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makeste · 4 years

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BnHA Chapter 295: So How Are You Holding Up (Because I’m a Potato)

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi randomly and graciously decided to answer all of our long-standing questions about Mr. Compress, including “is he secretly hot,” “is he secretly related to that Robin Hood thief guy,” and “is he ever going to use his quirk to chain chomp a hole right through his ass??” with the answer to all three being “yes, of course.” As for our follow-up questions, “sir, is Mr. Compress going to die,” and “holy shit,” his answers were, respectively, “wait and see,” and, “I understand, really I do, but that isn’t actually a question.” Well, he’s got us there.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi finally ends the War arc with the speed and grace of an overworked college student scrambling to BS their entire midterm essay with five minutes left before the deadline. Deku’s Spidey Sense is all “what up, I exist, p.s. you’re in danger kid” like oh shit, no, you think?? Compress is all “I’m not gonna die but I am going to pass out and be captured” and honestly, at this point I’ll take it. Spinner is all “Tomura you can have this one last Souvenir Hand I found that was in the oven for too long” and slaps it on his face because HE’S JUST TRYING TO BE HELPFUL, SHUT UP. Dabi is all, “[currently in a marble].”Tomura is all “actually, I’m AFO.” AFO is all “hahahahaha” and summons all of the remaining Noumus to cart him and Spinner and Dabi off to safety. Deku is all “DAMMIT TOMURA I’M REALLY MAD AT YOU FOR KILLING, AND I QUOTE, ‘AN UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNT OF PEOPLE’, BUT AT THE SAME TIME, GET THIS, I TOTALLY WANT TO SAVE YOU TOO! LMAO ISN’T THAT WILD.” Fandom is all “OH MY GOD, NO WAY, is what we would say if we had literally never met Deku before, I guess.” And then the arc just ends, lol. See you in the new year, kids.

WAKE UP, LINK... I MEAN, DEKU

jesus christ Vestiges, not a one of you guys has got any chill at ALL. LISTEN TO ME. THIS CHILD IS DEAD. HE IS DECEASED. LOOK AT HIM. HE’S LYING THERE ALL DAZED WITH HIS ARMS AND LEGS TURNED INTO GREEN PUDDING AND YOU’RE ALL “GET UP LAZYBONES” LIKE I SWEAR TO GOD. CAN HE JUST REST?? CAN YOU ALL JUST CALL IT A DRAW WITH THE VILLAINS ALREADY SO WE CAN FINALLY END THIS TRAUMATIC ARC AND MOVE ON TO THE NEW “TRIAGE AND ROBOT LIMBS FOR EVERYBODY” ARC INSTEAD

LIE BACK DOWN YOU IDIOT!!

no you didn’t pass out because of a ~heatwave~, you passed out because he set you on fire while you were out here shooting Blackwhip out of your mouth with your SPINDLY ACCORDION LIMBS dangling uselessly from you like WINDCHIMES you RIDICULOUS BOY

“where’s Todoroki-kun” oh shiiiiiiit. right. god I hope someone caught him. BAKUGOU OWES HIM A FAVOR, HOW ‘BOUT IT

OH NEVER MIND HE APPARENTLY CAUGHT HIMSELF??

Todoroki Shouto has really highkey been the MVP of the entire fourth quarter of this arc. he deserves the world, and odds are all Horikoshi’s going to give him are lasting trauma, and a souvenir shirt that says “I survived this stupid arc and all I got was this t-shirt”

anyway now Deku’s being hit by a Lightning Bolt of Realization or some such? idk what’s going on, but I bet you it’s related to Tomura waking up again

OH SHIT??

LOL WHAT. THAT’S IT?? SPIDEY-SENSE?? I mean we all predicted Spidey-Sense being one of his quirks like ages ago, so Well Done, Us, I guess

but also, seriously?? all of that drama and intrigue about the fourth user’s quirk and this is what we end up with? what was All Might being so cagey about then? how did this dude die? I need answers goddammit. new, better answers lol

maybe it’s something to do with the fact that Deku keeps talking about how his head hurts?

I mean, for Deku of all people to be all “ouch that hurts”, it must really fucking hurt, you know? like oh my god Deku are you dying

lmao and SPEAKING OF PEOPLE WHO APPARENTLY DON’T FEEL PAIN

this man is out here FROLICKING, half-naked and half-torsoed, AND STILL FEVERISHLY RATTLING OFF HIS MONOLGOUE. YOU HAVEN’T EVEN ESCAPED YET YOU DINGUS. did watching Dabi pour bleach over his head inspire you to think of interesting new ways you could abuse your own body for the sake of Theatrics?? why are villains Like This

anyway so now Mirio’s punching him, because what else are you even supposed to do in this situation

I read this speech bubble three times in a row very carefully this time around just to make sure I was reading the words right. and then looked for a T/L note below. and there was none. whatever RHA, at least you all are out here enjoying yourselves

wait what?

I guess he hasn’t woken up yet after all?? so then wtf is Deku’s Spidey Sense getting all worked up about. I mean to be fair there’s danger all around them still so having a Spidey Sense in this kind of situation is kind of like bringing a smoke alarm to a BBQ

now what

wait did he put them back in the marble?? or is that panel just meant to show us how they were in the marble earlier?? Horikoshi please make this less confusing, I’m already having trouble staying focused as it is. and on top of everything else Compress is cascading blood like Niagara Falls right now and I’m starting to wonder if you really are going to kill him off

anyway so Mirio is still in mid-punch, and now he’s reaching out to punch Spinner with his other hand. heh. Mirio please be careful Tomura is right there, and I swear to god Horikoshi IF HE LAYS A HAND ON HIS SWIRLY BLOND HEAD SO HELP ME I WILL MAIL YOU A VIAL OF MY TEARS

okay seriously what the hell is happening

when you attach?? everyone?? to your body?? whose body?? who is this??

oh wait okay it’s a flashback to Tomura talking about his Hands

lmao this is so disjointed, I can’t tell what’s a flashback and what isn’t and whose thoughts these are lmao I give up. I’m just going to fire up a bunch of question marks until this starts making some goddamn sense. ???????

??????

????????

-- !!!!!!!!!!!

okay hold up. so did Spinner just slap Tomura’s last remaining Signature Fashion Hand onto his face just now for absolutely no reason?? is that what’s going on?? and fuck me but it actually worked too, lmao. is your buddy unconscious and unresponsive to stimuli?? no problem, just slap ‘em in the face with a burnt and shriveled severed hand. works every time

p.s. I SWEAR TO GOD HORIKOSHI. IF YOU TOUCH MIRIO!!! HE’S A GOOD BOY LEAVE HIM ALONE

??????????

OKAY WELL. I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WTF IS HAPPENING, BUT AT LEAST MIRIO’S NOT DEAD. KACCHAN GOT BLOWN AWAY THOUGH SOB. HOW IRONIC THAT THE GOD OF EXPLOSION MURDERS WOULD BE MURDERED BY AN EXPLOSION WHILE I WAS BUSY SAYING “OH MY GOD”

ohhhhhh, okay. so this is AFO’s narration

and that’s a partial answer to the question of “why did AFO bother raising Tomura up as his heir if he was planning on taking over his body the whole time.” apparently it makes it easier to control him. joy :’)

also this image of a potato wearing a Tomura wig is sending me fjkllkhl

oh my god he summoned all the Noumu to him like Aquaman and his sea creatures. this whole situation just keeps on getting better

-- oh hell no. oh fuck me, fucking shit

SHIT SHIT SHIT. I’M SORRY SPINNER, TOMURA CAN’T COME TO THE PHONE RIGHT NOW

oh my god. I fucking hate everything right now oh my god

I GUESS WE FIGURED OUT WHAT DEKU’S SPIDEY SENSE WAS WARNING HIM ABOUT, THEN ಠ_ಠ

fucking great!! so I guess nobody is getting a happy ending today, then. the heroes got their asses handed to them (sorry Compress, it’s a figure of speech, didn’t mean to be disrespectful); Deku and Kacchan died; Shouto’s evil brother came back from the dead to ruin his life; everyone and their dog lost various limbs; and the villains have now lost Twice (dead), Compress and Machia (presumably going to be captured), and now their fearless leader’s body has been completely taken over by AFO, which is such an unsexy development that it managed to completely undo all of the Mr. Compress Sexiness from last week. goddamn it

DAMN IT HORIKOSHI ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO END IT LIKE THIS

up close Hadou’s face is looking pretty rough. :/ that’s going to scar over isn’t it. at least she’ll look like a badass

meanwhile I appreciate that Horikoshi drew what looks to be a little puff of air next to Kacchan’s mouth, just to reassure us all that he’s not actually dead. that’s fine. you just lie there then. also his wound really is in the exact same place as All Might’s and it’s giving me all kinds of feels you guys but whatever I’m not gonna sit here dwelling on it all day

AND POOR SHOUTO. IS HE STILL CRYING OMG. AND ENDEAVOR, WAY TO DO NOTHING STILL. THE ALL TIME CHAMP OF SITTING AROUND AND STARING, GOOD FOR YOU

ARE YOU FOR REAL, ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW

(－‸ლ)

lol

“peace out, loser.” “SHUT YOUR TRAP, HO.” quality encounter right here

anyway so he’s blasting Deku with something and Deku’s just flying back all unconscious-like. so then, what even was the point of all that, huh

oh I see, it was to lead us into one last Deku monologue to close this arc out

oh my god Deku if you say you’re going to save him I will turn around and do a cannonball into a ballpit of feels right now, don’t do this to me

OH SNAP I THINK HE’S GONNA THOUGH

DID HE LOOK LIKE HE NEEDED SAVING?? I MUST CONFESS YOU AND I ARE OF A MIND HERE, YOUNG BROCCOLI. YES IN SPITE OF ALL THE MURDERS. WHAT CAN I SAY IT’S COMPLICATED

by the way I just have to point out here, that after all of those impossibly pretty close-ups of Hawks’s unconscious face, Horikoshi really did my child dirty here lmao

he looks like a squished cockroach. THAT’S MY BABY BOY

and it looks like the cavalry is finally on its way too! took them long enough. so I guess they can take care of any of the remaining Noumu stragglers, but first let Deku finish his speech. listen up Deku I really need you to say something cool and iconic to cap off this thus-far admittedly underwhelming Last Chapter Of The Year, here

AHHHHHHH YES HE REALLY DID IT HE SAID THE THING

well he thought the thing, anyway. close enough. I’ll take it!

so this is really the end of the arc then! or at least I hope, good lord. anyways, all right then so let’s do a quick status check:

it looks like the Noumu are hauling Tomura and Spinner away to safety, but it doesn’t look like they managed to save Machia or Compress. this honestly might be in Compress’s best interests though. the heroes can get him some medical help along with Kacchan and Endeavor and everyone else

Dabi is apparently hidden inside Spinner’s scarf, but do they have any way of releasing him without Compress there to undo the quirk? will he be all right in there. like how is he going to get food and water and air and stuff lol. does it wear off after a bit? can Compress undo it when he wakes up, even if he’s in custody? is there a distance limit on it?

and Skeptic was presumably turned into a marble as well, but Compress didn’t bother mentioning him at all. nobody cares about poor Skeptic lol

and bonus AFO theories status check:

Dad for One - AFO called Deku worthless and hasn’t seemed to take the least bit of interest in him despite getting to see his fancy SIXQUIRKS up close and personal. so if he is his dad he sure as heck is a terrible one, that’s all I can say

All for One for All/Deku is a horcrux - well the Spidey Sense seems to offer an alternative explanation to why Deku could sense AFO’s presence, but on the other hand it doesn’t explain why AFO was able to sense Deku’s as well (seeing his dreams and such). still thinking there’s a connection there, guys, idk

AFO is the final villain - five words for you: “EVERYTHING IS FOR MY SAKE.” is that concrete enough yet lol. pretty sure this arc marked both the beginning and end of Tomura’s brief stint as the Big Bad. Deku’s got it in his mind to save him now somehow, and we all know what happens when Deku starts getting determined to save people. look out AFO

as for the heroes, they’re all varying degrees of Fucked and I think it’s honestly too much to even take stock of at this point. maybe if I get a rush of hyperfixation in the next couple days or so I’ll do a separate post analyzing the impact of this arc and where things currently stand and where they might be headed from here

but in the meantime, ngl, this chapter was kind of a hot mess lmao. but whatever, I don’t even care because at least he managed to get all of it done within the allotted 17 pages, meaning that next week (or rather two weeks from now, sob) we really can get moving onto the aforementioned Triage arc! BRING ON THAT ANGST. I am so fucking hyped goddammit

#bnha 295 #all for one #midoriya izuku #shigaraki tomura #mr. compress #spinner (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #idk why but this chapter was so exhausting to get through lol #I've enjoyed this arc so much but I guess at the end the fatigue just hit me all at once #almost 40 chapters we've been doing this #that's one chapter for every year iida has been alive #still it sure was epic though #now bring on that angsty aftermath

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parkeraul · 5 years

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spill your guts or fill your guts

a/n: anon suggested me but for a reason i couldn’t load this gif on the post, so it’s gonna be here lol. as the hoe that i am for james corden and this very specific part of the program, i’m unable to say no. warnings: disgusting things, cursing.

