challenge, well over a year ago, because I believed that Americans needed a representative in our nation’s highest office who would lead, but would not dominate. Would not purport to think that his own decisions would stand above scrutiny. I believed that America needed a President who remembered a world, a way of living, that was not clouded by the haze of years in dirty politics - where self-centered wheeling and dealing stand above the needs of the people.

I believe that this country deserves someone who will put its people first.

I come from a long tradition of men and women who understand the nature of sacrifice. Of men and women who stand up where others will not, because to them, the defense of freedom and the American way of life are more important than anything else.

Our nation is able to be what it is today because of that bravery - that selflessness. I chose a life in the Navy because I believed in those ideals above everything else. I would gladly have died for them - in 2007, I nearly did. If given the chance, I would volunteer to do it again. And again. Because America - this great country, this community - is and will always be worth it.

In the same spirit, I will use the opportunity that has been given to me tonight, by all of you here and by the American people, to defend these ideals from the highest office, where they have too long been neglected by short-sighted politicians, who put self and party and their agendas first.

America is at a crossroads. Last year, we weathered a moment of immense tragedy. Theresa Wright was our commander-in-chief, and a woman who I always regarded with the utmost respect, despite our many differing views. Respect is a value which transcends all boundaries - parties and politics. Her death was a profound shock to me, and, indeed, to all of us.

What shocked me further was the seeming eagerness of the current administration to take this tragedy and use it as a tool to strike directly at the heart of the rights and values which make this country what it is. It seemed no time at all had passed before this administration jumped at the chance to politicize the event and use it to further a short-sighted agenda against the second amendment, despite the fact that Americans stood against such a choice.

This, more than anything, assured me that what America needs now is someone who will place the rights guaranteed to us by our Founders above everything else - something that the President of the United States swears to do from the first moment he or she takes office.

Tonight, I promise you that I will take that oath seriously - just as seriously as I took the oath when I joined our nation’s Navy more than 30 years ago.

America deserves better. That is the belief that brought me to this stage tonight. America deserves better than what it has received for so many years. It deserves better than a White House that turns its back on personal and national security by striking out at our most valued rights, while at the same time ignoring crime. Ignoring that right now, there are people coming into this country with the intention of causing harm to its citizens. Real harm is caused every day by these policies, and it is time that someone stands up to prevent it.

It is shameful. It makes America look weak. We cannot and should not tolerate a country that looks weak - not when there is so much good in it worth fighting for. Since our founding, America has served as a beacon of freedom, of strength. If we abandon that responsibility now, what will we be left with?

As someone who has always been proud to be a member of our military, to be a leader in our nation’s military, I can tell you this - the current administration does not understand what real leadership looks like. The sacrifices and triumphs. The work and thought that goes into every decision, because you know what is at stake if you make the wrong choice. The struggle that comes with being the one to make those calls.

Let me share with you all a story which I have not shared before - what made me decide to pursue this office. In my time spent at the Pentagon, I had the privilege to serve beside a number of extraordinary men and women. One was a young man named Andrew. When I met him in 2015, Andrew was just 34 years old. He had served for several tours in Iraq, and Afghanistan. He had a family - a wife and three children, like me. He was a good husband, father, and friend, and an even better soldier.

[A long pause here; this is difficult]

But Andrew struggled, and he didn’t get the help that he needed. And so in the fall of 2016, Andrew took his own life. I attended his funeral, as I have attended all too many similar funerals. I realized that day, and have never forgotten since, that we can do so much better. We, as a country, failed that young man - and we have been failing ourselves, in a broader sense. It’s time that we change that. I will do everything in my power to change that - for Andrew. For all the men and women who have similarly suffered. For all Americans.

To somewhat paraphrase the immortal words of the great Republican, Abraham Lincoln: ‘It is for us, the living, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought have thus far so nobly advanced. That government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.’ When Lincoln spoke at Gettysburg, he showed that he understood the core of what America is, and what lengths the men and women of this country would go to protect its values.

I am honored to accept this nomination, so that together, we can begin to work toward making America what it can and should be - a government for the people.

To the American people, let me say this - I stand with you. I stand for you. Unlike so many, I have not forgotten what it is like to be one of you.

I was raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, one of the greatest cities in this nation’s heartland. My father worked in a factory, a laborer. I don’t claim to be anything more than what I am - a man who came from one of the most typical of American experiences. I swore never to forget my roots, and I have carried that attitude with me for all of my life.

I would not be where I am today without the strength and support of my family.

My parents, who gave me so much from the start. They taught me the value of respect, of hard work, of standing for others before yourself. They taught me to be humble. To stand up for what I believed in.

My sisters - my companions from childhood, who showed me love even when it was hardest.

My wife, who is standing with me tonight, just like she does every night. She has truly been my rock, the person who keeps my grounded, who shares every joy and every hurt with me. I am unbelievably lucky to have her supporting me, and the mission in front of me, with every step she takes, and to have her love as my guiding light.

My children. I can’t begin to explain how deeply proud of them I am, as I have always been. They are grown, now, leading their own lives, participating in their own communities, and I could not love them more.

I am grateful, too, for everyone who supported and believed in this campaign from the start. Every staffer and every donor and every person in this country who took their chance and supported this mission with their time and energy, with their voices and their votes. I will do my absolute best to make you proud, and to carry the torch for all of us.

My fellow Americans, my mission is far from over. Tonight is only the beginning. I vow to you all, right here and right now, that I will do everything within my power to see this through to the end - to fight for this campaign, to fight for this country, and to fight for all of you, every American.

I will use every last bit of my energy to fight for a stronger America. Now, and always.

From the bottom of my heart - thank you, and God bless you.

God bless this great country.

Let’s get to work! Good night.

#2020 campaign;#this is obscenely long #this is the craziest thing i have probably ever done #this took me like an hour and a half to write #i didnt proofread this lets go #self para;#i guess lmao #tw for mentions of suicide and death #brief vague ones but still

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 4 years

Text

Statement of Diane Devine submitted to the Fraser Committee

Statement Submitted by Diane Devine to the Ohio Legislator regarding involvement in the Moon Unification Church

dated May 18, 1977

I first became involved in the Unification Movement in May of 1973 in Louisville, Kentucky, where I was indoctrinated daily for a month long period to the Divine Principle teaching of the Korean organizer, Sun Myung Moon. When I was sent to Tarrytown, New York, to attend the international training center, I was persuaded to relinquish all of my possessions to the “Family,” as the commune was called, including the use of my car (a ’70 Olds Cutlas), furniture and all personal belongings. In Tarrytown I completed the rigorous 40 day and 120 day training programs in which I was deliberately subjected to the brainwashing methods which I have described openly to the Columbus media over the past year. My objective is to expose the criminal and damaging coercive practices which are being perpetrated on 30,000 American youth in the name of “religion.” To summarize very briefly, the mind control methods used by Moon and other cult leaders:

1. Complete alienation from family, friends, and former environment.

2. Sleep and nutritional deprivation resulting in physical and mental exhaustion (about 4-5 hours sleep nightly, low protein diet of food costing less than $1.00 daily).

