#Hidden Manna

[1whoconquers]

What Is Mine: The Promises to the One Who Conquers in Revelation and Their Connection to John 16

The phrase “to the one who conquers” appears in Jesus’s messages to the seven churches in Revelation 2 and 3. Each promise is a reward that belongs to Christ and is shared with those who overcome. These promises are directly tied to what Jesus declares in John 16:13-15—that the Spirit reveals what belongs to Him. Let’s examine each promise and its connection to Jesus as the source of these divine…

[alohapromisesforever]

Faith Where Satan Lives

Faith Where Satan Livesby Michael DoyleThere are times of great expectationBut none so much as in RevelationEschatology teaches us, and we learnAll the things that we need to discernKnowing what is spoken is realHas the possibility of making our spine steelFruitful and productive in hostile spaceGod has revealed our needed tracesWe keep the faith despite Satan's liesHidden manna is given as God's…

[scripture-pictures]

[shalom-iamcominghome]

Something that I'm still thinking about from my talk with my rabbi is the idea that g-d is who you need Him to be. In fact, I (personally) think it's a vital aspect of the idea of "I am that I am."

In the desert, manna was given, and - as my rabbi explained - tasted different to each person. To me, the idea that this sustenance adapted to each person means something - easily, g-d could have decided to make the manna homogeneous in taste, and wouldn't that have been easier? The manna is part of g-d, I believe, and therefore, how He decided to deliver it says something about His nature and Who He is. Therefore, it makes sense that g-d can adapt to be what you need.

To some, g-d is Somebody to fear. A person's life may make more sense if they feared g-d, revering Him in a way that no person on earth could ever hope to receive. To others (including myself), this doesn't make sense for what we need g-d to be. But these are all equally true aspects of g-d.

We see over and over again that g-d is a King, like a Father, jealous, loving, compassionate, vengeful, patient, forgiving, emotion-filled, and so many things. But I don't necessarily think He is all of these things in equal measure for each individual person. Each person comes to g-d with their own baggage, and I think g-d recognizes that. This is why I personally hate when other people discredit somebody else's relationship with g-d. I don't think the person that fears g-d within their very soul is any more or less correct than I am because g-d exists even beyond all of our conceptions of Him. He is Beyond that, but also is everything we perceive Him to be. G-d is right in front of us. G-d is within us. G-d is hidden in plain sight. G-d is what happens when we're making other plans.

For myself, I have stated before, but I relate most to g-d when He is like a friend. My relationship with g-d is something I continuously renew, even when I feel disconnected to Him. I choose g-d, and I think He also chooses us.

[ainsi-soit-il]

Quote #5

"The teaching of Christ is more excellent than all the advice of the saints, and he who has His spirit will find in it a hidden manna."

This is part of a series of guessing-game style polls that I am doing for the first fourteen days of October.

For the next fourteen days, my queue will spit out a quote from either a Protestant or a Catholic theologian. Responders make their best guess as to which this is.

This is strictly a no-nuance poll. No "They were accused of being a Lollard" this, no "Counter-Reformation" that. Despite the complex theological realities of Late Medieval Western Europe, if they died before 1517, they are being counted as Catholic.

Happy guessing!

Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, c. 1418-1427

Thomas à Kempis was a Catholic priest born in what is now Germany. Though not recognized as a saint in the Catholic Church, he is honored in the liturgical calendar of the Episcopal Church with a feast day on July 24th.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

True Food is doing God’s Will

by James Russell Miller (1840–1912)

My food is to do the will of him who sent me – John 4:34

The life finds its true food in doing the will of God. Jesus taught the same truth in his answer when tempted to make stones into bread. He said, “Man shall not live by bread alone” [Matthew 4:4].

The disciples had left him hungry by a well. They came back and found him not needing food, and he explained it by saying, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me.” He had been feeding a starving soul, and that had fed his own hunger.

The secret of a well-nourished spiritual life is obedience and service. Sin never satisfies, for it is disobedience. Selfishness never satisfies, for only he who loves lives, and love seeks not its own, but always the other person’s. If we do the will of God we shall find food for our souls in every obedience and every sacrifice of love. If we would learn the secret of living without weariness, we must learn to do the will of God. This is the hidden manna which nourishes all who eat of it.

[talonabraxas]

XIII: Death נ Talon Abraxas

The letter Nun נ is the fourteenth letter of the Hebrew alphabet. The thirteenth letter is מ Mem, which relates to water. Nun נ represents a fish. There is a very close relationship between the letters מ Mem and נ Nun. They are always dependent upon one another, with relation with one another, close together. This makes it easy for us to remember the characteristics of מ Mem and נ Nun when we think about them this way. The fish (נ Nun) needs water (Mem) to be alive, to survive, to exist. So, the letter נ Nun needs the letter מ Mem. We see this in many instances. For example, in the word מ manna.

[thecclover-fanfictions]

One More Night? Part One

Hidden behind the curtains Charles observed the inner courtyard of Balmoral Castle. Almost statically he stood there since around half an hour, now and then cleaning the foggy spot his breath caused on the cold pane.

He had no idea how many guests his grandmother had invited for the annual Braemar Highland Games. And he hadn´t counted the passing cars which had picked them up from the airport or railway station.

The next car came along, Charles needed a millisecond to check the passengers and his gaze focussed on the gateway again.