“Okay, Shawn-Shawn-Shawnie-Boy,” James calls Shawn, spinning the table filled with all the stuff he likes to call “delicacy”. She’s sitting in front of him, James standing in the middle between them both and, so far, the questions were not that hard to answer (they were but the foods and the smell of them made they both gulp and think twice). “I’m gonna give you...” The host is prolonging the tension, making Shawn turn his face away and look at the crowd, awkward smile showing up. It doesn’t matter what he’s gonna pick, Shawn might probably answer whatever it is so he won’t have to swallow down a bird’s saliva or a thousand-year-old egg — and let’s not get started on the cow’s tongue and fish eye. She’s biting on her lip, nervous for him because it’s not like she can’t suffer along with him, she’s the one who kisses his lips (maybe not for the next couple of weeks, though.) The table stops and James takes his hands off the wood, “I’m gonna give you the bull’s penis.”

Shawn sighs, putting both elbows on top of the table and facepalming with both hands, still not ready to face the weird thing standing below his face. He’s holding his breath, covering his eyes and pressing his palms even harder against his cheeks, blocking every single way so maybe the food will take the hint, create some legs and walk away. His desperation makes him consider that this idea can actually happen if he asks with all his heart. The audience is clapping and screaming like crazy, making James smile devilishly and feel internally proud of his choice. Y/N, on the other hand, waits for the noises to shut down so she can let go of her lip and breathe before saying. “You know you’re consequently dragging me down with him, right?” She points to her husband, who hasn’t moved a inch yet. “Of course!” James says, chuckling. “But after some rub-rub of tongues the taste will go out, I promise you.” She pokes her tongue out just to the thought of tasting it on Shawn’s mouth. She’d probably make him brush his teeth for the next several hours and drink all the vodka in the world to burn the flavour somehow. “There’s no fuckin’ way I’m eating this,” Shawn tilts his head up to stare at James, who’s getting a card and tapping if twice against the table. “I don’t care what you have in there, I’m not gonna put this thing in my mouth.” “Well, Shawn,” James starts, reading the question all over again and struggling to hold back the giggles. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” His shoulders are shrugging repeatedly from the laughing and he starts whimpering, bringing the crowd to giggle with him and at Shawn’s discomfort. “Okay,” He breathes in, laughs fading out and everyone goes silent to hear the question. Every muscle on Shawn’s body starts tensing for dear life — he doesn’t give a shit, he’ll answer whatever he needs to answer: about his career, his childhood, his secrets, the times he didn’t feel good on stage, the place he loved playing at the most... Anything that can free him from eating a bull’s penis. “Shawn Mendes...” “James Corden.” Shawn answers, legs shaking uncontrollably under the table. “You and Y/N have two lovely children, that I even met sometime ago...” James says after laughing at his instant reply, highlighting his name like it’s the most normal thing to answer after someone calls your name. “Yeah, we do...” The audience yells again and clap their hands, Shawn and Y/N smiling proudly although his heart is sinking, wondering what the hell does their children have to do with this clownery. “And you say you can’t ever favourite one of them, correct?” “I could never.” At this moment, Shawn’s heart starts beating more calmly, thinking of his babyboy and babygirl at home with Karen, probably asleep one on top of the other with the blankets they carry around the house. “But,” Corden calls out, raising his index finger in the air. “Which one of them did you have the most fun conceiving?” And as if this question alone wasn’t enough, he completes: “And where did it happen?” Both Shawn and Y/N’s mouths fall open and they’re silently hoping the kids are sleeping or playing somewhere far far away from the TV. They aren’t older than 10 years old but they’re also not stupid — and oh God they’d hear lots and lots of questions back home, as tortuous as the questions they’ve been answering during the show. “That’s fucked up, man,” Shawn takes a sip of water, wishing this sip could last forever so his mouth would be filled with something actually decent and he’d be unable to answer. “That’s... Shit!” He hisses the last word, placing his glass back to where it was before. “I... Lemme think.” “What?” She nearly screams, looking at her husband totally shocked. “Are you actually thinking of answering this question?” The people are laughing hard along with James, having the time of their lives and for a second no one — I repeat, no one, Shawn included — can imagine what his decision is gonna be and he wishes he was just joking to build up extra expectations, but the memories are rushing back inside his mind and they’re too delightful — if he’s honest — but ugh there’s fucking bull’s penis sliced in front of him and ugh his children are involved and ugh people would probably tweet about this until the end of his days. “I mean... I think I remember when Raul was—“ “Oh my God, he’s answering!” James can’t believe his ears, he thinks he’s hallucinating or whatever. “Lord Jesus Christ, Shawn,” She thinks she’s never been this religious before, not only mentioning but praying to all the names she knows that her husband is only playing around. “Do you still wanna be married after this?” James throws his head back and Shawn, who was starting to gesture his hands in the air, looks at her and laughs nervously. Little Raul was the first one and, although he wasn’t exactly planned, it was a nice story to be told. It happened 5 years ago but it was one of the best unexpected things that’s ever happened to him — in all possible meanings — and he finds himself reliving the moment here and there. “Don’t you remember, honey?” Shawn asks her, like they’re at home without five or six cameras pointed at them while they’re live for the whole world to see. He lifts his hands up so he can draw the moment better. “Like, we were at—” “Shut up?!” She kind of asks too, sounding extremely squeaky as she feels her heart missing the beats and the wedding ring on her finger getting cold along with her fingers. She thinks she might faint at any time if he doesn’t stop joking around right now. “Will you shut up, please?!” “This is so good!” They hear from James who’s nearly crying his eyes off from how much he’s been laughing at the situation, barely okay to speak like a regular person. “Babe, it’s bull’s penis,” Shawn emphasizes, widening his eyes and grabbing the little bowl and moving it next to her. She pulls her hair back and smells, quickly getting back to stay away from that horrible thing. “It’s simple: we’ll just never tell Raul about this or... Let him watch this interview.” “So Raul was the best?” James asks, his big smile swelling his cheeks up and almost hidding his blue curious eyes. Shawn goes speechless, smelling the food and putting the bowl back to its place. Fuck, it’s really disgusting. He looks at it and imagines that the texture is probably awful, and the taste has to be even worse. Knowing little Raul and concluding that he might only grow up smarter than he already is, Shawn rubs his whole face before placing both hands down on the table, tilting his head when he thinks about the other situation. “Well... Now that you asked I might say that Isabella was also very very fun to—” “No way!” Corden comes out very loud and everyone laughs, some people covering their mouths just like Y/N is doing right now. Yeah, no way. “I can’t believe this is happening...” She mutters to herself but audible enough for the mic to capture, making the crowd go wilder with her reactions as she looks down with her hand doing its best to support her forehead leaned against it so heavily. “What?” Shawn opens his arms like he’s questioning a normal thing. “She’s going to be so mad at me if I don’t bring her up! You know she’s jealous.” “I’m gonna be mad at you if you bring her or Raul up,” She says through gritted teeth, only facing him to point a finger towards his chest like she’s promising to bury a knife deep down his chest at home if he keeps on rambling. “Eat your penis.” She says and Shawn knows she’s not asking, covering his lap with the napkin they’ve offered. She’s coming off dramatically to increase the fun, but a huge part of her is being dead serious. Lord knows what the kids would say and how much they’d be teased in school. They can’t take the risk, that’s not even an option. There’s a moment of silence when Shawn rearranges himself on his chair, gulping harshly as his hand threatens to go inside that bowl, moving back and forth repetitively. In a lack of sanity, with a grimace taking over his whole face — hard enough to the skin under his hairline move so strongly that some curls fall from their place — Shawn takes three pieces between his fingers and shut his eyes close, shoving the food inside his mouth and chewing sloppily while he reaches the bucket on the floor, covering his whole face with it and spitting the food as fast as possible. “Who-hoa!” James says, laughing weakly to let his words out. “That’s Shawn Mendes, everyone!” People go back to clapping, screaming and whistling and Shawn practically swallows down his water in two large gulps. “Thank God.” She says under her breath, relaxing in her seat. “Is the marriage still up?” Eyeing her, Shawn asks raising an eyebrow and his grin is undeniably cute as his sweet puppy eyes study all her face, waiting for her response while he run his fingers through his curly hair. “It is.” “Then kiss me.” “Na-ah!”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes masterlist #mine #ficsofmine #the blurb saga**

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wendyblanquelg-writes · 4 years

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Women as priests? Not I.

The first time I went to church was when I was baptized, but I don’t really remember attending mass for the first few years. As toddlers, we may remember glimpses of our babyhood yet not until the age of about five or six is when we start to retain all of our memories. My earliest memory is waking up at the crack of dawn on the queen sized bed I shared with my mom and seeing she wasn’t next to me. I might’ve been about five or so, and the sky outside was a bit cloudy; I now assume it must’ve been near the end of summer and the beginning of fall when tiny me saw the world through a new lens. I had climbed out of the covers, jumped to the floor, and ran to my grandma’s room in fear of being alone and in almost utter darkness by myself. That’s all I remember about that day.

I’ll never forget the first time my mom took me to church with the intention of having me fall in love to committing to God. Oh, did I become enamored with the beautiful architecture, stained glass windows, gold chalices, chronologically placed images of Jesus being crucified, angelic ceiling paintings, the twinkling lights that scream Christmas, and the smiling people who made me feel welcomed and appreciated. My mom’s only wish was complete: God had me in his hand—hypnotized in the idea of having someone love and care for me unconditionally my whole life.

Before mass, my mom had been telling me for days about taking me to church where we can pray with others and not just each other before bed. She went on about who God is, Jesus being his son, and I, his new follower. Never was I told off the bat that sinning was a grand deal to God or the church, probably because I was innocent at the time. Going to mass sounded like the dream, a second home that wasn’t Mexico, a new part of my life that I was ready to venture on like so many Disney characters did in their heroic plots.

That Sunday morning I woke up at 7am ready to get changed. Our church is a block over from us so we walked down to the alley and took the broken gravel road straight to the golden doors which were slightly cracked, being held open by an older man. My mom’s hand held mine tightly as we entered and she reached over to the wall where water was held. She dipped her finger in it, signed the cross on her forehead then did the same to me. It smelled funny but homely, I loved it. Every person I seemed to look at would look back at me happily as if they’d been expecting me my whole life. The lights dazzled me, the recurring kneeling, standing, and sitting movements wowed me, the united dialogue made everyone sound interconnected, and my first la paz, “peace be with you,” was my welcome home. After people shook my hand I couldn’t stop looking at it and felt the pain and love from everyone I had ever touched—truly magical. I was home.

You can expect my mom’s happiness over the years of my love for mass, learning my prayers, excelling in catechism school, and my good behavior from knowing I’d be punished by God if I were a bad child. By the age of 8, I knew what I wanted to be in life: a priest. In my heart I felt like God’s favorite, his teaching being my calling, his followers being my new family, our love being one.

I was devoted, yet when I told my mom my dream, she smiled and said,

“That’s great, but there are only male priests.”

“But why?”

“That’s how it is,” was all she said. I was so confused.

I later brought it up to my grandpa and he said in Spanish,

“That’s outrageous, that’s crazy, you can’t be a priest. Priests are and SHOULD only be men.”

How is it that after my long three to four years of devotion and love to God was not enough for me to be a priest? I once asked a priest if I could one day hold his position. He looked uncomfortable with a tinge of anger when he said no, but that I could work in other parts of the church to help. I was unsatisfied with everyones answer and God especially, for not letting me be what I wanted to be. I didn’t fight them on their answers nor stopped loving church for a few years either. I still wanted to be the person everyone came to for confession, to alleviate them from their stress and sins, to read and lecture people on the word of God, to host fundraisers and events to help the poor, to continue studying until I was close to God himself. There simply wasn’t a door for me to enter into priesthood. Even the word ‘priest’ sounded specifically male to me after a while, like the sound of each syllable denied a woman to take hold of its title. The word became bitter in my mouth.

I started reading Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code, Angels & Demons, and many other books that questioned religion. Did Jesus actually marry Mary Magdalene and have a secret child? Were the scripts lying and the men in the priesthood hiding the truth of our famously loved icons? Is God real? Are there really non-believers who do not go to Hell? I thought everyone believed in Him, was I his favorite who was supposed to question his authority and change the church’s establishment? No, instead, I started detaching myself from my second home after not being fully welcomed after all. I didn’t want to be a nun, or a receptionist, or the woman who went around during mass with a clipboard taking attendance; I wanted to be more, to help more. I tried to stop loving Him.

Throughout high school and college I’ve gained an interest in learning about Catholicism, I wasn’t sure why. From what I learned my sophomore year in a theology class, only men are ordained as priests because Jesus only chose men as his apostles. When I read that, it made sense to me only because at that time women were not allowed to hold any position of power. Women were still handed over to their husbands by their families, much less would society had taken them, or Jesus, seriously because gender equality was an outrageous concept to them. Was it possible that Jesus did not want to risk women being mistreated more than they already were, by being made an apostle? Men might’ve shrugged off Jesus’ teachings if they saw something out of the norm being used: women. We might never know. What I came to find, was that through all my research I only wanted to find the flaws in God’s word and written history, to find an answer that said, “I’m right, God’s right, but the church’s institution is wrong.” I became angry at being denied by humans who thought they could tell me I couldn’t help God, not God himself.