3. Complete lack of privacy: never being allowed to think or read alone.

4. Constant peer pressure to reinforce the conviction that the doctrine of Principle is true.

5. Group coercion to conform to standards, behavior, and attitude of the Principled life.

6. Up to 12 hours daily either in indoctrination sessions or in street fund-raising, both activities supervised by a militaristic hierarchy of authority figures.

7. Constant conditioning to self-sacrifice, work harder to purify ones self of sin, and to prove ones allegiance to Moon, who was considered the Second Messiah at this time, literally bringing the Kingdom of Heaven to Earth, and who must be obeyed without question.

8. Any objection, question or argument being met with intimidation, humiliation, rapid re-indoctrination, instilling ideas of self-worthlessness, fear of consequences of leaving the movement, and guilt for having been concerned over own feelings rather than unanimity with the totalist system, a general mistrust of all personal thoughts and emotions, forcing oneself to deny normal reactions or impulses to gain acceptance from other group members, particularly those in authority positions.

The result of undergoing these programming techniques is that the individual identity is obliterated and replaced by a mass-identity carrying an entirely new system of moral and social values, allowing itself to be be easily manipulated by others who speak the new language and set the standards of the new morality. Existing always in a hypnotic or highly suggestible state of mind, one participates compliantly in all activities expected of him, mainly selling token objects in the street to raise money, or rehearsing lectures to be presented to new recruits. The simple, immediate goals of the Unification Church are to increase its wealth and its membership. The ultimate goals are purely political and in no way religious. The teaching of Divine Principle itself is merely a control mechanism to remould the thinking of masses of people, rendering an army of thousands usable for whatever purposes Moon dictates. It is a completely fascist system with Moon as the only decision maker (thus the famous Moon quotation “I am your brain.’’) and the highest ranking officials in the American movement all being of foreign nationality, primarily German, Dutch, French, Italian, and Japanese. Moon claims that the 30,000 membership must be maintained and that the Divine Principle must be injected into every field of American life, meaning that influential people in the government, business, and educational areas must be cultivated and brought to accept the ideology of Unification.

The Divine Principle, or Unification teaching, can be understood as a providence of restoration, whereby man will be reunited with God when he overcomes his fallen, sinful nature, lives in peace and harmony with his brother, etc., etc. (the usual cliches). Moon promises to cleanse impure blood in a marriage ceremony, thus bringing a new race to establish the foundation for the Kingdom of Heaven, which will eventually be migrated from the U.S. to Korea. The holy mission of the Blessed Family is to sacrifice individual, family, society, and nation for the sake of uniting the entire world in love and brotherhood. His followers believe his teaching to be the only solution to communication with atheistic Communist ideologies, and that each Moonie must exist for the one goal of converting the Communist world to the Unification Movement, and with all of mankind as one to be reunited with God. Moon has promised to have the knowledge of how to organize a world government and pledges himself as Lord to be the Savior to erect the World Theocracy. He describes the system as a form of Socialistic Democracy, although there is no policy research center where, as a Moonie, one might study government or learn more about the New Order. Moon, as the Lord, is entrusted to make all decisions. In bringing recognition to Moon and his teaching, his followers are instructed very carefully on how to present themselves so as to gain approval. It is commonly accepted to employ what is laughingly called “heavenly deception” to manipulate someone to think favorably about the movement, particularly if the someone is influential. Outlandish lies are told to such people, smaller lies are habitually told to everyday-people in the street to secure donations. A general disrespect for the public is fostered, and an attitude of delight in one’s ability to exploit for Unification purposes is definitely encouraged.

During my one year involvement I participated in several major programs, semi-practicing heavenly deception with pangs of conscience. I helped host the British Project in which 120 students from England and Ireland attended training sessions at Tarrytown; I worked on the publications staff and designed propagandistic literature; I designed banners for the 21-City Day of Hope Tour and participated as a Public Relations Representative in trying to persuade police officers from each city to attend Moon’s banquet and Day of Hope speeches; I participated in the Fast and Prayer for Watergate in which I was assigned to speak with certain Congressional Representatives asking them to pray for President Nixon and lobbying their support for the Office of the Presidency, as it was phrased; I was assigned the position of State Representative for the state of Kentucky, which I refused to accept, openly confiding my feelings of desperation and conviction that the movement was un-democratic and un-Christian.

In closing I want to emphasize that this is a political movement, distracting the public’s attention by presenting itself as a church, and successfully delaying any judicial action.

One year ago a group of 300 parents met with a Congressional Committee seeking investigation, but to my knowledge the issue of religion and protection by the First Amendment still enable Moon’s empire to prosper $50 million annually, and while thousands of young people continue to suffer intense psychological damage. It may be appropriate to outline some future objectives in an effort to emphasize the grave importance of initiating investigations at this time. Every Sunday morning Moonies pledge to die for Moon, martyrizing themselves at the 38th parallel in Korea in case of invasion. By 1981 Moon intends to take his followers to Moscow to hear him speak publicly. The ultimate goal is to sway an election, lobby heavily and provide Congressional aides to each office, eventually replacing the United Nations with the Unification Church.

Since 1969 [when it was founded] the Moonist front organization, the Freedom Leadership Foundation, has been has been pro-Viet Nam, pro-Cambodia, and pro-South Korea. FLF publishes a journal called The Rising Tide advocating strong military defense of Asian countries. FLF representatives are assigned to each Congressional office, and regularly sponsor dinners and fireside meetings with about 10 conservative-minded Representatives from Congress. A list of these names could be secured on request. During the first years of its existence, FLF denied its affiliation with the Unification Church, although all activities and publications produced by FLF were directly funded by the UC through the contributions raised in the Washington area by the flower and candle selling teams. FLF members were all versed in Divine Principle and the Theory of Victory over Communism. On weekends or Congressional breaks, FLF members were writing articles for The Rising Tide, or selling flowers with the UC teams. All members of UC are used interchangeably in any of the 60 front organizations, as needed or assigned by Moon. Several FLF’ers were top lecturers. The more dynamic and articulate men were chosen to represent FLF, although they all had proven themselves as obedient and easily controlled during a testing-time as UC lecturers and flower sellers. The same Principled manner of maintaining militaristic order (ie Cain-Able relationships) was exercised within FLF. In 1973 Gary Jarmin was acting president. A list of Moonies participating in FLF activities could also be secured on request. (see Alan Wood report)

Moon dictated at Tarrytown and Barrytown that it was essential for each UC Leader to know inside-and-out the three books, Divine Principle, Victory Over Communism, and Unification Thought. (quote Moon “0ur goal is to have our mind united with our body, and with this as the bullet we shall smash the world.’’ He refers to having bodily actions automatically controlled by the theoretical contents of the ideologies) Those who could memorize and pass tests on this substantial amount of material could qualify for any position within UC and would be promised a position of leadership, even future presidency of a nation. Among the respected positions in the present church are any assignment as Public Relations Representatives (openly lobbying in Congressional offices and acknowledging affiliation with UC) or as State Representative(speaking with influential persons in state government). In Moon’s quotation,” Let’s say there are 500 sons and daughters like you in each state, then we can control the government,” he is referring to 500 members who qualify as Leaders. He intends to use these members to organize campaign teams, to work within various areas of the government and business.