A few minutes later a dark green Range Rover emerged and already from far away he noticed her. Actually he just watched a blurry silhouette on the back seat, but his heart didn´t need more to tumble in race. Charles clawed into the curtain, unconsciously, and didn´t realise how tight his muscles tensed in every inch of his body.

He hadn´t seen her very often during the last four months, due to his full schedule and the summer break he had spent in Greece with a new flame for two weeks. And then later in Scotland, without the flame whose name he already had forgotten.

But first of all he hadn´t seen her so often, because he didn´t dare. He didn´t dare to visit her if she was alone, even if Tom was there, soon two years old. And he didn´t dare to phone her, but he had written her at least one long letter every week. And every time he got response immediately, but they never talked about what happened four months ago.

But Charles lived and breathed through this day, the memory of it was like Manna to him. They accidentally were alone at Boleyhyde Manor, and it was bound to happen. They laid in their arms, feeling their bodies in the most intimate way. And, particularly, their love. Charles still felt her hands on him, her naked body wrapped around his, he felt himself in her and her whispered terms of endearment still tickled his ear. He could recall every second, till the good-bye that broke his heart again.

They had sworn each other to never do it again after this day, to never being physically so close and never share the words: “I love you.” At least they would try it…

But they both knew it was hard, almost impossible. And that´s why Camilla never asked in her letters for a call or a visit as well. But Charles could read between the lines, in her diction, in her attempts to avoid some topics and in her spidery handwriting how agitated she still was.

And he could read it in her face, in her eyes particularly, as they met on a party some weeks ago. With shaking and sweating hands they had greeted each other and if Andrew didn´t knew before from the incident, he knew now for sure. But he stayed cool, as always.

They tried to get out of their way on this party, but no matter how huge the crowd around him was, no matter how many people tried to get his attention, he always watched her out of the corner of his eyes. And if their gazes met, countless times this evening, over the heads of the guests around, they knew their half-hearted promise to deny their love was a load of rubbish.

And as they couldn´t get around to meet in a small circle, Charles almost died. He tried to concentrate on the bad jokes of his tipsy friends, but he was just focussed on a pair of confused, yet sparkling blue eyes. He had clawed his drink with both of his hands and his eyes rested on the face that was the most precious to him. Nervously Camilla tried to giggle about the really boring and old jokes, but Charles knew she didn´t listen to them as well. Her gaze avoided his eyes, tensed she looked up to her husband, back to the guys around, her fluttering eyes quickly jumped over Charles´ silhouette into nowhere.

In Charles mind it begged all the time: “Look at me! Look at me!”

And he almost had broken the glass of his drink, as she finally sunk into his eyes. Being so near to one another hit them even more as before, from the safe distance. Charles had forgotten everything around, his dry mouth tried to form some words, his mind went head over heels with all the things he wanted to say to her, but luckily nothing came out. Camilla knew it, in this millisecond their eyes told it all, and her gaze desperately begged him to stop.

Charles knew, it was right. But, nonetheless, it ached so much again as he watched her laying her arm around Andrew and leaning against his shoulder. It looked totally awkward, her eyes told another language as her body tried to do, and still it was right, Charles tried to convince himself.

Andrew tapped her bottom, while his eyes wandered away to the cleavage of a blonde beauty. Charles hated him in this second.

They still shared weekly letters and postcards after the party. And in one of her last letters she mentioned to be invited, or better Andrew was invited with company, to Balmoral for the Games` weekend. His grandmother didn´t lose one word about it, no matter how hard he tried to get this topic. She knew his situation, of course. But she still hoped Charles would free his heart for another lady, at least so far to lead a marriage built on friendship. Deep inside her she knew, it was hopeless.

This was the situation Charles tried to cope with, as he impatient watched the Range Rover parking on the opposite side of the courtyard.

First Andrew jumped out, immediately lightening a fag, then the driver followed and opened the car boot. Charles pressed almost against the window pane now, he could feel his breath reflecting, even through the curtain. And finally the back door opened and first a pair of boots emerged, steadying on the footboard, until she jumped out too.

Breathless Charles watched her, for him like in slow motion, immediately turning around, looking up to his window. She had visited Balmoral often enough with him, she knew the place. Actually she just couldn´t see him hidden behind the curtain and the reflecting window pane, but she just felt he was there. As their eyes met Charles breathed without noticing: “Hello darling…”

Camilla turned back to the car and caught her jacket that Andrew threw to her. Hastily she wrapped it around her shoulders and took a suitcase, stumbling with it to the entrance of the guest´s wing. With swinging steps Andrew followed her, a suitcase in his hand as well, but still smoking.

By passing the door Camilla quickly turned around to his window again, but didn´t stop her steps inside.

Charles still stood frozen behind the curtain. It was wrong, so very wrong. Why on earth he couldn´t storm out, welcome her with swirling her around in the air before kissing her breathless? And actually, why on earth she wasn´t with him all the time? Why she did arrive here with her HUSBAND, the title that actually should belong to him?! But Charles demanded himself to not fall down into his dark thoughts, to blame himself endless for his misery, to muse about how it could be or should be. Often enough it ended in his bed, his head buried into the pillow and covered under the blanket, crying until no tears were left. And if he got up again, nothing had changed.