In an article by the National Catholic Reporter, Polish Roman Catholic priest and Theologian of the Papal Household, Wojciech Giertych, was asked why women cannot be priests. He said that no one can say why Jesus chose who he did to share his teachings, and that “The son of God became flesh, but became flesh not as sexless humanity but as a male,” and that since priests are to be the image of Christ, “[priests’] maleness is essential to that role.” He later says that some parts of being with the church call for having and loving the church in a “male way,” where men apparently “show concern about structures, about the buildings of the church, about the roof of the church which is leaking, about the bishops’ conference, about the concordat between the church and the state.” Anyone, really anyone, can admire the archaic structures of holy houses, just like I did. I fell in love with the church also because of the Roman Catholic church architecture, so it mustn’t be a “male way,” but a “in-tune with the world and details way” where one doesn’t just go into a building with no attention to what’s around, but takes in everything. That isn’t male, it’s human.

The theologian does mention that women’s mission in the church is “beautiful” nonetheless because they touch God and Jesus’s heart differently. They encounter Jesus with faith, charity, approaching, touching, and kissing Jesus’ feet. Luckily, Giertych did acknowledge that “a Catholic woman might sincerely believe she is called to the priesthood, said such a “subjective” belief does not indicate the objective existence of a vocation,” I suppose that’s me? I, who felt entitled and deserving of being a priest is a, I guess you can call, reasonable idea or thought, but simply can’t be because the position doesn’t exist. I see now.

Vogue published a piece in 2018 about seven women being ordained Catholic priests by two bishops on June 29, 2002. This act was looked down upon by the Church and the women, the “Danube Seven,” were excommunicated from the church after refusing to nullify their ordination. Many priests were upset, some of the women’s priest superiors told them “that their sin in being ordained was equal to a clergy member sexually abusing a child.” Despite these comments, many of the women claimed that they felt spiritually awakened and called to the church—just how I was many years ago—and continue their religious path with pride.

Now there is an emerging movement and group that advocates, supports, and ordains women as Roman Catholic priests: the Roman Catholic Women Priests (RCWP). Their movement supporting women has gone international, reaching and ministering women in over 34 states, Canada, Europe, South & Central America, South Africa, the Philippines and Taiwan. Many men are also part of the movement to grow this new chapter in Catholic history. The first women ordained initiated this movement: Iris Müller, Ida Raming, Pia Bruner, Dagmar Celeste, Adeline Roitlinger, Gisela Forster and Christine Mayr-Lumetxberger; creating an opportunity for more women to partake in the Lord’s work.

Although I would not become a priest today, or in a few years when women priests are officially accepted by the church, I’m glad that the door has opened for others. I no longer am a strong believer in the church, if even a believer, after so many cases of rape behind sacred doors, abuse, and the neglect of women holding power. The fight for equality continues and may not cease, ever, and it is everyones job to ensure that doors we’ve known to be closed to our fellow women start cracking open—even if dust is thrown and moths come bugging. I might have lost my inspiration and dream, but I’m better off where I am now. Other young girls who also feel the need and love to share God’s teachings like I once did, now have a better chance and warm embrace of following their calling; may God be with them.

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raisingsupergirl · 4 years

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My Supernatural Courage, pt. 1

*Author’s Note: Since writing this, I’ve had a thought, and I’m mulling it over. It might change my stance on things. It might not. Regardless, proceed, dear reader, to better understand where I’m coming from and where I may end up.*

I've been nervous a lot lately. I think everyone has. Not scared. Just nervous—uncertain. I've been nervous about the corona virus. I've been nervous about maintaining my hours at work. I've been nervous because I overcommit. I've been nervous because this past weekend I had to give a speech in front of my freemason brothers and had to play music in front of my church family. And, most of all, I've been nervous about the widespread civil unrest. But the weird thing is, even though national tensions seem to be on the rise, I'm finally starting to achieve some inner peace. Not because I've reached some sort of new normal or because I've given up in some way, but because my frayed nerves weren't actually about the civil unrest at all. They were about my own inner battle. And it took a bunch of local hillbillies to finally set my mind at ease.

If you've followed with me for long, you know that I stay pretty busy. A few weeks ago, I posted about how I didn't have time to truly commit to the conversation regarding ALM vs BLM. The week after that, I posted about not being ready to die because I still have "stuff to do." Well, even though I knew this past week would be crazy busy, I had one request for Father's Day weekend—I wanted to do nothing. And nothing is what I did. My family spent Saturday at the waterpark, nothing but fun and sun. And then we went out to my mom's for dinner on Sunday. That's it. No blogging. No editing. No mowing the grass. Nothin'. And it was amazing, not just because I needed a breath, but because I needed a moment to think. Creatives know that it's essential to recharge every so often. And after I took Father's Day weekend off, I had newfound clarity on, well, a lot of things.

Like I said, the following week came with its own stresses. Not only did I have a ton of editing to do along with practicing songs for the upcoming weekend's church worship team, but that Thursday night, I was to be installed as my masonic lodge's master for the upcoming year. It's been five years in the making—five years of growth, learning, mistakes, and patience. I've learned so much about what it means to be a man in that time. The core masonic principles are brotherly love, relief, and truth, and it's principle duties are to be, "diligent, prudent, temperate, and discreet." And as I said in my speech last Thursday night, masonry is a confirmation of the men we've always been and a reminder of the men we want to be. It doesn't forge us, but it does sharpen us. And as I dwelt on those principles the week leading up to our officer installation, an inner peace settled over me. But, unfortunately, as I said before, it took a bit of a slap in the face by a really ugly counter protest in a nearby town to get me there.

Growing up and living in central Missouri, you'd think I would be used to racism. And I guess I am, but only in the, "Oh, look, a black guy. How about that?" sort of way, which I guess isn't really racism, but I'm also not surprised when I see someone raise an eyebrow at an interracial couple (I also won't deny that I've heard plenty of racist jokes in my day, but I'm not going to get into the nuances of political correctness, Mel Brooks, and South Park). Again, I've always seen it as lack of exposure more than actual racism, and while I've known there were hardcore racists living amongst us, I guess it's just been an out of sight, out of mind kind of thing. But those blinders were ripped off this last week.

There was a BLM rally in a town about thirty minutes from my house. And, as you'd expect, there were plenty of people who showed up with "White Lives Matter" and "Blue Lives Matter" posters. Which is fine. As I said last week, we live in a free country, and our diverse viewpoints make up the spirit of this huge country. But this rally was pretty awful. First, there were local storeowners standing on their roofs with rifles, looking down on the protestors. I guess I get it. Protect your house, and all that. But, geez, was it really necessary to have your weapons shouldered and at the ready. And, obviously, that increased tensions, leading the BLM and ALM folks to move from "peaceful" to a little more verbally aggressive. And that, unfortunately, led a few of the more, ehem, outspoken anti-protestors to (and I almost hesitate to say it) act like monkeys and pantomime lynchings.

I've seen the pictures. I've heard the reports. The BLM protestors weren't innocent. They threw out racial slurs and accusations. But they didn't resort the that level of debased scum. And I don’t use that phrase lightly. Thinking about it makes me want to spit. Or punch someone. It's no different than making sexual jokes to someone who was molested as a child.

It's easy to write that horrible display off as a small, idiotic percentage of the community. It's easy to sigh and move on, remembering that most people aren't that way. But… some people are! They exist in my community! And those people infect the rest of us. The more they talk, the more they normalize actual (even if it's subtle) racism. Thankfully, their public actions have called them out. They've done much more harm to their cause than good. And that event was at catalyst for me. Well, that and one other.

This next turning point was a small one. It was a simple comment by a black lady. She responded to an "ALM" Facebook post. It was simple and humble. "Everyone already knows that all lives matter but everyone don't agree that black lives matter and if it is never said then we will never matter. So because I say black lives matter it's because I wanna be just as important as you would be to the world…"

Yes, I already knew this obvious truth. Yes, I'd heard it a hundred times. But the way she said it, the fact that it came from her, and the timing of it in my life just made things click. BLM isn't just a social movement with an agenda (which I tend to tie together with human imperfection, various other motives, and some of the rioting). It’s a statement. And it's a simple statement, at that. It doesn't have to be political or loaded. "Black lives matter," I said with a smile and a nod as I waited for her to cross the street. Just imagining that scenario makes me happy. Is it wrong to open a door for a woman, wave a tattooed biker on in front of us at a stoplight, or pay for the meal of someone richer or poorer than us? No. Such acts don't relinquish any of our own self-worth or threaten our futures. They're simple, humane kindnesses that make the world a better place. They're acknowledgements that we are a diverse world, and it's neat to remind specific peoples that they are important, not just to us, but to the Most Holy Lord God.

Oops. I'm sure I lost some of you just now. And that's okay, but stick with me. I'm a Christian, through and through. Christ is a part of my everyday life, and one thing that I've reminded myself of for a long time is that every person I meet is a unique child of God. Jesus told the parable of the Good Samaritan, and Freemasonry reminds us by proclaiming, "Every human being has a claim on your kind offices. Do good unto all." And even though it took me a while to get here, I've found peace in those sentiments. I'm doing what I'm supposed to do. And I'm not afraid in the slightest about the future.

When I hear about rioters pushing down statues, I'm reminded of Jesus overturning the moneychangers' tables in the temples. There are plenty of excuses to maintain the status quo, but none of them are really good ones. What are you afraid of? Losing our history? Really? I can still find MySpace comments I made fifteen years ago, and my mom still has pictures of me naked in the bathtub. We're not talking about destroying someone's personal property or threatening their lives (or livelihood). We're talking about a symbolic act of desperation. Was it smart? Or right? Or productive? Who knows, but it's nothing to freak out about!

White people, what are you afraid of? Seriously. Are you afraid that black people will enslave you? Are you afraid of economic collapse? Are your guns going to be taken from you? Your jobs? Your freedom of speech? I mean, c'mon. Even if all of those things did happen (which they won't), who cares!? … Okay, wait. I get it. Slaves care. I'm sure it sucks. But you know how black slaves survived in early American history? They relied on God! Remember the Jews? Christianity was literally born out of a nation of slaves! Oppression is woven into the story of humanity, start to finish. We're a broken world. It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven. The first shall become last, and the last shall become first. Are any of these ringing a bell?

Okay, sorry. I got a little worked up there. But I can't help it. Everyone is so afraid of losing stuff, and nobody is taking five seconds to ask why. Why, truly, are you alive? What are you trying to do? Okay, yes, I get the compulsion to protect your family and future generations. It's biological (which doesn't make it any less important). It's engrained within our race's perpetuation. But we are one race, and I’m sorry, but your family isn't the pinnacle of genetic, moral, and intellectual perfection for the human race. Your kid may have won the spelling bee, but he's not going to cure cancer.

So, ease up a little bit. Let the rest of the world have a little space. Do I agree with everything the BLM movement has been associated with? Of course not. And I never will, because there are a lot of people who hitch themselves to bandwagons, regardless of their own, personal motives. If rioters make the USA into Mad Max, well, then you'll finally be able to tell your wife, "I told you so" about all of the guns and ammo you've been buying over the years. If one truly evil civil rights activist rises up and turns us into a nation of white slaves, well, I guess we'll just have to focus in a little more on being kind to our neighbor, looking to the afterlife, and trusting in God to reward us for obeying his commandments. But more than likely, all of the extremists on both sides will be cut off from the herd, and the rest of us will (eventually) live in a slightly different-looking America than what it has been for the past couple centuries. That's the funny thing about time—the present eventually becomes history. We don't continue to live in it, and we don't forget it. We accept it, learn from it, and move on. Simple enough.

In the end, it's your choice. I've probably offended just about everyone with this post (but as usual, I did it in a super nice way, so good luck calling me out, jerk). But this has been my journey to peace with the situation. My family will live on. My nation will live on. Maybe we'll be blessed with earthly comfort, or maybe we'll be sharpened by trials and tribulations. But eternity waits for me, and while I still walk this earth, I'll have no problem praising and building up specific people and specific groups. Why? Because differences are what make people awesome, and I'm not afraid to remind them of it.

#equality #peace #finding peace #blm #alm #christianity #inner peace #civil unrest #protest

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takerfoxx · 5 years

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IM Swiftly Descending Darkness, Chapter 9

With a clean heart and a resolute mind, Brother Nathaniel Skinner stepped up to the pulpit.

The Brotherhood of the First Gensokyo Baptist Fellowship met in a small, plain room in the back of Nathaniel’s house. With only six pews facing a small raised platform and a small wooden crucifix adorned with a wreath of ivy hanging from the wall, it was certainly a humble sanctuary for the few faithful of Gensokyo, which, all told, numbered only twenty-four.