During the 72 and 73 US 21 city speech tours Moon asked these Leaders to lure prominent people in each city to attend his banquet and lectures. Hundreds of city and state government officials attended each presentation. Follow-up teams of PR workers were assigned to meet and cultivate those who had responded favorably, the goal being to teach them Divine Principle, or at least impress them with our dedication to purpose and enthusiasm. Offer to help them in any campaign, regardless of which party they represented. Keep records of PR activities. The object here was understood as merely becoming practiced in campaigning. Moon stated that he would decide which US presidential candidate the UC would back when the time had arrived to “put him in office.” We were not to question the choice. Moon stated that thousands of UC Blessed Couples would be migrating from the US to Korea to live communally there when the UC takes the Korean government. He frequently made references for the need for some of the older members to die at that time. He said that he, himself, would die at the age of 80, but that this would be necessary to defend Korea in war and that in so doing the US would be forced to send aide. The Sunday morning pledge which states “I will march bravely forward into the enemy camp until I have judged them completely with the weapons with which God has been defeating Satan” refers to the need to shed the blood of martyrdom to build the Heavenly Kingdom. He taught that some will live to see the Kingdom, others will not. Once the Korean government was well-secured, the plan was to assign UC members to ambassadorships in each Korean embassy throughout the world.

Regarding the selection of candidates to be assigned as first ambassadors to the new Korean government, it was announced that a Japanese Leader named Kamiyama would be able to soon run for election in Japan, with the assistance of a man already holding an official position, by the name of Kuboki. With Kamiyama in office, the doors could easily be opened in Japan. It was announced that Paul Werner, a German leader, would be the first to take an official position in Germany. A younger fellow named Dan Fefferman, an American, is being groomed by Moon to take a position in Israel. No other names were announced, but many were rumored. There was competition among the state representatives for Moon’s attention. Moon expected that each state representative serve at least a three year mission in a foreign country, forcing the Americans to become bilingual. He made international assignments arbitrarily, whether or not a person could speak a language he was expected to be able to lecture the Divine Principle in the native tongue of the country to which he was sent. State representatives from the past three years were sent to 40 countries in 1974. I believe there are now missionaries in 120 countries. Moon promised to tour the world and visit each of these countries and speak to the membership using the missionaries as interpreters. This places each foreign-UC member in a position comparable to Bo Hi Pak, or as Moon’s right hand man, at the particular time of his visitation to that country.

It was assumed from Moon’s many references to the United Nations, that we should be expecting a self-destruction which would enable the UC to proclaim itself as the only unified international organization demonstrating a peaceful standard of living. He predicted that the destruction of the UN would be the thing which would greatly cause the public’s attention to be turned to the UC. He stated that there would be worldwide economic collapse and that the UC would be prepared to offer relief and assistance to thousands of people at the centers, which would be established as hostels, and that they would convert thousands at that time and use them to advance a campaign or election of the presidential candidate chosen by Moon. All UC women are expected to know how to prepare menus, cook for, and serve at least a hundred people. In some places in California self-subsistent farms are being set up. Leaders are being assigned to business enterprises which Moon has purchased in the US dealing with high nutritional foods, particularly fish. Moon stated that at such a time of mass-hysteria in the US, it may be necessary to know martial arts as a form of self defense. He also said many times “All of the Korean businesses and American businesses will be run by the leaders and the air rifles are being made now for you,” implying at the time of disaster the UC would be armed. He promised to purchase an airline so that we could travel internationally with safety. He referred to this as a “fleet of jets.” He said that New York would be the first city to experience the depression and this is the reason he has concentrated on buying property that is cultivatable in the upper state area. He predicted that people would leave the city in a sudden outpouring, and that UC would have food stored and shelter prepared to receive them.

Diane Devine

_____________________________________________

Minions and Master

United States Congressional investigation of Moon’s organization

Statement of Linda Anthenin to the Fraser Committee

Notarized Statement of Linda Anthenien to the Fraser Committee

Statement of Phillip Greek to the Fraser Committee

Sun Myung Moon and the United Nations

Sun Myung Moon’s theology used to control members

Sun Myung Moon: The Emperor of the Universe

Allen Tate Wood on Sun Myung Moon and the UC

“Moon’s Law: God Is Phasing Out Democracy”

#Fraser Report #Sun Myung Moon #Unification Church

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cnjrupasmle · 6 years

Text

Charity Case

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

----

"Excuse me, Mr. Stark."

Tony tried to slide down in his seat, but it was already too late and his seatbelt kept him from moving too far. Mr. Coulson had caught him. This was all Peter's fault. Or the fault of whichever responsible adult convinced his 9th grade son to join orchestra and play the cello that he was currently taking an entire life age of man to load into the trunk.

"I noticed that you hadn't signed up for any of the fundraisers yet." Mr. Coulson continued to give Tony that same unnervingly serene smile that always creeped him out and made him feel compelled to fundraise.

"Yeah," Tony drawled, "how about I just make a large charitable donation and we'll call it square. Thanks! Good talk!" Tony tried to roll his window up, but Mr. Coulson was freakishly fast and reached through the window and locked the automatic window mechanism.

"We have the bake sale," no, Tony shook his head, he was not planning on poisoning dozens of children, "the car wash," but Tony didn't plan on donning a Gucci speedo and ending up on the front page of every gossip rag so he shook his head again, "and the auction," Coulson finished.

Tony's brain puttered to a halt. Oh. That might just work. The sound of the car door slamming as Peter slid into the passenger seat shook Tony out of his reverie.

"What are we talking about?" Peter asked both Tony and the Assistant Vice Principal. Poor, sweet, naive Peter. His eyes flicked back and forth, but he must have seen something in Tony's grin because his eyes widened. "No! Dad? No. Whatever it is you're thinking about, no. I'm getting a normal life, remember?"

Tony just chuckled. "Don't worry, kid. You can't be a normal teenage without a little embarrassment. Put me down for the auction. I will be happy to lend my services for the night."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark," Coulson said with that same unsettling smile. "We appreciate your support."