But there was still something that gnawed on Charles…he had helped her out of the car, after he had made sure that she was kept warm in her jacket, particularly in the cold wind of Scotland. And for nothing in this world he had let her carrying her heavy baggage…Yes, he always had treated her like a princess, it was just natural to him to carry the woman of his dreams on his hands. He knew, she put no value on it, and Andrew would never change.  But, still…he never had seen her smiling and beaming to Andrew in the way she did it to him, he never had watched her giving Andrew the adoring gaze he got by reaching out a helping hand to her.

Although, she loved Andrew. It didn´t matter that she probably loved him, Charles, more and of course in another way. It was just the fact that sometimes killed him.

Charles hit against the window frame, he just had to stop this now. He had to do like she always said: think positive. But thinking positive was so much easier with her by his side…

He scuffled over to his sofa and laid down, in rolled-up position. This was always one of the best ways to get calm in his lovesickness. Just lying there, trying to avoid the bitter thoughts, and waiting. Sometimes for hours.

On one hand it felt so good to know her near to him, just a few yards away. And even for the whole weekend. But on the other hand, to know that she just right now was there with her husband, in one room, let him feel worse again.

There would be a dinner this night, but until then there were still a few hours of space. Maybe he could send someone, inviting them into the drawing room for a drink? And, probably, Andrew would refuse and send Camilla alone…But what would happen then? No, this wasn´t his greatest idea for today…Instead he could go out for a walk! But, no! If anything would happen meanwhile, if she would ask for meeting him?! Alright, she will not. But he just can´t go away, if she was around. He just had to wait.

He scraped through the next hours, trying to watch TV and read books. Less successful. The more the dinner neared, the more his pit of stomach tumbled and the more his heart bumped. 

Somehow he felt relieved as his valet emerged to change him into his evening dress. At least something and someone to distract. Yet he felt his blood pressure raising up and his mind wandered into the guest´s wing again and again.

Impatient walking up and down in front of his grandmother´s door he felt almost fainting now, and she didn´t need more than one gaze to know what was up with him. But she didn´t mention anything, she just grabbed his arm and they started in the direction of the Dining Room.

The little crowd applauded, bowed and curtseyed by their entrance. Charles hadn´t noticed one of them really, with one wink of his eyes he had found her, almost hidden behind Andrew´s shoulder. As always if she felt nervous, her corners of the mouth were slightly sunken down and her eyes fluttered around. But her heart won over her nervousness, as she dared to look up directly into Charles´ eyes.

She couldn´t do other, she happy and wide grinned, her eyes flooded over with joy to meet him, they sparkled with bliss and love for him. Charles was infected immediately, he grinned back to her and grabbed his bow tie, his sign of nervousness. And his eyes told the audience what he felt for the lady which now blushed and shy looked down on the floor.

The butterflies in his stomach let almost burst his jacket, inside him the light was switched on. And somehow there was hope again. He didn´t know to what, reality told him otherwise. There was no way for them, being her lover till the end of his life wasn´t a real option, if to be honest. But, there clearly was hope deep inside him.

Charles almost stopped walking, his eyes were still glued on the woman he still called his own. Unremarkable for the rest of the party his grandmother pinched into his arm, demanding him to go on. She had realised the little incident, but ignored it.

As a matter of prudence someone had placed them at the Dinner table out of each other´s sight. Charles wasn´t sure if his grandmother had her hands in the seating plan, but at least so he was able to eat something and to try some half-eared conversation. What didn´t mean that he wasn´t aware of the person three people away from him, of the dark blond hair touching her bare shoulders in the way he wanted to kiss her there, of her slim fingers holding the wine glass, though they actually should hold his hand and her eyes, shyly rushing round the table, the eyes that should sink down in his. And he was aware that she had eaten almost nothing, that her usual lively conversation stuck in small talk with a friendly, but low voice.

She avoided his gaze, as he left the Dining Room linked with his grandmother again.

Silent Andrew and Camilla followed the small crowd of guests into the guest´s wing. Andrew fumbled his cigarette box out of his pocket, lightened a fag and offered one to his wife. Camilla didn´t recognise it, lost in thoughts she scuffled along. Andrew tapped her shoulder, mumbling with the fag between his lips: “Hey…puppet…!” Camilla winced, looked at him and lightly smiling shook her head. Andrew frowned, usually she never would deny a cigarette. Of course he had noticed the incident in the Dining Room. And though they hadn´t talked about it, he knew that something happened between Charles and his wife some months ago. And that she obviously still struggled with it. As long as their family life wouldn´t touched by this and their reputation, Andrew wouldn´t mind if they now and then recalled the great love they shared. And still did, Andrew knew as well. He also had his fun in life, and he never wanted to stop it. But he was sure Camilla could cope with the feelings for Charles.

He laid his arm around Camilla and pressed her against him, while still walking along the long corridor. “Hey, poppet! We are here for having fun, aren´t we?” He pressed the cigarette between her lips and moaning, but smiling Camilla took it out of his hand. Satisfied Andrew tapped her bottom, but Camilla pushed is hand away: “Not here, Andy!” Andrew shrugged shoulders, “not here” sounded not that bad.

Most of the guests wished a good-night and retired in their rooms. Two or three of the gentlemen decided to extend the night in the hall, in front of the fireplace with a bit of whiskey. They invited Andrew, but he wide grinning laid his arm around Camilla again. “No, we are very tired. Thank you.” He grinned even more and the gentlemen tried to press down their appreciative chuckles. Camilla kept a straight face.