Six of them, specifically Nathaniel himself, Andrew Shuemaker, Betsy Caulfield, Bobby Forester, Dorothy Forester, and Eddie Orozco, were from that fateful bus ride that had first stolen him away from their home, the others having either left the Human Village, perished, or wanting nothing to do with them. The rest were native Gensokyians, local Japs that had been wise enough to see their home country for the cesspool of spiritual disease that it was. when Nathaniel had first been stranded here, he had been convinced that none of the locals were even capable of salvation, that their families had been wallowing in sinful practices and demonic energies for so long that their hearts would be repulsed by the mere idea of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

In this, he had been proven wrong, and for which he was thankful. As Joshua Stump, the man who had once been his brother, had demonstrated, Nathaniel could trust not even good American Christians to properly keep the faith. And in was good to know that even in the Devil’s own country, the Light of God could still shine through.

Nathaniel took a deep breath, and then said, “My brothers and sisters, we are the Chosen Few.”

“We are the Chosen Few,” his congregation parroted back at him.

“We are the Light in the Darkness.”

“We are the Army of Christ.”

“We are the Army of Christ. Amen.”

Nathaniel bowed his head in silence. Then he threw it back and called to the Heavens. “Oh Lord, have mercy upon me, a sinner! And thank You for reminding me of our true mission, which, in my zealousness to stand fast against the wiles of Satan, I had forgotten!”

…

The previous night…

At last.

I can feel it. Even in my place of imprisonment, even in my place of torment, I can feel it.

Can you feel it, my little lost servant? Can you hear them, my wandering prodigal? Though you have closed your heart and mind to me, you cannot hide forever. You carry a piece of me with you, and He will not take it from you.

For even in your rebellion, I have found others, I have chosen others. And you will help them. Even if you continue to resist my call, you will do this. You will seek out the children, and guide them into my darkness.

You will do this.

I have commanded it.

Nathaniel Skinner woke up in a cold sweat.

He was in the dark, still in the cold black, and he couldn’t move. The chains held him still, keeping him prisoner, damned for all time for his sins, his sins of…

…of…

Nathaniel blinked. No, wait, the darkness was impenetrable. Above him he could see…the roof. The roof of his house. He wasn’t in the cold, black pit, he was at home, in bed.

As for his restraints, his nocturnal thrashings had simply rolled the covers into a tight cocoon. Again.

Nathaniel hastily loosed the covers and tossed them off. Now lying naked on sweat-soaked sheets, he slowly breathed out and closed his eyes. The dreams were happening again. The visions once more called to him, all the way from the place of damnation. And his hand…

He flexed the fingers of his right hand, or at least gave the command to. But nothing happened. His brain registered no response.

Nathaniel’s head fell to the right. In the dark, he could see the silhouette of his right arm stretching out across the bed, his fingers curled into a fist. He relaxed them, letting them fall open, and again squeezed them tight.

Though he saw his hand obeying his every instruction, he still felt nothing.

His left hand swept across his body to slam into his right palm. Nothing. Sitting up, he struck again and again, pounding the cold hand. When that didn’t work, he shoved it into his mouth and bit down, trying to evoke some kind of feeling, some kind of pain.

He still felt nothing.

And then it happened.

Nathaniel.

Nathaniel Skinner froze. No. No, no, no. Not again.

Give in.

Not now, now again! He had shut the Dark Voice down years ago! For nearly two years he had resisted its whispers, blocking them from his mind, until they had finally ceased! He had kept careful control, making sure to never allow it to once again awake, making sure that his corrupted hand was well cared for!

But now it was back. The Dark Voice was back.

Give in.

It never said much more than that. Just his name, and the call to give in, to surrender his will. He needn’t ask what it wanted him to give in to. It wanted him to stop fighting, to let it claim his body as its vessel. It had gotten a small piece of itself inside of him, but it needed his consent to pour in the rest, consent he had always refused to give.

Give in.

Trembling, Nathaniel lay back. There was no doubt about it. It was happening again. Fortunately, this time he knew who to blame.

Then, as he lay there in the dark, thoughts racing and heart pounding, he was startled by a loud and sudden sound.

Knocking.

Someone was knocking at his front door.

…

Mai didn’t awake to the knocking. Making a mental note to have her chastised, Nathaniel rose from his bed and hastily dressed himself. Doing so without washing himself made him feel disgusting, but it was only a temporary thing.

The knocking continued. There was no time to bathe his hand, so Skinner had to wrap it up as is. Again he felt nothing, which made his insides squirm. The pain after thoroughly cleaning his diseased hand in hot water might bring tears to his eyes, but it was preferable to the cold nothing he felt now.

Finally he was at least presentable. Nathaniel left his room to confront whoever it was that was foolish enough to wake him at this hour.

Mai was finally up and just reaching the door, which irked him. In the time it had taken him to dress himself, she ought to have already answered, seen who it was, and be on her way to rouse him.

“Move,” he said hoarsely.

She drew back in surprise. “Master Skinner! Forgive me, I-”

“I said move!” He shouldered his way past her and slid the front door open.

Standing outside were several members of his fellowship, specifically Seiya Kirisame, his son Rito Kirisame, Andrew Shuemaker, Bobby Forester, and Satoshi Yuuki. That wasn’t good. The five of them had been sent to deliver Gendou’s message to the orphanage, so having them come to him meant that something had gone horribly wrong.

As soon as Brother Seiya saw that it was him that had answered the door instead of Mai, his sweaty face went pale. “B-Brother Nathaniel!” He bowed his head. “Apologies for disturbing you at this hour, but-”

“Brother Seiya,” Nathaniel said icily. “Well, yes. Apologies would be in order. I hope this is important.”

“It is! We were just at the orphanage, and-”

Nathaniel felt blood rush to his head, and it took a considerable amount of will not to backhand Seiya across the face. “Stop!” he hissed.

Seiya stiffened, but he obeyed.

Control, control. Think about this. Nathaniel closed his eyes and mentally pushed back against the geyser of rage he felt rising. Jesus, grant me Your strength. He was already sweaty from his rude awakening, and this was causing fresh beads to start trickling down his forehead.

“The orphanage,” he said. “You were at the orphanage?”

“Yes!”

“Doing what?”

“I…” Seiya looked utterly gobsmacked. “Delivering the message, of course! From the Leader!”

“The Leader,” Nathaniel repeated. “You mean, you were sent by Master Gendou Sonozika?”

The five of them stared blankly at him. Why? they were wondering. Why would they ask something that he already knew the answer to? After all, Nathaniel had been in the room when Gendou had sent them off. He had relayed part of their instructions, after all.

But there was a reason why they had been given their instructions in private! As such, now that something had apparently gone wrong, Nathaniel wasn’t happy about them banging on his front door in the dead of night for everything to see.

“Y-Yes,” Seiya said after a bit.

“Then why come to me?” Nathaniel said. “If something went wrong, shouldn’t you be taking this information to Master Sonozika?”

“I…” Seiya continued to gawk, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish.

Then Rito, ever the pragmatist, nudged Seiya from behind. “Of course, Brother Nathaniel,” he said smoothly. “We will go report to the Leader at once. Our apologies for disturbing you with a matter that is none of your business.”

Nathaniel relaxed a bit. Rito had again proven himself smarter than his elder. Nathaniel really ought to start entrusting him instead of his idiotic father with errands of a sensitive nature.

“Not at all,” Nathaniel said. He made a point to give a long and obvious look toward the nearby back alley. “I apologize if I have been short with you. God go with you, gentlemen. And good night.”

He shut the door and waited until he heard the group’s footsteps recede. When he was sure that their trajectory was taking them the right way, he hurried through his house, toward the side door.

There were two ways to get to the Sonozika estate from Nathaniel’s house. The first was to take the long way through the main streets, which would take you all the way around the block, while the second was to cut straight across the alley between Nathaniel’s house and his neighbor’s. And from the sound of things, they were heading for the alley.

He waited by the side door, listening as their footsteps drew near. When they were loud enough, he swiftly opened the door, reached out with his left hand to seize Seiya by the lapels of his robe, and yanked him inside before the man could cry out in surprise.

“Go home, gentlemen. Go home and speak of any of this to no one,” Nathaniel said briskly to the other four and shut the door.

Seiya was reflexively struggling, so Nathaniel shoved his left hand over the squat man’s mouth, leaned over so that they were face-to-face, and whispered, “Do not cry out. Speak only in whispers. Do you understand?”

His eyes wide with fear, Seiya nodded.

“Good.”

That done, Nathaniel all but dragged Seiya to a small side-room where he knew they would have some measure of privacy. Tossing Seiya in with one hand, Nathaniel stepped inside and slammed the door shut.

“What is wrong with you?” Nathaniel hissed. “Banging on my door in the dead of the night and babbling like an idiot. Everyone could hear you!”

Seiya was not a brave man. He reminded Nathaniel of Gendou in that way, someone full of bluster and indignation that would crumble at the slightest pushback.

“Forgive me!” Seiya blubbered. “I didn’t mean-”

Nathaniel gripped Seiya’s cheeks with one hand, his right hand. “Stop. Quiet down.” He squeezed ever so slightly. “And tell me what happened. Slowly.”

He released the squat man’s face. Seiya stumbled back, clutching at his jowls. “I…I…”

“Now,” Nathaniel said.

The fear in Seiya’s eyes was apparent. He lowered his hand, and when he did, Nathaniel frowned. Was it his imagination, or was there a pair of faint black spots, one on each of his cheeks, where Nathaniel’s fingers had dug into the flesh?

“We went…” Seiya swallowed. “We went to the orphanage. The others, and I, like we were instructed! To deliver Master Sonozika’s message, about how they were no longer welcome at-”

“I remember,” Nathaniel said.

“Right! But when we got there, they were all outside. The children, their guardians, all of them!”

“And?”

“And…they were having a funeral!”

“A funeral,” Nathaniel repeated. “Whose?”

“One of the children. One of the orphans had died.”

“So what?”

“No, you don’t understand! She didn’t just get sick or fall off the roof! She had been killed! By youkai!”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Tragic. But why does that have you so upset? They live in a dangerous place. Distant relation, perhaps?”

Seiya shook his head. “No. It was-” He cut himself off, and fearfully looked around at the dimly lit room, as if spies were lurking in the shadows.

“It was whom?” Nathaniel prodded.

“It was the spiders!” Seiya said in a hissing whisper. “The same ones! They apparently attacked the house, took several of the children, and killed one before the others were rescued!”

“The spid…” Nathaniel’s blood ran as cold as his right hand. He finally understood, and the realization clenched the muscles in his chest, leaving him short of breath.

“Yes!” Seiya said with a frenzied nod.

Choosing his words carefully, Nathaniel lowered his own voice and said, “The same ones?”

“Yes!”

“How? I mean, why? They had clear instructions!”

“I don’t know!” Seiya said, somehow managing to both wail and whisper at the same time. “But they did!”

Nathaniel gritted his teeth. “They attacked early then.”

“Yes! Far too early!”

The icy cold fear that swam through Nathaniel’s veins was starting to thaw, as his rising anger began to bring things to a boil. “They accepted the job. They took our money.”

“Yes! Absolutely! And we were perfectly clear our demands!”

“We told them when to move,” Nathaniel muttered, his hands curling into fists. “We told them how, and against who. We even paved the way for them, and they ignored it all!”

Nathaniel felt the furnace in his heart grow hotter and hotter, blurring his vision with steam and causing the room to tilt. It was like standing on the deck of a ship in a turbulent sea, with everything swaying this way and that.

Damn them. Damn those wretched youkai! So little had been asked of them! All he had requested is that they act according to their godless nature, but save it for the appropriate time and against the appropriate person, but they couldn’t even manage that!

The smoke covering his eyes cleared just enough to frame Seiya’s face. The other man was nodding vigorously and making noises of agreement, as if he and Nathaniel were equal victims. How wrong he was. Seiya had been the go-between. Seiya had been the one to enter the Youkai Forest and beseech the spider clan to take their contract. He had been the one to explain the details.

He had to have fouled things up. Maybe he hadn’t explained things correctly. Maybe, in his squealing, cowardly manner, he had forgotten the important parts. Something had gone wrong, and in such cases, the messenger must be blamed.

Despite most of the room being rendered in cloudy shapes, Seiya’s fleshy neck was crystal clear, every fold standing out in stark relief. Nathaniel stared at it, wondering how it would feel with his hand clenched around it, his fingers digging through fat and flesh to close around the windpipe.

Give in.

It would be so easy. Just a small squeeze, and it would crumple like paper, and Nathaniel wouldn’t have to suffer Seiya Kirisame’s squeaking any longer. He thought of those black smudges his fingers had left on Seiya’s cheeks. He imagined Seiya’s entire neck covered with black, withering the fat and sinking in deep to smother him.

Give in.

(“Nathan, are you feeling angry again?”)

Nathaniel started a bit. He was used to the Dark Voice, whispering to him from the back of his head, urging him toward violence. But that gentle, admonishing tone came from someplace else, someplace buried…deep…

(Church was over. The sermon had finished, the final hymn sang, and the concluding prayer sent up to God. Now everyone was milling about, some leaving immediately, others helping clean up, others standing around and talking. Fellowship, Reverend DuBois called it.

Not Nathaniel Skinner, though. Nobody ever talked to him. Some would try, but they would soon find reason to excuse themselves. Nathaniel knew why. He held himself to higher standards than anyone else, standards that few were strong enough to attempt.

And that was the problem.