Tony revved the engine and Coulson had just enough time to step back to avoid getting his toes run over. You see, Tony had a plan. It had been a rough year. Scratch that, it had been a rough 12 years since Peter's mom left him to raise his son alone. Being a single parent required a lot of sacrifices: time, money, work, friendships...romance.

Tony hadn't seriously considered putting himself back out there until Tony made Pepper CEO and he and Peter moved out to the suburbs a few months ago. It turned out that teenagers were fairly self sufficient and his work duties had lightened somewhat, so Tony suddenly had the time and personal space to try his hand at dating for the first time in over a decade. But how would he go about it? Online dating was off the table due to his fame and fortune. Going out to a bar to meet people was more for the younger generation. Everyone that Rhodey introduced him to was military and too interested in his former weapons manufacturing. Thankfully Assistant Vice Principal Coulson had a new idea.

"Sold! The weekend at the Johnson's lake house goes to bidder number 396! Congratulations, guys! What a deal, right?" Mrs. Morris, the mother of an 11th grader was doing a pretty alright job at being an MC/auctioneer. I mean, it was nothing like art or car auctions that Tony frequented, but it was cute.

"The next item up for bid," Mrs. Morris read off her cue card, "is...an evening with Tony Stark?"

She looked up, searchingly. Tony threw in his most charismatic smile and pushed his way through the curtain. All the soccer moms whistled and cheered from their auditorium seats. With the spotlights in his eyes, Tony couldn't see past the dark edge of the stage. He was, however, pretty sure that everyone was pulling out their wallets.

"Is this allowed? This is a school function?" Mrs. Morris's voice rang out over the sound system. Tony ignored her and spun around to let his audience see just what they were bidding on.

"Three hundred!" A voice rang out from the darkness.

"I guess we're starting the bidding at three hundred dollars." Mrs. Morris shrugged. "Do I hear...three twenty-five?"

"Five hundred!"

"Oh...wow! Okay!" Mrs. Morris struggled to regroup. "Can I get a sis hundred?"

Someone took her up on the new bid immediately and Tony beamed. Then, suddenly, this didn't feel like such an awesome idea. A stranger was just about to "buy" him for a night. What if he didn't like his buyer? What if they had unreasonable expectations? Even worse, what if they were Fifty Shades of Gray enthusiasts? Nothing could be worse than a middle aged mom with a love for poorly performed BDSM.

Unfortunately, it was too late. Tony would very soon owe a date to whoever was willing to rebudget the most of their morning Starbucks money. He tried to keep grinning and posing, but Tony couldn't shake the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Sold for three thousand dollars to bidder number 704!" Mrs. Morris yelled gleefully. "Wow! This is really going to help the swim team! Enjoy your date with Mr. Stark...Mr. Rogers??"

Heading to the stage to collect his voucher and pay his tab was a huge, linebacker of a human being. As he got closer, Tony could see that it was the hot, single dad to one of the girls in Peter's class.

"Steve," Mrs. Morris whispered loud enough for the mic to pick up, "I think that this is supposed to be for a date. I can just give it to the next highest bidder."

"Actually, Julia," Steve spoke at full volume, "I would never assume anything of Mr. Stark, but I sure was hoping that he would let me use my evening for a date. Either way, I'm more than happy to support the swim team." He gave Tony a meek smile and something warm and terrifying and completely unfamiliar swirled through Tony. He leapt forward to grab the mic and he spoke directly into it, never breaking eye contact with the entirely too handsome blond.

"Sold!"

#stony #ficlet friday #fanfiction: conjureupasmile #better late than never #superfamily #stony ficlet

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orthodoxydaily · 3 years

Text

Saints&Reading: Wed., Dec. 2, 2020

Commemorated on November 19_ Julian calendar

The Holy Prophet Obadiah, or Avdi (9th c. B.C.).

The Holy Prophet Obadiah (or Avdi) was from the 12 Minor Prophets, and he lived during the IX Century B.C. He was a native of the village of Betharam, near Sichem, and he served as house-governor of the impious Israelite king Ahab. In these times the whole of Israel had turned away from the True God and had begun to offer sacrifice to Baal. But Obadiah-Avdi in secret faithfully served the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. When the impious and dissolute Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, set about the exterminating of all the prophets of the Lord, Obadiah-Avdi meanwhile in turn gave them shelter and food (3 [1] Kings 18:3ff). Ahab's successor king Okhoziah (Ahaziah) sent 3 detachments of soldiers to arrest the holy Prophet Elias (Elijah or Ilias, Comm. 20 July). One of these detachments was headed by Saint Obadiah-Avdi. Through the prayer of Saint Elias, two of the detachments were consumed by Heavenly fire, but Saint Obadiah-Avdi and his detachment were spared by the Lord (4 [2] Kings 1). From this moment Saint Obadiah resigned military service and became a follower of the Prophet Elias. Afterwards he himself received the gift of prophecy. The God-inspired work of Saint Obadiah-Avdi – the Book of Prophecies under his name, is the fourth in order of the Books of the Twelve Minor Prophets in the Bible. It contains predictions about the New Testament Church. The holy Prophet Obadiah-Avdi was buried in Samaria.

St. Philaret, metropolitan of Moscow (1867)

Born of a priestly family near Moscow in 1782, he entered seminary at a young age and soon distinguished himself for his piety and his scholarship of ancient languages. He was tonsured a monk, but was made a professor at the seminary in Moscow, where his expositions of the Faith, spoken and written, caused him to be regarded as a Father of the Church in his own time; many called him "the new Chrysostom." In 1817, at the age of thirty-five, he was consecrated bishop, and in only a few years rose to the rank of Metropolitan of Moscow, the highest office in the Russian Church since Peter the Great abolished the Patriarchate. He remained Metropolitan for the rest of his life. Saint Philaret seemed literally tireless in his labors for the Church: no-one knew when he slept, and his servant, no matter when he came to the Metropolitan's quarters, would always find him working at his desk. He worked to restore moral standards among the clergy, which had fallen into laxity. Whenever he was forced to depose a cleric, he would secretly contribute to the family's needs out of his own resources. Similarly, he used up all of his financial resources in charitable works, always taking care that his donations were kept secret. He funded the building of a large hospice for orphans and children of poor clergy families. St Philaret gave his full support to the fifty-year project of translating the Bible into Russian, and translated several Old Testament books himself, though the project was opposed by the Tsar and by some powerful groups in the Church. He supported the work of the fathers of Optina Monastery to publish translations of the Fathers of the Church; these translations, when they appeared, contributed to a great spiritual awakening in Russia. He reposed in peace in 1867 at the age of eighty-five.