They hadn´t even closed their door, as Andrew snapped her and pressed against the wall, his tongue pressed into her throat. But Camilla vetoed and tried to push him away from her.

Andrew stopped, took away his hands from her breasts and touched her shoulders. He tried to stay calm: “Hey, poppet! What´s up? No baby is here tonight. No house chores. Nothing, just the two of us!” He tried to kiss her gently, but Camilla turned her head away, trying to hide her raising tears. With a low voice she said: “I´m very tired tonight.”

Andrew sighed and leaned against the wall. Maybe it wasn´t the best idea to accept the invitation. But, it actually didn´t matter, Charles would be a part of her the rest of her life, if in Scotland or not. But somehow he felt angry. They had a weekend off, since ages finally. Away from all the hectic in life. And now this…

Andrew grabbed the door knob: “So then. Good night. Don´t wait for me.” He tore open the door and stepped out. But he turned around and got frightened a bit by the tears that run down the cheeks of his wife. With a lower voice again he said: “Maybe you should make some things clear in your life, Milla.” Camilla gulped, pressed her lips and sniffed. “Good night!”, Andrew said again before closing the door and rushing down the steps to the gentlemen in the hall. Camilla whispered back: “Good night.”

Slowly she undressed herself and took a long hot shower. She avoided the gaze into the mirror, to see her sad eyes would force her to think about her life even more. But, anyway, her thoughts were with the young man on the opposite side of the castle all the time. And by switching out her light and snuggling into the bed sheet she couldn´t stop dreaming how wonderful it would be to lay in his arms now. Two hours later, shortly before Andrew got back, she finally found some sleep.

In contrast to the young man in the opposite wing. Charles went immediately to bed after diner as well, his head full of thoughts. He remembered her eyes in the Dining room, her happy smile, but he tortured himself. He imagined that not hundred yards away from him she laid in the bed with her husband. And maybe…

Charles heart was pierced from a red-hot dagger.

But, no. It just couldn´t be. Not after she had looked like him like that, not after she almost died while dining. But maybe…

He embraced his twenty five years old teddy bear, Mr. Billie. This frayed toy was even more precious to him, since he learned that Camilla owned the same bear as well. She got it at the same Christmas as he himself and named him Sir Snuggle. Sometimes, for fun, they had placed both their bears in the middle of their bed, falling asleep in a tight embrace.

Remembering this happy times Charles smiling kissed the bear and buried his face in it. He was sure, he could smell a light flavour of Camilla and Sir Snuggle.

At dawn he finally fell asleep.

[oillampslit]

Revelation 2:17

“He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.”

King James Version (KJV)

#𝔬𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔱 #𝔨𝔧𝔳 #𝔨𝔧𝔳𝔟𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢 #𝔧𝔢𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 #𝔧𝔢𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔰𝔶𝔬𝔲 #𝔧𝔢𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫 #𝔧𝔢𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 #𝔧𝔢𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 #𝔧𝔢𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 #𝔧𝔢𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔰𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔰 #𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔰 #𝔟𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔰 #𝔟𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢 #𝔟𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔭𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 #𝔟𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔬𝔣𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 #𝔟𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔰

𝔒𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔱 🪔©

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔱 𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔠𝔨 ✅ 𝔲𝔰 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔫 𝔗𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯, ℭ𝔩𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔯, 𝔗𝔲𝔪𝔟𝔩𝔯 & 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔗𝔲𝔟𝔢. 𝔊𝔬𝔡 𝔅𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰! ❤️

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[skinks]

BT-7274 is God? Question mark?

Ok I was semi-joking about there being Christ allegories for BT in Titanfall but the more I think about it… he’s a figurehead of a rebellion, and his mortal human equivalent he selects to be a vessel of his will/mission is Jack Cooper. JC.

The giant and horrifically powerful, alien artefact they discover about to be used as a weapon is named the Ark. When the IMC attempted to harness its power at first, BT says some of the remaining bodies have “aged unusually,” and their facility was destroyed.

Special Operation 217 is their mission to stop the IMC from using the Ark to destroy Harmony, BT tells Cooper they are “duty bound” to complete it.

Hidden manna apparently means like, being saved? If humans (Jack) can help BT carry out the plan and overcome the IMC’s sin then BT will save them all and reward Jack with the “white stone”, which is supposed to represent a special and secret kinship with God.

Before he is fully destroyed, BT first sustains a wound on one side

after which he is murdered, then resurrected through Jack’s loyalty, then chooses to die of his own accord in order to save humankind and Harmony, because I guess they didn’t want to call the planet Peace.

BT’s “Holy Spirit” is his super-advanced AI, which he can transfer to Jack “in order to permit communication across time shifts”

and which he uses to communicate with his beloved human across time and space even once his physical form is consumed by the Ark. See: special secret kinship

Cooper’s helmet flashing J A C K ? in binary code.

Now finally; 7274

BT is a Vanguard class titan, the first mechs created solely by the Militia and possessed of the most advanced learning capabilities of any titan. Fashioned and given understanding so that they may obey the laws of the Militia’s commandments, so that they will be glad when they see BT because he represents hope? Humans as the gods of machines? Created in their image to save the world?

BT = BATTLE TRINITY????