He was standing by himself, his sky-blue eyes staring with hawklike intensity across the room. There, the Hendersons were leaving, replacing the hymnals and gathering their things.

The Hendersons were…decent, he supposed, but were weak at heart, and that was demonstrated by their sorry excuse for a son. The boy was fourteen, and completely without respect. He had been slouching all service, not joining in the singing of the hymns, not paying attention to the sermon, not even bothering to close his eyes and bow his head during prayer. He had just slouched their the whole time, legs propped up on the back of the pew in front of him, beady little eyes sullen.

How dare he?

But as he had stood there glowering, someone had sidled up to him, one of the few members of the congregation that still spoke to him. It was Joshua Stump, the dark-skinned Jew, the former addict. At first all of those had repulsed Nathaniel, like someone might be repulsed by an odious stench. But there was something about Joshua that led Nathaniel to at first tolerate, and eventually kind of appreciate. Joshua saw the good in people, and as misguided as he could be at times, it was an admirable trait.

And he somehow always knew when Nathaniel’s heart and mind were starting to boil over, when the screaming was about ready to start.

“Nathan,” Joshua repeated. “You’re getting angry, aren’t you?”

Nathaniel didn’t respond. He just continued to stare.

Joshua laid a hand on Nathaniel’s arm. “Don’t do it, Nathan. Don’t.”)

“Brother Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel looked down. Seiya had laid a hand on his forearm. Even through the sleeve and the bandage, his fingers felt like hot iron.

“Do not touch me!” Nathaniel cried as he wrenched his arm away.

Seiya recoiled. “I’m sorry, I-”

Shaking with barely restrained rage, Nathaniel leaned over so that he was nearly nose-to-nose with the smaller man. “Do not ever, ever lay hands on me again. Ever. Understand?”

“Yes, Brother Nathaniel! Forgive me!”

“Get out.”

Seiya opened his mouth, maybe to argue, but he saw the look in Nathaniel’s eyes, and quickly hurried away. Nathaniel was about to let him, but then some small part of rationality surfaced.

“Wait.”

Seiya froze by the door.

“The spiders. Did they say what happened to the spiders?”

Gulping, Seiya turned back toward him and said, “J-Just that they killed them.”

Nathaniel stared. “Killed them. People kill youkai all the time. It doesn’t stick.”

“That’s all that they said! That they, uh, dealt with the with extreme prejudice!”

The wheels in Nathaniel’s head started turning. When that happened, the cloud of rage started to get pumped out, and the channels of his brain were cleared. If they had simply exterminated the spiders when they found them and ran off with the children, then that might be a problem. The spiders would simply return, hungry for revenge, and would go rogue. And the longer they were in contention with the orphanage, the morel likely that secrets would spill.

On the other hand, it was entirely possible that they had been dealt with permanently. That wouldn’t be so bad. The fewer loose ends lying around, the better, and the world was better off without them anyway. Though it was unlikely that those heathens actually had the means to permanently destroy a youkai on hand. The methods capable of pulling that off were both rare and difficult to pull off.

(It was the dead of night, with the moon shining brightly overhead. Nathaniel stood in knee-high grass, staring off at the hills. Though he couldn’t see it where he was, just beyond that hill was fence that encompassed the orphanage grounds.

He breathed in and out. It was time.

Opening the heavy book in his hand, he flipped to the tagged page, the one that detailed the ritual necessary to pull off the overload spell. The steps were both complicated and precise, which is why he had practiced them over and over until he had gotten them right.

It had taken time, but he felt that he finally got the spell down. He just needed the proper regents in order to do it for real.

He now had them.

One was a weatherworn paper charm, plucked right off a fence post. It was designed to repel youkai and their various supernatural cousins, so he had been able to walk right up to the fence and take it off without anyone noticing.

The second was sitting on a nearby flat stone.

There were five of them, three fairies and two youkai. They had been all tied together in a circle, back-to-back, their arms bound behind their backs, their legs roped together, and their mouths gagged, their terrified eyes staring at him with mute pleas.

They were right to be afraid.

It frankly galled Nathaniel to have to resort to such blasphemous means, to consort with the same magic he was working to destroy. But the Lord did often employ imperfect instruments. He had delivered his warning to King Saul through the witch of Endor, hadn’t he? This was no different.

Though he read the words, he was already mumbling them out loud, reciting them from memory. As he did so, he turned toward his bound captives. Though they were already struggling and whimpering, they froze when they saw the silver blade he drew from its pouch, the blade and the runes inscribed on the hilt. They knew what it was for.

Yes. It was time.)

But it was unlikely that they had anything like that at their disposal, much less anything that could be used in something as chaotic as a fight.

Then there was the worst-case scenario, that before eliminating those wretched bugs, they had time to question them, to interrogate them. Nathaniel had been careful to not personally involve himself with any dealings, but there was always a trail.

Then Nathaniel was struck by a thought. “Who told you this?” he said. “Was it Satoko Yume?”

Seiya inhaled sharply. “Oh, that’s right! I mean, no. No, it wasn’t. It was that woman, the one who insulted both you and Master Sonozika!”

“That woman? You mean, the cook?”

“Yes! She threatened us too. And she…she…” Seiya pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. “She breathed fire at us! Just…spat it at our feet!”

“Breathed…fire?” Nathaniel said skeptically. “You mean, like that trick where you inhale a torch, and…”

“No! She just opened her mouth and a jet of flame came out! I almost had my toes burned off!”

Now that was interesting. “Tell me: given how everyone here seems to have some kind of…occultic ability or another, is the ability to breathe forth flames something that’s known to happen?”

“I…guess?” Seiya shrugged. “I mean, my cousin can spit sugar. But I can’t say I ever heard of anyone able to do something like this.”

Hmmm.

Nathaniel inhaled deeply and exhaled. “Brother Seiya, I have been unduly harsh to you. That was unchristianlike of me. I apologize.”

Seiya blinked in surprise. “Ah, oh, um, not at all! I understand. But what are we going to do?”

“Give me time to think,” Nathaniel said as he slid the door open for Seiya. “But whatever it is, we must act quickly. Tell no one of this.”

“Of course,” Seiya said. “Of course.”

Nathaniel stood still and listened as the man departed. Seiya’s footsteps were fast and heavy, thumping loudly through the house until he had rushed out the side door, slamming it as he left.

Even after the man was gone, Nathaniel continued to stand as still as a statue, eyes staring at the far wall.

Think. He had to think. Now was not to time to lose control. Now was the time to keep and clear mind and approach things rationally.

“Lord Jesus, grant me your wisdom,” he whispered. “Give me your strength. Help me see through the lies of the enemy.”

Unfortunately, if Jesus had an audible answer for him, he couldn’t hear it, because another voice was already speaking, drowning any other messages out.

Give in.

…

“It is far too easy, I believe,” Nathaniel continued, “in our battle against the wiles of the Devil, to forget why we fight. Just as our Lord Christ was not sent to this world to condemn it, but to save it, we too our sent into the world not leave the wicked and sinful to wallow in their own corruption, but to try to lift them out, to bring them to the Light.”

He looked around the room, at all the rapt gazes. Some were nodding in agreement, others had their eyes closed in prayer, others seemed a little confused. After all, this sort of altruism wasn’t the norm for one of Nathaniel’s sermons. That was all right though. Nathaniel had something of a gift for persuading others to see his point of view.

“We all know that Gensokyo is a wicked country,” he said. “Unlike the Outside World, where devils hide in the shadows and work their evil through subtle means, here they walk openly without fear, and we Humans, who were made in God’s own image, have little defense against their wiles. And those who have forsaken the fellowship of their fellow Humans to dwell out among the devils often become little better than devils themselves. The Lord commands us to set ourselves apart from those who have invited sin into their hearts, lest we become corrupted as well.”

At this, there were more nods, but also more frowns. That was also to be expected. Even though they had been shown the light, the truth still stung.

“But just as we have been commanded to set ourselves apart, we are also called upon to be a Light in the Darkness, to try to draw those who might want to escape damnation and cleanse themselves.

“I speak, of course, of that dwelling place of sin that calls itself the Aoki Yume’s Children’s Home! It is they that gather the fatherless children of those families who have suffered the rightful consequences of their impiety. It is they that, rather than leading those little lost lambs onto the path of righteousness, instead drive them further toward the arms of Satan.”

“Now, in the past I have counseled that if they are going to close their hearts and minds to the Gospel of Jesus, than we ought to close ourselves to them as well, to keep them from corrupting those who might seek the Lord’s salvation. But today the Lord spoke to me, chastising me for my lack of compassion. After all, though those who run that place are surely damned for their blasphemies, is it not our responsibility to reach out to those poor children, to show them another way?”

“Earlier this week, a group of youkai from the Youkai Forest attacked the orphanage. And one of the children was killed.

...

That morning...

At a little past eight, Nathaniel Skinner left his house.

Unlike the night before, he was now rested, bathed, and fully clothed. His hat was straight, his coat unwrinkled, his hands tightly bound and gloved, and not a whisker was out of place.

As he walked, he took note of how the people he passed reacted to them. Some of them, those loyal to humanity and recognized that same loyalty in him, smiled and greeted him warmly. Those of lesser resolve merely politely bowed their heads in passing. Others didn’t acknowledge him at all, and a few even turned their heads away in disgust.

That was to be expected. Those who stood stalwart in the light would of course repulse those who dwelt in darkness. But he wasn’t interested in that. Rather, he was searching for some sign that any of them had noticed Seiya’s idiocy the night before.

Ignoring the immediate reactions of those who passed him in the street, he instead focused on those further away, the ones close enough to see him but not enough to come in direct contact. Though he did not make any indication that he was looking at them, he still studied their faces through the thick, dark glass of his spectacles.

His lip twitched. They were shooting him sidelong glances. They were whispering to one another. Even through dark lenses, he could see the unease on their faces.

Idiot. Though it had served a diplomatic purpose, he was regretting apologizing to Seiya Kirisame. Now he was wishing he had thrown the loudmouthed fool through a wall.

Keeping his visage straight ahead, Nathaniel quickened his pace.

When he arrived at the Sonozika estate, the elderly serving man bowed respectfully. “Welcome, Master Skinner,” he said. “You are expected. This way please.”

As was often the case, Gendou Sonozika was a mess of anxieties. He was pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, his forehead shiny with sweat.

“Ah, Brother Nathaniel!” he said, brightening as soon as Nathaniel entered the room. “Thank you for coming.”

“Not at all,” Nathaniel said. “I assume you’ve heard.”

Gendou nodded. “Yes. A youkai attack. A dead child. Terrible business, just terrible.”

“Horrible. Just goes to show the dangers of trusting youkai.” Nathaniel sadly shook his head. “We tried to warn them, Gendou. We tried to warn them.”

“You think that they were friends with these youkai then?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. Have you found what I asked for?”

“Yes, yes! Come with me!”

Gendou led Nathaniel to the courtyard out back. The Sonozika resident was a large, U-shaped building, with a lively garden growing between the two arms. The two men went was at the end of one of the arms. There, a slanted door had been opened in the ground, with steps leading to a room beneath the house.

Gendou lit a lantern and handed it to Nathaniel. As Nathaniel peered down into the dark, his stomach twisted.

He didn’t like to go down into dark places. He didn’t like it at all.

“I went through all of my family’s records,” Gendou said, not noticing Nathaniel’s discomfort. “And I arranged everything I could find into two piles. One for the Youkai Forest, and the other for…”

“The woman,” Nathaniel said, keeping his unease from his voice. “Thank you.”

Holding the lantern in one hand, Nathaniel descended into the dark.

Almost as if it were galvanized by the dark and the deep, the Dark Voice suddenly came to life. Give in, it told him, its tones sweet and seductive as always. Nathaniel. Give in.

Though it said little more than that, the meaning was clear. If Nathaniel were to let it in, to give it what it wanted, than all of the knowledge he desired would be his, with no need to sift through dusty old tomes in order to find it.

Nathaniel ignored it. He focused on the sound of the wooden steps creaking under his heavy boots. The more attention that he paid to the Dark Voice, the more power it had.

Unfortunately, though the message of the Dark Voice stayed the same, there were other voices, voice of his own weak, mortal soul, voices that longed to surrender to temptation.

You seek after lesser sorceries to meet your ends, telling yourself that they are a forgivable alternative to that power, they said. But there are no degrees of damnation, just as there are no degrees of salvation. You either are, or you are not.

Nathaniel reached the bottom. He held his lantern high, illuminating the wide space around him.

The floor was of rough stone, coated with dust. Square wooden pillars rose up, holding up the house above him. And everywhere was knowledge.

They came in scrolls and they came in books. There was even a small section of stone carvings. They sat in neat piles, lined up on shelves, and in boxes, some encased beneath ancient, dusty glass while others out in the open. The sum total of all Human knowledge in Gensokyo, both what the original settlers brought with them and what they had gained since. Any academic would gladly give an arm or commit an unforgiveable act of Gendou’s choice just to spend half an hour among that treasure.

Naturally, Nathaniel had free range.

Though most of the knowledge he had gained disgusted him, he learned it anyway. In order to destroy an enemy, one must know them. Nathaniel Skinner was fighting a war against the forces of darkness that literally permeated the air of this godforsaken country, both the demonic forces that lurked out in the dark and the ones that dwelt within his heart.