The well-loved "Morning Prayer of Philaret of Moscow" which begins "Lord, grant me to greet the coming day in peace..." was brought into Orthodox piety by St Philaret but seems originally to have been written by Francois Fenelon, the French Quietist writer. The prayer also came to be used by the Optina Elders and is sometimes referred to as the "Morning Prayer of the Optina Elders." The prayer appears in several similar versions. O Lord, grant me to greet the coming day in peace. Help me in all things to rely upon Your holy will. In every hour of the day reveal Your will to me. Bless my dealings with all who surround me. Teach me to treat all that comes to me throughout the day with peace of soul, and with the firm conviction that Your will governs all. In all my deeds and words guide my thoughts and feelings. In unforseen events let me not forget that all are sent by You. Teach me to act firmly and wisely, without embittering or embarrassing others. Give me strength to bear the fatigue of this coming day with all that it will bring. Direct my will, teach me to pray, pray You Yourself in me. Amen.

Luke 15:1-10

1Then all the tax collectors and the sinners drew near to Him to hear Him. 2 And the Pharisees and scribes complained, saying, "This Man receives sinners and eats with them." 3 So He spoke this parable to them, saying: 4 What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he loses one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one which is lost until he finds it? 5 And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. 6 And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost!' 7 I say to you that likewise there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine just persons who need no repentance.8 Or what woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? 9 And when she has found it, she calls her friends and neighbors together, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the piece which I lost!' 10 Likewise, I say to you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.

1 Timothy 1:18-20; 2:8-15

18 This charge I commit to you, son Timothy, according to the prophecies previously made concerning you, that by them you may wage the good warfare, 19 having faith and a good conscience, which some having rejected, concerning the faith have suffered shipwreck, 20 of whom are Hymenaeus and Alexander, whom I delivered to Satan that they may learn not to blaspheme.

2:8 I desire therefore that the men pray everywhere, lifting up holy hands, without wrath and doubting; 9 in like manner also, that the women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with propriety and moderation, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or costly clothing,10 but, which is proper for women professing godliness, with good works. 11 Let a woman learn in silence with all submission. 12 And I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man, but to be in silence. 13 For Adam was formed first, then Eve. 14 And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived, fell into transgression. 15 Nevertheless she will be saved in childbearing if they continue in faith, love, and holiness, with self-control.

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #ancientchristianity #originofchristianity #holyscriptures #gospel #sacred texts #spirituality #wisdom

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timelessoldier · 6 years

Note

i've only followed you for a short time, but i've seen you refer to steve as a rebel a lot in that time already. i would love to hear some more of your thoughts on that, if you don't mind? because i've never thought of him like that, he seems very rigid to me, so i'm very curious to hear what makes you see him as a rebel. thank you!

THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG LMAO. i would be happy to share my thoughts on this, nonny! i’ve been meaning to address this in a meta post for a while anyway, and this seems a great opportunity to do so. so thank you for that! okay, here goes.

from the very first second we see steve in first avenger, he’s acting rebelliously. we literally meet him when he is in the middle of an act of rebellion ( not accepting a military assignment and position on the home front but instead trying to cheat his way onto the battlefield so he can make what he believes to be a real difference, just like any other young man his age is ).

but when he’s then finally allowed to serve on said battlefield, he doesn’t just do so by blindly obeying orders. it would be natural to assume that anyone who finally gets to be where they want to be tries their best not to risk their position. steve rogers doesn’t give a damn about any of that. the first time steve sees action and is given direct orders by his commanding officers, he disobeys them. and these officers are playing everything perfectly by the book here! they’re looking at the big picture and their resources, and making the hard calls, because that’s what you do as a CO. it may seem unsettlingly practical, but from a military standpoint it makes perfect sense. this is how wars are won. this is what it means to achieve victory.

“ not my kind of victory, ” steve’s morality says. you don’t abandon your men. practicality and resources be damned. if there are people to be saved, you go and save them. yes, you could die, but to not even try is worse in steve’s book. so he goes directly against the orders his commanding officers have given him. he doesn’t even hesitate. there’s no painful conflict of morals here. he knows what he has to do, and he does it. rules be damned.

because in steve rogers’ world, people are worth the risk. whatever the risk may be. and no one - no one - is beyond saving.

but systems aren’t people. and from the moment we meet steve in first avenger to the moment he says no to the accords, he’s been moving further and further away from institutional power that operates in a centralized way. it really starts when his commanding officers in first avenger are so willing to sacrifice human life for the sake of the greater good, leaving steve to feel more than a little disillusioned about any kind of system that wields a lot of authority, control, and power. that feeling gets even further cemented when he discovers hydra has compromised shield in winter soldier.

i’m always amused when people buy into the image of steve as a heroic icon and patriotic legend. because all it means is that the marketing team back in wwii did a damn good job of establishing the character of captain america in the households and minds of people, to the point where it lives on to this day. i doubt the exhibition in the museum mentions steve’s many acts of disobedience during the war. i doubt they speak of his inherent rebelliousness. the irony here is that what may seem as an unpatriotic characteristic is essentially steve’s most patriotic trait : time and time again, he resists the control of governments and systems that are too far removed from the needs and wishes of the people.

when it comes to moral accountability, steve rogers keeps everyone, especially the systems that are meant to uphold liberty and protect its people, to the highest possible standard. and in some cases that means the system shouldn’t have as much power as it does. sometimes the people know what is best for the people. this is exactly why steve pushes back so hard against the accords. he truly believes this is just another system trying to take control of something that is better left to the individuals in the know, and he fears a repeat of what he saw happen during the war: that, when it comes down to it, the UN will decide who and what matters based on their current agenda. and, as steve points out, “ agendas change ”. steve doesn’t have an agenda. he has a belief, and it’s the same one i spoke of just before: people are worth the risk. no one is beyond saving.

no one is going to tell him who he gets to save and who he doesn’t get to save. not based on resources, or agendas. not based on anything. and it’s this kind of belief that more often than not puts steve in direct conflict with the very government he represents. in rebellion steve finds grace, he finds the morals he stands for, and it’s where he becomes a hero for the people, not the government.

and i fucking love him for that.

#ooc.#meta.#answered.#length for ts #long post for ts #god this took forever to write #but i've been meaning to for ages #as it's such an integral part of how i view and write steve #thank you so much for the motivation anon !!#my lawful good rebel son ugh i love him #( about ) ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ ᴋɪᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʙʀᴏᴏᴋʟʏɴ.#( headcanon ) ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʟʟ ᴅᴀʏ.#honestly i don't really think this is a headcanon so much as canon

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afriedbreaddragonposts · 3 years

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Federal Class 9 Notes English Cha 2 Patriotism

Patriotism Federal Class 9 Notes English Cha 2, comprehension, grammar, Vocabulary, Writing skills, and summary fbise class 9th notes 2021.