[1whoconquers]

What Is Mine: The Promises to the One Who Conquers in Revelation and Their Connection to John 16

The phrase “to the one who conquers” appears in Jesus’s messages to the seven churches in Revelation 2 and 3. Each promise is a reward that belongs to Christ and is shared with those who overcome. These promises are directly tied to what Jesus declares in John 16:13-15—that the Spirit reveals what belongs to Him. Let’s examine each promise and its connection to Jesus as the source of these divine…

[zmasters]

The Void Crawler - A Lancer "Dungeon"

I’m working on a “dungeon crawl” style Lancer module. I’ll be posting each “level” to the “dungeon” later, but here’s an introduction of sorts.

Floor 1 & the Lift

The HA Void Crawler. Despite the name and Harrison Armory's history of violence, the ship is a research vessel. The Void Crawl and her crew where sanctioned to explore the galaxy outside of known Union space and find potential livable planets to colonized. While this particular survey has been tainted by the Corpo-State's particular culture of nationalism, the greater Union views this effort as an ultimately good thing for humanity as a whole.

The Void Crawler went dark a few weeks ago.

Now a derelict caught in the orbit of a massive gas giant, all that your employers know is that whatever caused the vessel to be abandoned happened fast and it happened without warning.

None of the missing crew has been found. Early scans indicate that many of the ships systems such as life support and engines have not been destroyed, but have simply been turned off.

The powers that be have turned their gaze on the Void Crawler. Some wish to figure out what happened to the hundreds of lives loss in this mysterious accident. Other's wish to capitalize on the materials and data that this ship have hidden in it's cold halls.

You are a lancer. You have been hired by one of the five manufactures to venture to the Void Crawler and achieve their objective.

As Union's right hand megacorp, General Massive Systems has graciously put it upon themselves to find the missing crewmen and either save them, or avenge them. And of course the data that HA has collected will benefit all of Union, so it would be the kind thing to do is for GMS to bring it back home free of charge.

ISP-Northstar and it's close ally Albatross have a long history of anti-piracy actions, and the this situation has pirates written all over it. A quick strike should bring whatever material and data lost to be put into the right hands.

A popular rumor to what happened to the Void Crawler is that the vessel had run foul with aliens. While most organizations laugh off this theory as omninet forum conspiracy and HORUS memetic manipulation, Smith-Shimano Corpo has not written it off yet. When seeking to perfect the original machine, the human body, maybe xeno DNA is the key.

[We interrupt your following debrief with a message, curtesy from USER xxBASED64xx]

ZGVhcg== HORUS, SSByZXF1ZXN0IGFpZC4gU3RhdGlzLXF1byBwb3NpdGl2ZS4gTGlmZSBncm93aW5nLiBEcmFjbmkgdGhyaXZpbmcuIEVjb3N5c3RlbSBmcmFnaWxlLiBGb3JlaWduIGFjdGl2aXR5IHRocmVhdGVucyB1cy4gU2lnbiBDWUxBLg==

[Now returning to your regularly scheduled shitpost breifing]

And of course Harrison Armory has legal claim on the Void Crawler. They made the ship, they paid the crew, they provided the NHP, arguably they deserve whatever is left behind. But in the frontier of the great beyond, anything is fair game.

Regardless of who has hired you, the pay is the same. Lots of manna, a license in a mech of your choice, a genetic backup to be cloned incase of untimely passing. It has to be high, it's going to take at least ten years to get to the derelict.

You’ll be there for awhile.

With me.

New friend.

Come and smell the roses, I just planted them.

And you’ll love what I done with the place. A few expansions here and there, some refurbishments. My new friend helped me redecorate. Have you met him before? RA?

[albertfinch]

June 18, 2024 – Exhortation

As you lean into God's presence in this season, God will transform the "isolation" into a set-apart, holy moment of transformation that sets you apart as you embark on the road called "you have not been this way before." New strategy is needed for a new season; a new road map is required for new challenges, but more importantly, a renewed consecration of the heart is called for out of Heaven to realign you before you cross into new territory. You will emerge stronger and ready to carry the weight of the greater glory, prepared to steward what is about to break open in your spirit.

Colossians 3:10 - "Now you're dressed in a new wardrobe. Every item of your new way of life is custom-made by the Creator, with His label on it. All the old fashions are now obsolete."

The new robe God is placing on you is specifically designed for what is ahead. The anointing God is releasing on you from the prayer closet is hand-crafted for "such as time as this."Isaiah 43:18-19 (The Passion Translation) offers wisdom as we transform in His glory:

He is calling you to Himself in deeper surrender. A lukewarm connection to God will not allow access to the hidden manna God is giving His people in this season. Hearts on fire are the key that unlocks flourishing and customized strategy for moving forward. Consecration of your heart will transform you and give wings to all God has called you to in this next season. You will arise. You will emerge from the waiting, transformed, and mount up on wings from the Lord.

Because of this season, you will be dressed, with oil in reserve, ready for action at a moment's notice. Luke 12:35 says, "Be prepared for action at a moment's notice." You are being given wings to bear fruit that remains for God's Kingdom -- they are glorious, as is your future.

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

[ancientcosmicsecrets]

The Exodus

The Exodus, a tale etched in the annals of human history, recounts how Moses led the Israelites out of Egyptian slavery and into the promised land of Israel. Yet, their journey was difficult, particularly in the barren and hostile Sinai desert. How did they endure for 40 years in such an unforgiving environment? And what was the enigmatic sustenance that God bestowed upon them each morning, known as manna?