As promised, two piles of texts were waiting for him at a low desk. Nathaniel sat down on his knees in the dirt, laid the lantern down, and went to work.

It being what it was, Gensokyo was less of a country where supernatural phenomena occurred and more of a wellspring of supernatural phenomena that occasionally had meager attempts at civilization spring up like patches of mold. Demonic activity was the rule rather than the exception, and there were large swath that mortals were content to leave well enough alone, making no move settle in and modernize.

The Youkai Forest was hardly the largest or most notorious of those places, but it was up there, and despite Gensokyo’s small size, very little attempt had been made to delve into its secrets, even though the country had supposedly existed in its own little pocket of reality before even America had been civilized. Oh, there had been people who tried here and there, daring explorers who had gone in and even a few who had come out. And of course, there was that one family of pagan priestesses that seemed to consider themselves humanity’s protectors from the dark forces despite serving those same forces.

As such, there were some recording and observations. There just wasn’t very many of them, and what they did have mostly took the form of hearsay, theory, and conjecture. There was very little hard fact to be found.

What little did exist was the smaller of the two piles. Nathaniel thumbed through it, looking for anything that might be what he was looking for.

A rough census of the various youkai communities within the forest, one that was seventy years out of date? No. Something about a “pale white strider”? No. A meadow of sentient mushrooms that lured victims in with songs of sexual ecstasy before…wait, they ate their sexual organs? And nothing else? Why?

Shaking his head, Nathaniel put that one aside quickly. The bloodrattles? No. The Yamauba? No. The Throne of Bones?

Nathaniel paused. That one, at least, seemed to be near what he was looking for. He scanned the report only to scowl in disappointment. It was a description of a chair with a bunch of animal bones on it, one hypothesized to contain some ancient forest spirit. Certainly it seemed dark and evil, worthy of being burned away in Christ’s cleansing light, just not the source of darkness and evil that he was looking for.

Give in.

And then, right when he was convinced that he had gone on a snipe hunt, he found it.

It wasn’t much, just a small entry in some long-dead researcher’s journal, but it matched the description.

Of all the myths and legends passed along by the local youkai, few are more perplexing than the talk of something that they called the Bone Grove. Those willing to speak to me are strangely hesitant to mention it, as if doing so will draw its attention. As those who have been willing to speak of me have always seemed to delight in spinning dark and bloody tales of the forest’s dangers in hopes of scaring me, this struck me as very strange.

Nathaniel sat back on his haunches, hand stroking his beard as he thought. Well now, that sounded very familiar. Unfortunately, there was little else in there, just a mention of a rumor by someone who was long dead.

Regardless, I have not been able to even ascertain its location. I spoke to my friend Momo Tweeldewing, who has always been more forthcoming about the forest’s secrets. Even she seemed scared to speak of it, and all she would tell me was that long ago, there had been a small village where both Human and youkai lived together in peace, until one day a ball of flame fell from the Heavens and destroyed the village when it hit, and since then no life has been permitted to exist there, and no one in their right mind would ever set foot in that place. She begged me to promise not to seek it out, saying that I would not be strong enough to come back out again.

Though I could get no more from her, I have to admit I am now even more fascinated by this fabled bone grove, as until now I have never heard of any kind of peaceful coexistence between both man and youkai within the forest’s borders. If this story is true, then it could imply that this mysterious comet itself is responsible for the many dark energies that swirl through the Youkai Forest.

Despite his many thick layers of clothes, Nathaniel felt cold sweep through his whole body. He searched through the rest of the documents but could find no other mention of the bone grove. Part of him was glad for that. What little he had found told him that he was in greater danger than he had realized.

And there was still one more pile waiting for him.

Nathaniel cast a dour glance at the much larger stack of scrolls and ancient pieces of parchment. This one he honestly expected to be a waste of time. After all, what were the odds that the woman with the smart mouth working as the orphanage’s cook was also the Sonozika family’s ancestral enemy? It was far more likely that she had simply heard the name somewhere and used it to screw with Gendou’s head. Lord knew the man was certainly…malleable.

Still, he had promised, so he reached for the first scroll and unrolled it.

Though this time there was an abundance of information and carefully recorded observations, Nathaniel wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to make of it. According to what Gendou had told him and what he was reading, the Fujiwara family had been business rivals to the Sonozikas sometime before Gensokyo had even been created, which had later grown to being enemies of a more personal sort. There was mention of farm raids, assassinations, attempts to publicly humiliate, and other unscrupulous skullduggery one might expect from that kind of barbaric society. However, while there was plenty talk of Fujiwara no Fuhito and his sons, his single daughter only got a few passing mentions, and then only among familial lists. Apparently even the Fujiwaras’ arch-enemies hadn’t even considered her worthy of attention.

Right up until she was.

Of the “incident” in question, there was plenty, as the survivors had launched a full investigation once the flames had been put out. Apparently, one day a young woman claiming to be the estranged daughter of Fuhito had shown up at the Sonozika residence. She had called out the family patriarch, demanding that he face her personally to account for the murder of her brother and the many attempts to ruin her family. Predictably, she had been laughed at. And then…

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow.

And then an arrow had been sent through her heart. The culprit had been a bowman positioned on the estate’s walls, one who had acted without instruction. Why the fool had done so, whether it be overzealousness or accident, wasn’t recorded, as he hadn’t survived to be questioned. What was known is that despite being seemingly killed on the spot, the woman had not stayed down. Instead, she had gotten right back up again, pulled the arrow right out of her chest, and…

It was there that the details got muddled. There were several firsthand accounts of what had happened, but few offered anything concrete. What was clear was that the woman had become some kind of demon, a fiery abomination that had taken to the air and rained down damnation on the entirety of the Sonozika estate. Gendou’s ancestor had been cooked alive inside his own armor, as had all of his elder sons. His guards had either fled immediately or they perished as well. And seeing how much the Japs valued loyalty, they had probably lost their lives as well, once everything that could be learned from them had been learned.

Nathaniel thumbed through the accounts, but there was little variety. Fire and fear, those were the common threads. Reports from later spoke of wanton destruction, indiscriminate and thorough. The estate had been destroyed, burned to cinders but not pillaged. The devil-woman had come to kill and destroy, nothing else.

That had proven to be her undoing, at least insofar as her revenge had been concerned. If she had taken the time to search out the smoldering remains of the estate she had destroyed, she might have found the caches of wealth that had gone untouched, papers and documents and deeds that had been stashed away in safe places, all things that had allowed the Sonozika family rise from the ashes and reestablish themselves. And had she bothered to pursue those who had fled the inferno instead of concentrating on those who were fighting back, she might have prevented the escape of the youngest of the Sonozika children, from whom Gendou was descended. Instead, she had focused on the old man himself, him and his grown sons.

Regardless, as far as revenge went, it had still seemed fairly successful. Four Sonozikas dead, the patriarch and all three of his immediate heirs. Most of the staff had survived, those who had fled anyway. And they all said the same thing. The woman had taken flight, and everything had burned.

As Nathaniel thumbed through the reports, he came across something interesting. It wasn’t really a scroll, though it was wound like one. Rather, it was a silk tapestry, one that had been carefully preserved, though wasn’t on display upstairs for obvious reasons.

It was an artist’s rendition of that day, or at least as near as could be made.

It was done in that weirdly slanted style that the Japanese seemed to favor, with its broad strokes and flowing lines. Nathaniel had always found it kind of ugly, but regardless of the art style the scene it depicted would be hideous.

The lower half showed the courtyard of what had probably been considered a great house, though it probably had paled to even the most humble of homes in Philadelphia. There were several men wearing primitive armor lying on the ground, screaming in agony. And everything, including the men, was on fire.

The source of the flame was fairly evident. The upper half was taken up by the unholiest of abominations, a flaming demon that was half-woman and half-bird. It flew on great wings of flame, and gore dripped from the talons it had in place of hands and feet. Its beaklike mouth was open, and it was vomiting flame directly into the stomach of the man directly below her, whom was wearing green armor while everyone else wore blue. Gendou’s long-murdered ancestor, no doubt.

Nathaniel thoughtfully stroked his beard as he studied the depiction of the creature claiming to be the renegade daughter of the now-extinct Fujiwara clan. Well, he had certainly seemed several youkai who bore animalistic features, no doubt owing to their demonic origin, though he was fairly certain that this was merely artistic license. Or maybe the Sonozika clan had actually almost been wiped out by a flaming bird-woman. Honestly, at this point, Nathaniel would accept anything.

Of greater interest to Nathaniel wasn’t the bird-woman’s appearance, but what she was doing in the picture, or to be more specific, where the fire was coming from. Specifically, her mouth. Now, given that it was highly unlikely that the artist had set up his easel at the actual site of the slaughter and had her pose to be painted, that was probably just another attempt to be dramatic rather than accurate.

Still…

Seiya’s words came back to him. “Out of her mouth!” he had said. “She spewed fire out of her mouth!”

Interesting.

He mentally formed a picture of the uncouth woman claiming to be named Fujiwara no Mokou in his head and transposed it over the rendition of the Fujiwara no Mokou of old. Of course there was little they visually had in common, and by any reasonable metric that Fujiwara no Mokou ought to have been burning in Hell for the last several centuries.

But what if she wasn’t?

What if the two were one and the same?

He had to learn more. He had to get in close, examine the situation for himself.

But how?

Give in.

He shook his head. No, shut up!

Think. He had to think. He had to figure out a way.

Nathaniel sighed. This would have been so much easier in Philadelphia. There, it would be so easy to send someone under the guise of providing charity, and have them-

Wait.

Nathaniel frowned. An idea was forming. It was incomplete, it was certainly risky, but…

He slowly nodded. Yes. Yes, that could work.

…

“For as the Christ our Savior once said, it is better to have a millstone tied around your neck and to be thrown into the sea than to let even one of the little ones be lead into darkness! And though I am certain that some of those children have already welcome sin into their hearts and are beyond saving, there might be those whom still hear the Lord calling to them. There are those who might be persuaded to break away, and seek out the Light.”

Nathaniel paused, letting the faithful soak in his words. Then he said, “I am going to propose that our church offers the orphanage relief and support in this trying time. I know this goes against what I have counseled in the past, but the Lord does not make mistakes, and he finds faithful in even the most unlikely of places. Moses was a murderer hiding in the desert when the Almighty appeared to him in a burning bush. Jonah was a coward who ran and hid rather than deliver salvation to the wicked. The great Apostle Paul was a violent man seeking to eradicate the followers of Christ. It might be that, among them, we might also find the next vessel of the Lord’s will. And though they may laugh and curse us, though all but one of those children might turn their backs to the Gospel, that single one would have made the attempt worth it. Amen?”

In this, his congregation had no qualms in answering him.

“Amen!”

…

It was at the end of the day, and Nathaniel stood naked and alone in his washroom, staring once again at his reflection.

It was well that his sermons tended to be on the excitable side. That way it was easy to explain how his brow glistened with sweat. Besides, it was the middle of summer! Given how many layers of thick clothes he wore, of course he would come out a little sweaty.

But if that was the case, why did he feel so cold?

He looked down at his hand, the corrupted hand, the one that had been the Dark Voice’s conduit. On the surface it looked perfectly fine, and it moved when he told it to, how he told it to.

But he still couldn’t feel it. It was like everything from his bicep down had been hacked off.

Give in.

He always needed to put in work to wake it up. He would often rise to find it feeling cold and lifeless, but after a hot herbal bath he would be able to beat some feeling into it, even if that feeling was searing pain.

A deep basin of steaming hot water treated with herbs sat on the table next to him. After taking a moment to prepare himself, Nathaniel thrust his hand into the water.

Normally that would be when the agony started, when the heat and herbs would come in contact with the corruption and he would have to bite down on a piece of leather to keep from screaming.

Not this time though. This time, he felt nothing.

No, no, no, no. Nathaniel clenched his hand into a fist, digging his fingernail into his palm. Come on, feel something! Anything.

There was nothing.

He yanked his hand out of the basin and stared at it. Murky water dripped down and steam rose up, but it wasn’t flushed with pink in response to the heat. In fact, it was still pasty white, like that of a bloodless corpse.

Nathaniel fumbled around with his left hand until he found his silver shaving razor. He pressed the blade against his palm and drew it across, making a shallow cut.

There was no blood.

No!

Again he thrust it back into the water. Come on, feel something! Where was the pain? There was always pain!

But then, though there still was no response from his hand, something did start to change.

The water had stopped steaming. He waved his left hand over the surface and felt no heat.

But it couldn’t have cooled that quickly! It had been boiling hot just a moment ago.

Then, as he watched, ice started to form, spreading out from his wrist to consume the entire basin.

Nathaniel hastily yanked his hand back out again. God, even though he still felt nothing from his hand, he could still feel the cold radiating off of it on his chest.

It looked dead. He could move it, but he couldn’t feel it, and he couldn’t bleed it. It looked dead, it felt dead, and had done so ever since…

(eyes. Eyes of devils, opening all around him. The relief carvings of twisted death had opened their eyes and were staring at him straight from Hell.)