Comprehension FBISE Notes Chapter 2 Patriotism

How will you define patriotism?Patriotism is defined as the love for the motherland and devotion to one's country. A patriot is ready to lose everything and is even ready to sacrifice his life for his country and nation.What are the qualities of a patriot?A patriot loves his country and is always willing to sacrifice everything for it. Sovereignty and integrity are the qualities of a true patriot for which no compromise can be made.As a citizen of Pakistan, what are your duties towards your country?As citizens of Pakistan, we must be loyal and honest to our country. We should obey all our national laws. We must live in peace with other citizens and work for the nation's progress.What makes us stay alert in the wake of foreign invasion?It is the passion of patriotism that makes us alert and active. We become active and alert when foreign countries plan to attack us.How will you elaborate on Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah's quote?"We must develop a sense of patriotism which galvanizes us all into one united and strong nation." Answer: Quaid's words mean that we must have strong feelings of love and devotion to our country. It makes us all a united and strong nation because we live and work for common aims and purposes.

Vocabulary Patriotism

Q.A) Guess the meaning of the following words. Confirm your meaning from the dictionary

Answer :

Q.B) Make as many words as from these roots words Examples :

Answer : Work - workshop - work hard - work together - worksheet - work permit - work place - work hours - work load - workaround - workbasket - work board - workbook - workbox - workday play- playground - play group - playbook - playmate - playful - playable - playact - play actor - play along - playback - play box - play day - playfellow - playfully - play group Q.C) Use the following words in sentences. - Sacrifice - Commendable - Prosperity - Invasion - Motherland - Responsible - Nationalism Answer: Sentence formation Sacrifice: Rashid Minhas sacrificed his life for the nation. Commendable: His effort to achieve A grade in the exams is commendable. Prosperity: Hard work brings the ultimate prosperity. Invasion: They built a fort to defend the town from any foreign invasion. Motherland: We should strive to become a true patriot and serve our motherland. Responsible: No one else but she, herself, is solely responsible for her failure. Nationalism: Th spirit of nationalism brings love for the country.

Grammar Patriotism

Q.A) Use appropriate modals to: 1) Describe your three abilities and capacities 2) Ask the teacher's permission for going out 3) Ask a friend to lend you a book 4) Express necessity to get up early 5) Express duty/obligation to follow traffic rules 6) Share some past habit

Answer: 1) Describe your three abilities and capacities - I can draw sketches. - I can swim well. - I can read Arabic and English with fluency. 2) Ask the teacher's permission for going out - May I go out of the class, please? 3) Ask a friend to lend you a book - Could you lend me your practical Physics book? 4) Express necessity to get up early - I must set my alarm as I always get up late. 5) Express duty/obligation to follow traffic rules - We should follow traffic rules to avoid accidents. 6) Share some past habit - I used to go out for a walk during my summer vacations. Q.B) Identify the kinds of the following sentences, (exclamatory, assertive, interrogative, negative, imperative) 1) Art is another subject in which I am particularly interested. 2) What a beautiful painting ! 3) Teach him to learn. 4) How would l know ? 5) She did not make a false statement. Answer: 1) Art is another subject in which I am particularly interested. Assertive 2) What a beautiful painting! Exclamatory 3) Teach him to learn. Imperative 4) How would l know? Interrogative 5) She did not make a false statement. Negative Q.C) Punctuate the following: captain muhammad sarwar major tufail muhammad major aziz bhatti pilot officer rashid minhas major muhammad akram major shabbir shaheed captain karnal sher khan and havaladar lalak jan all embraced martyrdom while fighting bravely for their motherland all of them were awarded nishan e haider the highest military award given to great patriots who lay down their lives for the country Answer: Captain Muhammad Sarwar, Major Tufail Muhammad, Major Aziz Bhatti, Pilot Officer Rashid Minhas, Major Muhammad Akram, Major Shabbir Shaheed, Captain Karnal Sher Khan, and Havaldar Lalak Jan - all embraced martyrdom while fighting bravely for their motherland. All of them were awarded Nishan e Haider, the highest military award given to great patriots who lay down their lives for the country.

Writing skills

Q.A) Summarize paragraph 4 of the lesson in three to four sentences. Answer: The spirit of patriotism makes us active and alert as we become careful when any other country plans to attack us. There are a number of instances of people sacrificing their lives for our country. During the wars of 1965 and 1971 and the Kargil War, many of our brave military officers and soldiers sacrificed their lives for the country. Q.B) Summarize the lesson in your own words. Answer: Summary The text is about the spirit of patriotism. It discusses the qualities of a patriot and how he sacrifices everything for the progress of a country. Patriotism means being loyal to one’s country. A true patriot is always willing to sacrifice his life for the defense of his country. A patriot will never compromise on the sovereignty and integrity of his country.Quaid e Azam was a great patriot and wanted to protect the Islamic culture in the subcontinent. It was he who gave Muslims a vision and achieved a separate homeland for them. The spirit of patriotism plays a vital role against foreign aggression. It makes us active and alert. There are a number of instances of people sacrificing their lives for our country. During the wars of 1965 and 1971 and the Kargil war, many of our brave military officers and soldiers sacrificed their lives for the country. The great patriots who embraced martyrdom were awarded the highest military award that is Nishan e Haider. Q.C) Which steps should we take to make our nation patriotic. Answer: We can inculcate the spirit of patriotism in our nation by teaching lessons and stories on patriotism through our syllabus of educational institutions. We should publish various articles and essays on newspapers and internet. We should present discussions on TV and radio about our national heroes. Moreover, parents should teach children the importance of being patriotic. Q.D) Write an essay on any one of our national heroes. (170 - 200 words) Answer: Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jannah was the architect of Pakistan. He was born on 25th December 1876. He fought sincerely and selflessly the battle of freedom for the Muslims and won in the long run. He received his early education in Karachi Mission School. Then, he was admitted in Sindh Madrasa-tul-Islam from where he passed his matriculation in 1895. Afterward, he went to England and took his Barrister's degree from Lincoln's Inn. After completing his education, he came back to India and started law-practice in Bombay. Those were the days of British rule and Indians were fighting for freedom. Quaid-e-Azam, as his nature was, could not lag in this sacred task and soon by his persistent devotion to duty, sincerity and enthusiasm came to the front row of the freedom fighters. He started his political career as a member of the Bombay Legislature. Then he joined Indian Nation Congress. When he realized that the Congress was a neo-Hindu body, he resigned and joined the All India Muslim League in 1922. He had been the greatest spokesman of the Indian Muslims for a separate state for them. By 1930 he became an undisputed leader of the Muslims. Soon he began to reorganize the Indian Muslim league all over India. People gave him the title of Quaid-e-Azam for his selfless services for the Muslim cause, freedom, and creation of Pakistan. Mr. Jinnah's integrity of character was beyond reproach. Gandhi called him 'an impossible man', for he would never compromise on principles. He stood like a rock against his opponents. He united the defeated groups of Muslims into a force to reckon with. From 1940 (The Year Of Pakistan Resolution) till his death on 11th September 1948, Quaid-e-Azam worked day and night for strengthening the Muslim League. It was due to his untiring efforts and wise leadership that Pakistan came into being. He was a great champion of freedom for the people of India, our national hero, and one of the greatest leaders in the world. His political career covers a very wide span of about half a century. This career is the most spotless one that the world has ever known. Even his enemies admit the integrity of his character. It is our duty as the true Pakistanis to follow his footsteps and work honestly for the solidarity and prosperity of Pakistan---the land of the Pak or 'the pious people'. Let us try to be 'pious' in the true sense. Let us uphold the biggest motto of our Quaid which is unity, faith, and discipline. Q.E) Write a short dialogue between a political activist and a teenager in which the political activist tries to make the teenager understand the importance of patriotism. Answer: Dialogue Teenager: Excuse me, sir! Can I have your attention, please? Political activist: Yes, sure why not, son. Teenager: Sir, I idealize our soldiers so much. What motivates them to sacrifice their lives for the honor of a country? Political activist: My son, it is patriotism that does wonders. Teenager: That’s great! But what patriotism is basically? Political activist: It’s the love of one's motherland and it's being loyal and true to one's nation. Teenager: Sir, what is the most important thing for becoming a true patriot? Political activist: Sovereignty, integrity, and honor of the country are the requisites for a patriot. Teenager: And, sir, is this what brought Muslims to strive for a separate homeland? Political activist: Yes, you have got the point. It was the spirit of patriotism that led them to the struggle towards a separate homeland. Teenager: Sir, is it confined to foreign aggression? Political activist: Not at all, it has no boundaries. It is needed in both war and peace. We can make Pakistan a prosperous nation through this spirit. Teenager: Thank you for this valuable information, sir. Political activist: You are welcome, my son. Read more: Fbise notes class 9 English Cha 1 The Saviour of Mankind Read the full article