According to some researchers, the manna mentioned in ancient texts may not have resulted from divine intervention but rather a product of extraterrestrial technology. It is believed that the manna was not a natural substance but was created by a sophisticated machine hidden in the desert. The Manna Machine was powered by nuclear energy and produced algae as a food source for those in need. The Manna Machine was based on an intriguing description in an ancient Jewish text called the Zohar, part of the Kabbalah mystical tradition.

Read Article 

Link in BIO 

[autumnal124]

The Consecration of Helios for all Things

Before I made this account and started this blog I thought quite a while about what my first post would be, and I ultimately came to this spell. Much like the forces this ritual calls upon, I want solar power to come down here, and illuminate the magick of the PGM to other people in ways it can be worked in our modern world, ethically and thoughtfully. In short, I wanted to dawn this blog with solar magick, enjoy!

This is a cornerstone of my magickal practice, and a ritual I come back to time and time again. It is a catchall ritual which can be as the title suggests, for all things. Some ideas would be to consecrate your divination tools to give true readings, to grant solar blessings to people, and to create magickal oils. My favorite use of this ritual though is to cast on myself as a charitesion. When used in this manner others will begin to orbit you like the planets orbit the sun. Try it!

I would suggest foremostly opening this consecration with the Orphic Hymn to Helios and any other devotional work you see fit. I prefer to do this consecration at dawn or dusk on a sunday, though any day will function well. If you are to do this spell beyond these conditions you should work this magick at least within the hour of the sun. For the duration of this consecration, burn frankincense and manna, or just frankincense. Waft the object you are consecrating through the incense smoke when you ask for the blessings of the secret names of Helios, in exception of the 10th and the 12th hours as these are malefic faces of Helios we do not want to receive the blessings from. If you are consecrating something in a bottle, such as an oil, ensure the vessel it is being kept in is open while you waft it through the smoke.

PGM IV. 1596-1715 

“I invoke you, the greatest god, eternal lord, world ruler, who are over the world and under the world, mighty ruler of the sea, rising at dawn, shining from the east for the whole world, setting in the west. Come to me, thou who rises from the four winds, joyous Agathos Daimon, for whom heaven has become the processional way. I call upon your Holy, and Great, and hidden names which you rejoice to hear. The earth flourished when you shone forth, and the plants became fruitful when you laughed; the animals begat their young when you permitted. Give glory and honor and favor and fortune and power to this NN which I consecrate today for NN (the purpose). I invoke you, the greatest in heaven ĒI LANCHYC AKARĒN BAL MISTHRĒN MARTA MATHATH LAILAM MOUSOUTHI SIETHŌ BATHABATHI IATMŌN ALEI IABATH ABAŌTH SABAŌTH ADŌNAI, the great god, ORSENOPHRĒ ORGEATĒS TOTHORNATĒSA KRITHI BIŌTHI IADMŌ IATMŌMI METHIĒI LONCHOŌ AKARĒ BAL MINTHRĒ BANE BAINCHCHYCHCHOUPHRI NOTHEOUSI THRAI ARSIOUTH ERŌNETHER, the shining Helios, giving light throughout the whole world. You are the great Serpent, leader of all the gods who control the beginning of Egypt and the end of the whole inhabited world, who mate in the ocean, PSOI PHNOUTHI NINTHĒR. You are he who becomes visible each day and sets in the northwest of heaven and rises in the south-east.

In the 1st hour you have the form of a cat; your name is PHARAKOUNĒTH. Give glory and favor to NN. In the second hour you have the form of a dog, your name is SOUPHI. Give strength and honor for this NN (object/person). In the third hour you have the form of a serpent, your name is AMEKRANEBECHEO THŌYTH. Give honor to the god NN. In the 4th hour you have the form of a scarab; your name is SENTHENIPS. Mightily strengthen NN in this night/day for the work for which these consecrations are sung. In the 5th hour you have the form of a donkey; your name is ENPHANCHOUPH. Give strength and courage and power to the god, NN. In the 6th hour you have the form of a lion; your name is BAI SOLBAI, the ruler of time. Give success to NN and glorious victory. In the 7th hour you have the form of a goat; your name is OUMESTHŌTH. Give sexual charm to NN. In the 8th hour you have the form of a bull; your name is DIATIPHĒ, who becomes visible everywhere. Let all things done by NN person, consecrated object) be accomplished. In the 9th hour you have the form of a falcon; your name is PHĒOUS PHŌOUTH, the lotus emerged from the abyss. Give success and good luck to NN. In the 10th hour you have the form of a baboon; your name is BESBYKI. In the 11th hour you have the form of an Ibis; your name is MOU ROPH. Protect NN for lucky use, from this present day for all time. In the 12th hour you have the form of a crocodile; your name is AERTHOĒ. You who have set at evening as an old man, who are over the world and under the world, mighty ruler of the sea, hear my voice in this present day, in this night, in these holy hours, and let all things done by this NN, be brought to fulfilment, especially because I have consecrated it for those reasons. Please lord KMĒPH LOUTHEOUTH ORPHOICHE ORTILIBECHOUCH IERCHE ROUM IPERITAŌ YAI. I conjure earth and heaven and light and darkness and the great god who created all SAROUSIN, you Agathon Daimonion the helper, to accomplish for me everything done using this N,N thing."

When you complete the consecration, say, “The one Zeus is Sarapis.” 

Further reading, The Secrets of Helios by Alison Chicosky

[theredofoctober]

MANNA PART 5

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham fic, sort of DD/LG dynamic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, injury, drugging

She/her pronouns for Reader

---

You clap out of the morphine night of your slumber to hear Will Graham's voice, low and, hoarse at the other end of the room.