…ever since…

(something was rising from the center of the room. A cylinder, a multi-sided black cylinder. Oh Jesus, help me!)

…ever since…

(it’s calling to me. I can hear it! It calls my name, draws me toward it, but I cannot resist! My legs are no longer my own, my body moves of its own accord!)

…ever since…

(I touch it. It is as cold as ice, freezing my palm to its side. I give the command to tear my hand away, but my body does not move. Then something jabs into the center of my palm, and I feel warm blood leaking out)

…ever since…

(I lose an entire layer of skin when I finally rip my hand away. I see it there, a perfect white handprint, frozen to the side of the black box. In its center is a tiny scarlet bead of blood. The blood begins to spread, covering the skin, dying it red)

…ever since…

(the box is opening. Oh God, it’s opening! It’s opening, and-)

Squeezing his dead hand into a fist, Nathaniel looked up again at his reflection, at his hollow eyes he always hid behind dark glasses. He was scared.

Give in.

Nathaniel’s legs could no longer support him. He sank to the floor, curling his limbs up into a tight ball, his dead hand clenched at his heart while the other grabbed at his hair. “No,” he sobbed. “No, I won’t. I won’t!”

Though the Dark Voice rarely changed the candor of its message, he was pretty sure he heard its laughter echoing through the deepest recesses of his soul.

…

So…this one will probably get at least partially rewritten before I start posting on FF.net, on account to me being totally brainfried and doing barely any editing. Oh well. Enjoy the beta!

Until next time, everyone.

#The Touhou Project #touhou #imperfect metamorphosis #fanfic

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clockworkmorningglory · 5 years

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Broken Images

So this is a story I’ve been working on for the past 12 years. I add a little bit or edit a little bit every now and again but have yet to finish. So far I have 7 chapters.

All characters are my own and so is the story line.

@authoressskr @unleashthemidnight @fictionalabyss @sorenmarie87 @kdfrqqg

Prologue

The rain beat down upon her body, mixing with the blood that slowly oozed from the hole in her shoulder. The pain was fading, mostly due to her fading in and out of consciousness. She looked around, her eyes tried to focus on her surroundings, but that was useless she'd lost too much blood. The prep had gotten away, not much she could do about it from this angle anyway. Back up would be here soon, and she could hear her father, the mayor yelling already, not to mention the rest of her family. She had been sheriff of Cottonwood for less than a year now, the most dangerous the job had been was when Bobby Ray Stills had decided to get roaring drunk and bust up Sammy's bar. Earlier this evening she had gotten a call from old Mrs. Hawkins's about someone messing around the old Jackson place. Thinking it was just a bunch of local kids playing around she had decided to just go check it out for herself. Crime had never been a problem in Cottonwood, but it had just come in a big way to the back woods Tennessee town, and Sheriff Amelia Rochester was going to make sure that it didn't stay long.

Chapter One

“Hey, Lia, how’s it going down at the station? Nice and quiet I hope.” Mayor Matthew Rochester’s concern for the town and especially for his only daughter came through in his voice.

If you would have told him twenty years ago that it would be his daughter taking his place as Sheriff instead of one of his four sons, he would have laughed, but now it made him proud. His little Amelia graduated from Tennessee State four years ago with a degree in Criminal Science and was a better shot then any of her brothers. When she told him a year ago that she was running for Sheriff he had given her his full support. After all, nothing major ever happened in Cottonwood.

“Things are goin' just fine Daddy. Bobby Ray and Melvin got into it over at Sammy's again so I went over to break it up. The Cameron twins broke Miss Somerville's window. So now I have two in the drunk tank and the twins will be mowin’ and fixin’ up Miss Somerville's yard for the rest of the summer.”

“Well, I need to get back to work. Tell Mama I'll see her at dinner on Sunday.” She listened as her father said his good byes and hung up the phone.

Her desk was messy but it was organized. She looked out the window; night had fallen on her little town and the evening shift had begun two hours before. Her youngest brother, Jeff, sat in the outer office reading the paper, with his feet propped up on the desk.

Marianne, the evening dispatcher, stood in the doorway to her office. “Sheriff, Mrs. Hawkins's was on the line; seems that there is some strange happenings over at the old Jackson place. Says she's seen lights out there and some strange noises have been gettin' her dog all in a lather.” Marianne was in her late fifties and had been a dispatcher at the Cottonwood Sheriff's Department for what seemed like forever. Lia sighed and pushed away from her desk.

“I'll head on out there and take a look, probably just a bunch of teenagers burning off some energy.” She said and pulled her gun from her desk drawer, clipped it onto her belt, then grabbed her jacket.

“Want me to rouse your brother from his reading so that he can come with you?” Marianne asked, looking over at Jeff still lounging with the evening paper. Lia just shook her head; nah wouldn't need to bother him. After all, nothing bad ever happened in Cottonwood.

Rain soaked her as she ran to her Explorer. She'd parked it in the shade earlier thinking it would stay cooler if it were out of the hot Tennessee sun. But around three that afternoon a storm system moved in and the sky had broken, letting loose a much needed rain. She drove the four miles to the old Jackson house. Its porch sagged, but the house itself was still sound. Unfortunately the old barn in back had lost the battle with time long ago; all that remained of it now was a ruin. She stepped out into the rain and pulled her cap down tighter on her head, then turned on her flashlight. Slowly she made her way to the old house, first checking the perimeter. Then making her way inside she started her sweep of the house. First the kitchen, the once pretty wallpaper hung off the walls in spots, the floor was littered with trash and the remnants of old furniture. Next was the living room, its once beautiful hardwood floors now had a slight green cast to them, and the remainder of a sofa sat in front of a broken picture window.

She worked her way around the outside of the house, until she made it to the back bedroom window. She swept the light slowly through the room until she came upon a scene that’s memory would haunt her life forever.

“Sweet Jesus” There in the middle of the room tied to the frame of an old metal bed was a naked man, or what was left of him. His arms were stretched above his head, tied with what looked to be baling wire. It looked like he had put up a struggle, because the wire was embedded deep into his wrists. His face was ashen with death and his eyes....…“Oh Lord” His eyes had been cut from his head. The rest of his body was covered with incisions, all over major arteries. Lia took a deep breath; the taste of bile invaded her mouth. Oh no, she couldn't get sick now, she needed to radio for back up, get the lab guys from Chattanooga here. Lia made her way back to the Explorer, her hands shaking and her stomach threatening to revolt.

“Marianne, this Lia, come in.” She slid from the side of the truck down to the ground, losing the battle to stand up.

“I'm here, Sheriff. What’s goin' on out there? Bunch of kids partying,” Marianne's voice crackled over the radio. Lia took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Marianne I need to you get all the boys out here ASAP, we have a homicide. Call the Lab boys too. Jesus, Mari this is a mess.”

Silence answered her for a moment. “Right away Sheriff, Jeff and Lyle are on their way there now.”

Lia was still sitting by the truck when she heard a noise. She stood slowly and drew her gun. “Come out! Come out with your hands up. I'm Sheriff Lia Rochester of the city of Cottonwood. Throw down any weapons and come out with your hands up!”

Silence answered her; she scanned the area around the house. Nothing moved. She swept the darkness again when a shadow melted out of the inky blackness behind her. The coppery smell of blood reached her first. Reacting on instinct she spun around, her weapon ready to fire. As she spun her gun was knocked out of her hands, and she was knocked to the ground. The shade loomed over her; the dim light from the truck gave off just enough light that she could make out a knife in its hand, just as it swung towards her. She moved quickly enough so that it struck her in the shoulder instead of through the heart. The knife went in to the hilt, pinning her to the ground.

Pain exploded causing her to cry out. The shadow loomed closer; she could smell the drying blood on him and feel the heat of his breath.

“Tell the Wolf that I'm back and I'm just getting started.” A gravelly voice whispered out. Then with a jerk he pulled the knife from her shoulder, and was gone. Lia groped for her gun, and found it a few feet away. She propped herself against the truck, tears ran down her face. The pain in her shoulder slowly over whelmed her. She heard the sounds of sirens in the distance as her world slowly faded to black, and she wondered what type of hell had just come to Cotton County.

*********************************

The pain was the first thing that she noticed, next was the smell of antiseptic, and then there was the chaos going on around her. She could hear her mom and dad talking to someone, and her brothers threatening all sorts of retribution on the man who had hurt their baby sister. The loudest of the four was her oldest brother Jed, his deep voice rose above the others.

“I don't care what you have to do, get me the best damn man you have down here now! The Sheriff is out of commission until further notice and I want you to get your asses down here and find this maniac before he kills again.” The last of his sentence all but a shout, he flipped his cell phone shut with a loud CLICK.

“Where the hell, were you Jeff? Couldn't you have gotten off your lazy ass and gone with her? Christ Jesus. She could have been killed!” Lex said, as he glared at his youngest brother. Lex was the quietest of the four. His voice was barely above a whisper but caused the rest of the room to go deathly still. Jed and Lex both looked at Jeff, their faces grim. The color left Jeff's face, his mouth thinned with strain. Guilt made the young man look years older than he was.

“L-leave him alone, it....it was my decision. I'm Sheriff and it was my call.” Lia said weakly. Her whole body hurt; she tried to sit up but the pain in her shoulder kept her from it. Slowly she looked around the room, taking in each one of her brothers. They were all tall, and loomed above the doctor and their mother. The only one who stood toe to toe with them was their father. All of them had dark brown hair and deep green eyes; she was the odd one out with her light brown hair and hazel eyes, not to mention her height. At barely five foot three, she only came up to their chins; they had a good foot on her.

“Oh, Matt!! She's awake, my baby girl is awake!” Hazel Rochester's frail voice echoed in the stillness of the hospital room. “Oh darlin' Mama and Daddy's here and we'll take good care of you.” She said as she brushed the hair out of Lia's eyes, her hand trembled slightly.

“I'm alright Mama, I'm just fine. The guy just caught me unaware is all. Next time I'll know better, he won't get the drop on me then.” Lia said her weak voice slowly gathering strength.

“Damn it Lia there won't be a next time!” Her father's voice shook with rage and helplessness.

The room went quiet, and Lia's head tilted up stubbornly. '“I was elected Sheriff Dad and I will get this guy. I won't have you blame Jeff because he wasn't there to protect me, if you want to blame someone blame me. It was my stupidity that got me into this mess.” Lia said, finally mad enough to force herself into an upright position on the uncomfortable hospital bed.

“The FBI is going to handle this, Lia. This guy is totally gone in the head. Dad and I read the file earlier. He has been killing people for the last five years.... No one has been able to get a lead on him 'cause he leaves no evidence and no witnesses. Did you hear me, Lia? NO WITNESSES! You’re lucky to be alive; Doc says that if that knife had been over a little bit to the right you WOULD be dead.” Jed's voice had a quiet threat to it. The softness of it made the nurse in the room look nervously around and then, excusing herself, left the family alone in the room.

“I'm a big girl Jed. I don't need you or one of the boys to look after me. Just as soon as Doc okay's me I'm out of here and on the phone to the boys at the FBI office. I refuse to let this psycho win, and if I give up and let ya'll handle this for me, well that’s exactly what I'd be doing. I'd be showing this guy my fear and guys like this feed off of fear.” Her voice rose above the denials of her parents and brothers.

From the door way, a tall man listened as the young woman in the bed told her family that she would not bow out. That she had every intention of finishing this fight. He felt a strange kind of pride in the fact that she would stand up for herself even when she was wounded. He ran his fingers through his long black hair, not exactly company Okayed but he liked it. His tailored black suit fit him like a second skin and whereas others looked out of place in it, he looked elegant. . . . And lethal.

Zeke Wolf looked FBI, but underneath he was as far away from company issue as the cowboy boots he wore. Zeke slowly took in the room, Cotton County Prosecuting Attorney Jed Rochester stood over his sister's bed while two of her other brothers, Jeff and Lex stood in the corner glaring at her. The Mayor and his wife sat in the two chairs on the right side of the room doing the same. He took a deep breath and threw himself to the lions that were the Rochesters.

Jed was about to tell Lia exactly what he thought of her heading out on a call on her own, when Wolf walked into the hospital room. Jed sent a glance to his brothers who quickly moved to block the man’s path to their sister.

“This is a private room, and we'd like to keep it that way so why don't you go back out the way you came in.” Jed said, as he slowly evaluated the big man in front of him. The guy had a good five inches on Jed's own six foot, and was built like a linebacker but moved like a jungle cat. Whoever this man was, he was someone who would strike fear into a lesser bunch of men, but the Rochester men could and would hold their own.

“Mr. Rochester, I'm sorry to interrupt but I'm from the FBI office in Nashville, I'm here to talk with Sheriff Amelia Rochester.” Zeke said, a slight smile played on his lips for a moment and then was gone. He looked at the woman on the bed. This time he was able to see her more clearly. She reminded him of a pixie. She was small framed, but he could see the strong sleek muscle that stretched and bunched in her uninjured arm. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her bright hazel eyes were spitting fire at the men standing around her.

“Well you'll just have to wait; she's in no shape to be talkin' to anyone right now.” Lex said. The other two brothers nodded their agreement. They looked like three big dogs protecting an adopted kitten from attack. Zeke was looking each of them over in turn when the quiet of the room was broken; a low growl sounded from the bed behind the men. A loud THWACK sounded as a pillow beaned the oldest Rochester boy upside the head.