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dfroza · 4 years

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people may think of the Church as a Western thing

but it began with Jews in Jerusalem. although its heart began as an idea of God to bring people into unity by His Light. and there are so many different cultures on earth, including a variety of religious thought, but we have only One Creator who illuminates rebirth through the Son who is the path of grace that leads the eternal heart “Home”

and we see the path of the Son in the Scriptures that have been conserved for us to read and come to believe, to be free to choose for ourselves rather than be forced to be in Love.

Today’s chapter from the book of Acts documents when Peter was told to share the message of grace in the new covenant:

[Chapter 10]

At that time there was a Roman military officer, Cornelius, who was in charge of one hundred men stationed in Caesarea. He was the captain of the Italian regiment, a devout man of extraordinary character who worshiped God and prayed regularly, together with all his family. He also had a heart for the poor and gave generously to help them.

One afternoon about three o’clock, he had an open vision and saw the angel of God appear right in front of him, calling out his name, “Cornelius!”

Startled, he was overcome with fear by the sight of the angel. He asked, “What do you want, Lord?”

The angel said, “All of your prayers and your generosity to the poor have ascended before God as an eternal offering. Now, send some men to Joppa at once. Have them find a man named Simon the Rock, who is staying as a guest in the home of Simon the tanner, whose house is by the sea.”

After the angel left, Cornelius called for two of his servants and a trusted, godly soldier who was his personal attaché. He explained to them everything that had just happened and sent them off to Joppa.

The next day around noon, as Cornelius’ men were approaching Joppa, Peter went up to the flat roof of the house to pray. He was hungry and wanted to eat, but while lunch was being prepared he fell into a trance and entered into another realm. As the heavenly realm opened up, he saw something resembling a large linen tablecloth that descended from above, being let down to the earth by its four corners. As it floated down he saw that it held many kinds of four-footed animals, reptiles, and wild birds.

A voice said to him, “Peter, go and prepare them to be eaten.”

Peter replied, “There’s no way I could do that, Lord, for I’ve never eaten anything forbidden or impure according to our Jewish laws.”

The voice spoke again. “Nothing is unclean if God declares it to be clean.”

The vision was repeated three times. Then suddenly the linen sheet was snatched back up into heaven.

Peter was so stunned by the vision that he couldn’t stop wondering about what all it meant.

Meanwhile, Cornelius’ men had learned where Peter was staying and at that same moment were standing outside the gate.

They called out to those in the house, “Is this where Simon, the Rock, is staying?”

As Peter was in deep thought, trying to interpret the vision, the Spirit said to him, “Go downstairs now, for three men are looking for you. Don’t hesitate to go with them, because I have sent them.”

Peter went downstairs to the men and said, “I believe I’m the one you’re looking for. What brings you here?”

They answered, “We serve Cornelius, a Roman military captain, who sent us to find you. He is a devout man of the highest integrity who worships God and is respected throughout the Jewish community. He was divinely instructed through the appearance of an angel to summon you to his home and to listen to the message that you would bring him.”

Peter invited them to stay for the night as his guests. The next morning they departed, accompanied by some of the believers from Joppa.

The next day they arrived in Caesarea, where Cornelius was waiting anxiously for them and had gathered together all of his relatives and close friends. The moment Peter walked in the door, Cornelius fell at his feet to worship him. But Peter pulled him to his feet and said, “Stand up, for I’m only a man and no different from you.”

They talked together and then went inside, where Peter found a large gathering waiting to hear his words.

Peter said to them, “You all know that it is against the Jewish laws for me to associate with or even visit the home of one who is not a Jew. Yet God has shown me that I should never view anyone as inferior or ritually unclean. So when you sent for me, I came without objection. Now, may I ask why you sent for me?”

Cornelius replied, “Four days ago I was fasting and praying here in my home at this very hour, three o’clock in the afternoon, when a man in glistening clothing suddenly appeared in front of my eyes. He said, ‘Cornelius, God has heard your prayers. Your generosity to the poor has been recorded and remembered in God’s presence. However, you must send for a man named Simon, the Rock, who is staying in Joppa as a guest of Simon the tanner, who lives by the sea.’ So I immediately sent my men to bring you here—and you were kind enough to come. And now, here we are, all of us in God’s presence, anxious to hear the message that God has put into your heart to share with us.”

Peter said, “Now I know for certain that God doesn’t show favoritism with people but treats everyone on the same basis. It makes no difference what race of people one belongs to. If they show deep reverence for God, and are committed to doing what’s right, they are acceptable before him. God sent his word to the Jewish people first, announcing the wonderful news of hope and peace through Jesus, the Anointed One, the Lord of all. You are well aware of all that began in Galilee and spread throughout the land of Israel immediately after John preached his message of baptism.