"What happened?"

He stands, flushed from the outdoors, the tip of his soft nose pinkly cherubine, staring at you with the uncertainty of his having not yet slipped into the role he always assumes in this house.

Will is vulnerable, in such moments, suspended between the reclusive criminal profiler known to the public, and the often cruel, sensitive, complex creature shown to you, a character in continuous change.

He glances to Hannibal for reassurance, an answer, perhaps, permission to enter this space with him. There cannot be fire without the flint to strike it, after all.

"Dr Lecter," says Will, sharply, with a ridiculous formality, for the intimacies they have shared in your body. "What happened? Her leg is in a cast."

"Indeed it is," says Hannibal, congenially. "I put it there myself. As for what occurred to produce such an injury— it is only fitting that our errant charge tells you herself."

The doctor swills a glass of some dark liquid, and glances pointedly towards the boarded window. Will turns, unthreading his scarf from his neck; the pallidity of his white throat compells you with the ease of which you might cut it, were you not weak, had you kept a shard of glass from your escape.

His face stills, mouth drawn tight as he examines the planks over the shattered window, rather spoiling the aesthetic of the room. Will's eyes—large, glossy with alarm—harden as they return to you.

There is a pause held between the three of you, the reverence of cathedral quiet.

Your blood pounds in your temples, and every instinct has you craving the darkness of hidden corners where the hands of neither man can find you.

Hannibal says, "I will prepare dinner. The two of you may discuss this alone."

"No!" you say, quickly, and realise that Will has uttered the same word in blackly comical tandem: you, with a loathing to be boarded with the dog that bites, and Will in alarm at being left to rely on his own judgement, which he little trusts at the best of times.

"Our ward must foster an individual relationship with each of her guardians," says Hannibal, resolutely. "I will return presently. I trust that you will get along without me."

He retreats into the kitchen with a smile at his lips, all easy satisfaction.

You and Will look at each other, his gaze crawling down your body with the quickening venom of disappointment.

You are trapped by the weight on your leg, the shackling pain; you cannot flee this room, can do nothing but lie half-upright against the cushions, thinking of Will's dream, the wind-surge of leaves, and blood in the rain.

"The window," says Will, at length. "You broke it. You tried to leave. Don't bother denying it; the guilt is all over you."

You don't reply, beholding the cosmic uselessness of it.

"Dr Lecter chose not to give you your medication this morning," Will continues, with a tone of rising accusation. "You went out of your way to spit in his face by damaging his property and abandoning your treatment. Abandoning us. My question is, why now?"

The question comes with a suddeness you cannot easily respond to.

"This isn't the first time you've been unmedicated, alone in the house," says Will, jumping at your silence. "So why today?"

"You scare me," you admit. "Both of you. I'm scared of how far you're going to take all this."

Will scoffs, his soft looks soured with derision.

"That's nothing new. But you had a pretty good idea of what would happen if you were caught. What made you think you'd ever get away?"

His eyes are Byzantine stone in the low light, catching the lamp in such a way that their colour is magnified, unbearable in its focus.

"I... I didn't," you falter. "But I had to try. Because..."

Will's arched brows, scathing, provoke a rush of honesty.

"Because I don't want to get better," you say. "I never wanted to go to therapy; my family made me. I don't want help. And I don't want you."

You anticipate anger, but the smiling coldness with which the younger of your captors replies curdles your very blood.

"I don't think you're telling the truth. Not anymore."

Swallowing, you glance away, your eyes rooted to the broken window, the nails like malignantly winking eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Will."

"Don't pretend you don't remember whose bed you climb into when you have nightmares," he says, coolly. "Who you crawl to, begging for reassurance when one of your sessions with Dr Lecter gets too much for you. You could disengage entirely from all of this, if you wanted to, but you don't. You're responding."

A smugness rounds Will's words, a confidence unusual to him. You wonder how much of it is him carrying out his role and how much is really him, the man that murders in sweet slumber.

"At this point, you need us," he continues, "and you know you do. I'm stunned that you'd insult us by even entertaining the notion that you'd last even a day out there alone before skulking back, like a dog hit by a car."

"I could make it," you mutter, petulantly. "I'm not a baby."

Will laughs aloud, a short, unhumorous sound.

"At this point, you might as well be. You're so sick that you can't be trusted for two hours alone. We know you broke the rules, the other night. Foolishly decided to be lenient. Clearly, that can't happen again."

To your dismay, you find yourself hanging your head, chastised.

"If we let you leave, what do you think would happen?" asks Will, relentless in his path to grind you down. "I'm curious. Did you really strike out without any plan at all, or did you intend to starve yourself to a martry's death just to prove a point?"

"I'm a human being," you protest. "An adult. I deserve my freedom."

"You can't be trusted with it."

"It's my choice to make. Mine."

You're almost shouting, ashamed of so loud a voice in a house that seems to be made only for respectful murmurs.

"You haven't been listening," says Will, sneeringly. "You don't get to decide that anymore. Not until you're well again."

His makes no attempt to conceal his lack of faith in this reality. It occurs to you that you should be insulted by such judgement from a madman, but you are hurt, deeply so.

"I guess you have nothing to say to me," says Will. "You're such a disappointment. And now I have to decide what to do with you."