“Jesus of Nazareth was anointed by God with the Holy Spirit and with great power. He did wonderful things for others and divinely healed all who were under the tyranny of the devil, for God had anointed him. We apostles were eyewitnesses to all the miracles that he performed throughout the land of Israel. Finally, in Jerusalem, he was crucified on a cross, but God raised him from the dead three days later, allowing him to be seen openly. He didn’t appear to everyone, but he appeared to us, his chosen witnesses. He actually ate and drank with us after he rose from the dead!

“Jesus ordered us to preach and warn the people that God had appointed him to be the judge of the living and the dead. And not only us, but all of the prophets agree in their writings that everyone who believes in him receives complete forgiveness of sins through the power of his name.”

While Peter was speaking, the Holy Spirit cascaded over all those listening to his message. The Jewish brothers who had accompanied Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit was poured out on people who weren’t Jews, for they heard them speaking in supernaturally given languages and passionately praising God.

Peter said, “How could anyone object to these people being baptized? For they have received the Holy Spirit just as we have.” So he instructed them to be baptized in the power of the name of Jesus, the Anointed One.

After their baptism, they asked Peter to stay with them for a few more days.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 10 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is 1st Samuel 3 where Samuel heard God speak. something that is still possible for those who welcome the Spirit within their own to inspire the thought-life with spiritual truth:

“Speak, God. I’m Ready to Listen”

The boy Samuel was serving God under Eli’s direction. This was at a time when the revelation of God was rarely heard or seen. One night Eli was sound asleep (his eyesight was very bad—he could hardly see). It was well before dawn; the sanctuary lamp was still burning. Samuel was still in bed in the Temple of God, where the Chest of God rested.

Then God called out, “Samuel, Samuel!”

Samuel answered, “Yes? I’m here.” Then he ran to Eli saying, “I heard you call. Here I am.”

Eli said, “I didn’t call you. Go back to bed.” And so he did.

God called again, “Samuel, Samuel!”

Samuel got up and went to Eli, “I heard you call. Here I am.”

Again Eli said, “Son, I didn’t call you. Go back to bed.” (This all happened before Samuel knew God for himself. It was before the revelation of God had been given to him personally.)

God called again, “Samuel!”—the third time! Yet again Samuel got up and went to Eli, “Yes? I heard you call me. Here I am.”

That’s when it dawned on Eli that God was calling the boy. So Eli directed Samuel, “Go back and lie down. If the voice calls again, say, ‘Speak, God. I’m your servant, ready to listen.’” Samuel returned to his bed.

Then God came and stood before him exactly as before, calling out, “Samuel! Samuel!”

Samuel answered, “Speak. I’m your servant, ready to listen.”

God said to Samuel, “Listen carefully. I’m getting ready to do something in Israel that is going to shake everyone up and get their attention. The time has come for me to bring down on Eli’s family everything I warned him of, every last word of it. I’m letting him know that the time’s up. I’m bringing judgment on his family for good. He knew what was going on, that his sons were desecrating God’s name and God’s place, and he did nothing to stop them. This is my sentence on the family of Eli: The evil of Eli’s family can never be wiped out by sacrifice or offering.”

Samuel stayed in bed until morning, then rose early and went about his duties, opening the doors of the sanctuary, but he dreaded having to tell the vision to Eli.

But then Eli summoned Samuel: “Samuel, my son!”

Samuel came running: “Yes? What can I do for you?”

“What did he say? Tell it to me, all of it. Don’t suppress or soften one word, as God is your judge! I want it all, word for word as he said it to you.”

So Samuel told him, word for word. He held back nothing.

Eli said, “He is God. Let him do whatever he thinks best.”

Samuel grew up. God was with him, and Samuel’s prophetic record was flawless. Everyone in Israel, from Dan in the north to Beersheba in the south, recognized that Samuel was the real thing—a true prophet of God. God continued to show up at Shiloh, revealed through his word to Samuel at Shiloh.

The Book of 1st Samuel, Chapter 3 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, September 22 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons to accompany Today’s reading:

Yeshua told his followers, "You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go forth and bear fruit..." (John 15:16). Religious pride recoils at these words, thinking, "I don't want to be chosen by God; I want to be in control; I want to choose God first." The ego seeks some reason for revelation, some merit that commends the self to God. It's hidden assumption is, "thank you, God, that I am not like other men" (Luke 18:11). The choice of God is scandalous because it is based on God's love, not our own (1 John 4:19). We were spiritually reborn, not as the result of anything in the realm of nature, nor even through our personal decision, but solely on account of God's sovereign prerogative (John 1:13). The carnal ego is quick to suggest, however, that God “needs you” to do his will, or that you have something unique to offer heaven by your service, though it is idolatrous to elevate the self this way. "Not by might nor by power, but by my spirit, says the LORD of Hosts" (Zech. 4:6). We don't seek to please God so that we can be chosen; we are chosen so that we can please him... God's grace and love for us is always the starting point: “Lord, teach us to pray,” that is, choose the words for us, the groaning of your Spirit, in accordance with your perfect will...

It is the fruit of his Spirit, not the fruit of our own that matters (Gal. 5:22-23). We are God's workmanship, created in the Messiah for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them" (Eph. 2:10). We are able to live for God through the agency of His love and sustaining grace, all for the sake of the glory of His Name. “For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be glory forever. Amen” (Rom. 11:36). [Hebrew for Christians]

9.21.20 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research:

September 22, 2020

Redeemed!

“Forasmuch as ye know that ye were not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, from your vain conversation received by tradition from your fathers; But with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot.” (1 Peter 1:18-19)

How glibly we use the terms redeemed, redemption, and ransom. But what do they mean, and more importantly, what did Christ’s act of redemption mean?

Three Greek words and their derivations are used in the New Testament to denote various aspects of this truth. In our text, “redeemed” comes from lutroo, which means to set free, buy back, or ransom. Christ’s innocent blood, sacrificed for us, bought us back. “By his own blood he entered in once into the holy place, having obtained eternal redemption for us” (Hebrews 9:12).

Redeemed from what? From slavery to sin. Jesus taught, “Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin” (John 8:34). Thankfully, “Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law” (Galatians 3:13). The Greek word here is exagorazo, meaning to buy up, to ransom from the market place (i.e., agora), which could be called “the slave market of sin.” He ransomed us, He redeemed us from the horrors of slavery to sin by His death on the cross.

The final word is apolutrosis, “to ransom in full.” He has paid the full penalty! “It is finished” (John 19:30), He said as He died. In Him alone “we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace” (Ephesians 1:7).

Each of us needs to appropriate His plan, “for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:23-24). JDM

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