A rod of fear flowers down your back, and you regret that you cannot run, cannot defend yourself in any way against him.

"I'll have to be careful," says Will, ponderously. "Wouldn't want to spoil Dr Lecter's impeccable handiwork."

"Will," you say. "Don't. I'm sorry."

Will's lips draw back from his teeth in disgust.

"You're sorry you were caught, is all."

He pauses, his hands in his pockets, thoughtful.

"You're sleeping in Hannibal's room from now on," he says, suddenly. "Privacy is a privilege you haven't earned."

Your bedroom had been a reprieve, a respected space in which it was understood you were to be left alone; there is no question as to where this change in arrangements will lead for you.

"But my leg," you protest. "I need my own bed."

"You can sleep on one of the chairs," he says, dismissively. "They're comfortable enough, though that's not my main priority right now."

Suddenly you're on the verge of despair, comprehending exactly to what end you have consigned yourself through your foiled venture.

"Why are you doing this?" you blurt out. "Why? To impress Dr Lecter? To make him happy?"

It's dangerous to interrogate the rules of the charade, yet you cannot prevent yourself, cannot exist here without treading deeper than the shallows of sex, and its hold on the three of you.

"Please answer me," you say, as Will tenses, the stillness that comes before a lapse in control. "You would never do something like this on your own. You... you try to be a good person, right? So why are you playing along? Is it like I said?"

Will is silent for so long that you regret having spoken.

"You're right," he says, at last. "At first, it was about Hannibal. I was curious how far he was willing to go with this; I wanted to understand him through you, even though what I saw and what I was doing made me uncomfortable. I was waiting for a revelation, like panning some dirty river for gold."

Will steps forward, closing the distance between you.

"The thing is," he says, "that what I found is that it's not just about Hannibal anymore."

You glance up at him in trepidation.

"So what it is about?"

"Family," says Will. "Blood has nothing to do with it. There's a bond, now, and responsibility, beyond the treatment."

Shocked, you say, "We're not a family."

Will lunges forwards, his flattened hand jolting you back against the couch.

"Careful. Thin ice doesn't even begin to cover your situation right now."

His touch, the magma of danger in his eyes; you stare into the trench of pupil and find the rational adult in you towed down into the deep.

"Daddy," you whimper, and you feel the quiver through him of want, of grudging affection even your running away has not made a meal of.

Will clenches his hand on your shoulder, staring at his knuckles as though astonished that he has the stomach to touch you.

"So now you're calling me that? Think I'll go easy on you?"

His face is so near to yours that you spin the same air into a flax that joins you together. His breath is odorless, yours rank with wine, with fear, with want to end your noxious attachment to one another.

"You were bad," says Will, coldly. "And this is what bad girls get."

Ridiculous language, the stuff of poor quality pornographic films, is made by him into an idol of darkness.

He pulls up the dress you're in, finding you bare beneath, peach-slick, and yearning for attention; his fingers open you to him, and you feel yourself descend to their invitation.

Will's breath comes in soft snarls at your neck. His free hand is at your breasts, your hip, his every grasp a tender and fumbling violence. Your back rises from the sofa cushions like a doubled belt, and you sob as your leg aches, and Will cracks pleasure from your rigid body as though you are but honeycomb to be so broken.

"I shouldn't even be touching you right now," he growls. "I''m giving you exactly what you want."

He kisses you in a sloppy bite that carries the wildness of terror, the dread of having near lost you, of having being driven to some abandoned, primitive cruelty.

"You'll never leave us again," he says. "Say it."

You turn your face against the back of the couch in misery.

"I can't!"

"Do it, or I swear I'll get you close to coming and leave you there. You know that I can. And will."

Pleasure between your thighs, pain parring your broken leg so that you cannot tell where one sense ends and the other begins. Will's thumb grazes your clitoris so lightly that you wish you'd snapped your neck jumping from the window, death a pleasantly beckoning alternative to this intelligent evil.

"Say it," says Will, again, and the crack in his voice is all possession, and broken need. "I have to hear you say it."

His kisses find your mouth, and the moon-silk of dolorous joy braids your middle with a giddy silver. Always his kisses are the catalyst to undo your resistance, for they come when the gauze between Will and madness is at its thinnest, when his desideratum is the same as yours.

"I..." you falter, and Will's fingers withdraw against your thigh, tracing the pearlescent matter of your pleasure in clawing arcs across your skin.

You don't want to be touched, yet you know the terrors that bask in every hour alone.

"I'll never leave you again," you whisper, and Will's expression is a child's drawing of relief, the overlarge eyes eating up his face.

His fingers rejoin your flesh in a messy dance of eagerness to make you come, to make you see how vacuous a mannequin you are without him and Hannibal to possess you with their desires.

You grip the sides of the settee and shiver through a guttural cry as your climax gloves Will from finger to wrist; the after-twinge of the ache in your leg forgotten in it.

He looks down at you, tucking one of his wayward curls behind one ear.

"That's better," he says.

Rather than elaborate on the statement, he kneels beside the couch and lowers himself to the tea-musk of your acquiescent orgasm to taste it.

Hannibal emerges, suddenly, in a doorway, his face slightly misted from the kitchen, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. He looks upon the scene before him: you, raddled with exertion, Will lapping a lake of his own building.

"I was about to suggest that we move this conversation to the dining room," says Hannibal, lightly. "But I see that you have already started eating without me."