“I have told ALL of you that I'm a big girl now. Hell not just a big girl, I'm the damn sheriff!! Now if ya'll will excuse me, I'd like to talk to Agent.......Agent.....I'm sorry sir I didn't catch your name.” Lia’s voice still a bit raspy from the pain medication. Her brother's parted enough so that she could look at the man who had entered the room. His face looked like it had been cut from granite, his skin told of a mixed heritage. His nose a thin blade, his cheek bones high and prominent, he had a strong honest face, but his eyes held her. They looked like storm clouds, a mixture of blue and gray.

“I'm Special Agent Zeke Wolf, with the Nashville branch of the FBI. I'd like to talk with you Sheriff.......If that's alright?” Lia looked around at her brothers then she looked to her mother. Holding her daughter’s gaze Hazel Rochester nodded her head then started to shoo her husband and children out of the room.

“Agent Wolf, please remember that my daughter has just been through a very tough night and isn't her full self yet. Lia, darlin' if you need anything your daddy and I are just a holler away.” With one last look at Zeke she walked out, closing the door behind her.

“Now, Agent Wolf, what can I do for you?”

Zeke pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. “Well Sheriff I need you to tell me all that you can about what happened last night. Let’s start with what you did when you first arrived on the scene.”

Lia closed her eyes and thought back to the night before, then taking a deep breath she began.

“The rain was coming down cats and dogs.... but Lord did we ever need it. I stopped in front of the old Jackson place; I could hear Mrs. Hawkins's dogs in the distance. Couldn't hear them real well though, the rain on the old tin roof was makin' too much noise. I started to do an initial sweep, first I looked in the windows of the kitchen, the living room, and then the back bedrooms. It all looked normal at first, and then I came to the last bedroom. Where the other floors had a green tint to them from the years of mold and mildew this one looked like it had been cleaned and polished. I looked through the room slowly and then I came upon the victim.” Stopping Lia took a calming breath, trying to push back the nausea that assaulted her at the memory, and then continued. “His wrists were wired to the bed, and he looked like someone had used him as a pin cushion. Jesus, all the crime scene photos in the world never prepare you for the real thing, do they Agent?”

Zeke sat for a second as he took in everything that Lia had just said, then ran a hand down his face. Three years before he'd been assigned to the Wraith murders. The victims all varied in age and sex. The only thing that stayed the same was the method the killer used. All the victims had been found in abandoned houses, their wrists tied to the bed with wire and their life's blood drained out of them. Three years ago he had been hot on the trail of the mad man, when the unthinkable almost happened...... He had almost become one of the killer’s victims.

#Own Story

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dailyaudiobible · 5 years

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12/06/2019 DAB Transcript

Hosea 4:1-5:15, 2 John 1:1-13, Psalms 125:1-5, Proverbs 29:9-11

Today is the 6th day of December. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It’s great to be here with you today as we move into the weekend and continue the voyage that we are on together through the Scriptures. So, we began the minor prophets and are working our way through Hosea in the Old Testament. We concluded the first letter of John, also known as first John yesterday, which means we get to the New Testament today we’ll be talking about second John. Actually, we’ll read that entire letter today. But first, Hosea chapters 4 and 5 and we’ve been reading from the English Standard version this week.

Introduction to second John:

Alright. So, like we mentioned a couple minutes ago, we’re going to read in its entirety a letter from the apostle John that we know as second John. And this letter was…was probably written just a little while after the first one, the one we just finished yesterday and it was probably written to these same people because the letters are similar, and these similarities are one of the reasons that most biblical scholars accept John as the authentic author. And since it’s believed that John spent the later part of his life in the city of Ephesus, then it's probably from Ephesus where he wrote this letter that we call second John. And the letter’s short, it's 13 verses and the first three of those verses are…are greeting and then the next three verses remind us of the importance of love which is something that we…we got in spades while reading first John specifically involving each other. And then the next three verses speak against the false teaching of Docetism which…which was what…which we talked about in first John. And then the next two verses are giving instruction that’s not in the first letter. And these verses tell the readers and tell us how to behave toward a traveling teacher or preacher who tries to come in and introduce false teaching into the church. And the church is not to encourage or offer hospitality in those situations. And then the last two verses conclude the letter. So, we’re gonns read it and it's gonna go by and it’d be easy to let first and second John kinda blur together because we’re just covering…it's like we’re covering the same territory. But let's just imagine that between the conclusion of first John yesterday and our reading that we’re about to do of second John today that months have gone by and the impact of that first letter has reached its peak and is beginning to fade and diminish because the challenges go on in life and we keep facing them and then this second letter comes along a few months later when the readers needed the encouragement, needed the boost and…and clarity, a reminder of what the first letter had instructed. And then we will see that we are again being reminded to love one another and we should get in the habit of reminding ourselves of that on a continual habitual basis. And, so, with that we read second John.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word and we've already said on a number of occasions just…just the observance of the fact that the year is speeding up and…and that is happening here in the Scriptures as well as we move through shorter letters and shorter writings. And, so, we’re moving at a quicker pace as we move through this final month. And, so, once again, our prayer remains constant, that You would lead us into all truth and that we would stay fixed upon this rhythm that we began all of these days and months ago when we set out on the journey of a lifetime to move through the Scriptures this year. And, so, come Holy Spirit, plant the words that we've learned from first and second John this week into our lives that we must love one another and that this…this isn't something that we just simply say. And really for that matter, it's not just simply some things that we do that are kind or benevolent, it's who we are, it's what we are. You are love, we were told this week and You abide within us, we were told this week, which means that love abides within us and must overflow out of us so that You can love the world through us. And as we move into the weekend this really fundamentally begins with those who are closest to us. So, may Your love pour out of us flooding those that are near us that we love as we move into the weekend. And may we consciously realize that it's not just us trying to be sacrificial or it's not just us loving those that we love, but it's You loving through us. And as we begin to sense You loving through us we realize how loved we are. So, come Holy Spirit help us participate and collaborate in loving the world in the days ahead we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, its the website, where you find out what's going on around here.

And I guess the thing that is most prevalent, prevalently going on around here is what's going on everywhere else, it’s…it’s Christmas time, it's the holiday season. And, so, we have brought out the Daily Audio Bible family Christmas Box for 2019, which is an annual tradition and we have packed it full of mostly things that have never been in a Christmas Box before, brand-new resources, some of the most popular Global Campfire resources, the brand-new written resource the God of Your Story, which is the 365 day, one year devotional that follows the rhythm and the path of the Daily Audio Bible. And the new Journal is in there. Your choice of coffee or tea, fresh roasted coffee being roasted as it's being sent and so that it arrives fresh or our boutique tea, and some of the Daily Audio Bible Christmas cards. And, incidentally, you can get the Christmas cards separate from the Christmas box. Just look in the Christmas section in the Daily Audio Bible Shop. They come in packs of 20 for five bucks and they come with their matching envelopes, they’re beautiful, we make them every year. There wonderful way just to…well…first of all, to share Christmas wishes with your loved ones but a fantastic way to invite those who…who…who may need the Bible and their life every day, to have this resource and take the journey with you. And you can walk the journey with them in the coming year. So, the Christmas cards are in the Christmas Box as well as, like I said, a number of Global Campfire items that we made this year. And the…and the Daily Audio Bible Christmas ornament that is only found in the Christmas Box with Daily Audio Bible 2019 on it and our word for the year, “Maintain.” So, you can find all this in the Christmas section of the Daily Audio Bible Shop. Check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com as well. There's a link on the homepage and I thank you with all of my heart for your partnership as we move through this holiday season. Thank you. So, there's a link on the homepage. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that is it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello this is Lola I’m from East Asia calling in again with a update about Lorraine the teacher who was dying here in China probably. Healthwise she’s…she’s kind of all over the place. She’s…for a while we thought she was going to die in the next couple days, but it doesn’t seem like that anymore so maybe I think prayers are making a difference. So, she is doing better. Praise God her family was able to come to China and get all those visa things and so should now she’s not all alone but right now what the struggle is…is all this legal wrangling, wrangling with the insurance, wrangling the… The nurses last night were just on like the texting app were just yelling, not yelling literally but at some people who…at some people who are trying to help Lorraine saying, “you’re causing her pain, you’re causing her blah blah blah” and the teachers were reacting not very calmly to this and the cultural misunderstandings and anger and I think a lot of people are struggling with this right now when they’re trying…I think everyone, the nurses, the teachers are just trying to help Lorraine. So, pray that this will all be smoothed over and that we can help her, and that Lorraine will come to know Jesus and maybe…maybe that she’ll be able to go home to the states. Okay. Thank you. Bye.

Hi everyone, it’s Karen in St. Louis. It’s December 2nd and I always love when I hear the reading of Psalm 121. It is a blessing to my soul because God gave me that Psalm not only in word but in song when I was going through a very, very dark time of sickness when doctors didn’t know what was going on with me - deep depression and fear because I am my only provider financially. So, He is faithful, He is with us and our help comes from Him. And I love to the commentary that you gave today Brian. Ultimately, Christ in us is the hope of glory. And we have all we need in us. I know it’s hard for us to comprehend that when we’re going through pain and brokenness, seeing that too. I’m going through…I go through daily pain every day. I don’t know what kind of money I’m going to make from week to week. The answer of the prayer that I pray every day for my life of having a husband and family has not happened, but my hope is in Christ and I just lift up all of those. I think of Diane Blake Davis, God be with you, God heal you. I pray for Karen, that his comfort would be upon you and Michaela that you would know that the government is upon His shoulders, that we would all know that, that joy to the world, the Lord has come and that you all would have a blessed, blessed holiday season just filled with the Holy Spirit with Jesus Christ. Amen.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible today is December 1st my name is Bee from College Station Texas. My husband passed away October 1st with CHS. He was only 58. So, I’m kind of behind on the Daily Audio Bible because of taking care of him. We were married for 35 years. So, we had one child, Roxanne. Her name was Roxanne. We had one child together. She was daddy’s little girl and she is hurt, angry. With who, I don’t know. I feel like she’s angry with me. I can’t do or say anything right around her. She seems angry all the time with me. But anyway, we always thought that it was gonna be me first to go but it was my husband unexpectedly. So, I need prayer. I need prayer because I feel so lonely without my husband. We were together for 35 years and it hurts. I’m alone. I had to move. So, I just feel lonely and my daughter, I don’t know what to say about her. She has four kids, four of my grandkids and she seems like she takes them away. I don’t know she…she just takes it out on me I feel. So, I need prayer. I feel so lonely without my husband. I miss him so much.

This is Candace from Oregon. I’m moved all because I just heard a call, I’ve from I believe it’s Karen from Hemet who lost her husband of 36 years just before Thanksgiving. Thank you, dear sister for your call. We love you so much and the Lord loves you much, much more. I thank Him because I know that He’s promised to be near to the brokenhearted. I lost my husband almost 3 years ago now, it was March 11 of 2017. And with the holiday time I…I miss him but I just treasure every detail of just little things about him that were just such a great blessing to me and to our children and to our grandchild. And…oh…yeah it’ just…it’s very intense and very precious when you’ve gotten to have so very many years with your beloved. So, I thank God with you for that and I ask Him to attend to your heart. Lord, be with all the brokenhearted during the season and be…be the husband that’s missing Lord as You have been to me. Thank You so much. Be that grandpa Father that’s so needed Lord be present among us. We look to You in Jesus’ name.

Good evening DABbers, this is Running Desperately to Jesus. Diana, I cannot get you off of my mind. The message that you left asking for prayer and your serious bout with cancer and your autistic sons, God has so much for you until this is gonna be such an awesome testimony to others. This cancer, may it be affecting your brain but it’s definitely not affecting your Spirit and it’s definitely not affected your walk with God. That is so apparent in your…your call. You’re taking the Bible verse of Daniel and putting a rhyme to it, making it so clear. I don’t even know where to begin, I don’t even know where to end. I just wish I could meet you in person to give you a hug and to tell you you are such an awesome woman. God has got you. He’s got you in the palm of His hands. He’s got your sons in the palm of His hands. I love you Diana. Again, I wish I could meet you so that I could just give you a hug and tell you I love you sister. Running Desperately to Jesus.

Good morning this is for Married and Alone. I have been married for almost 28 years and you said you’ve been married for 20. I just want to give you hope that God can work amazing things in your husband’s heart. For probably the first 20 years of my marriage I never heard the official diagnosis before, but I definitely did not have my husband’s heart and in the…in the last few years I’ve seen a turnaround. God has been working in his heart and just doing amazing things and…and it’s overwhelming and…and we have we have a love now that’s deeper than…that I could have even imagined. And what I would say is don’t give up, keep pouring it out to the Lord. What I prayed constantly was that we could be, my husband and I, that we could be one mind in Christ Jesus, and I’ve seen that come to pass. So, I’m praying for you and I’m believing for you and just don’t give up because the Lord will sustain you. And this is what I’m going to be praying for you in Jesus’ name. Amen.

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jiwonsssi · 5 years

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— stress relief, p. 2

All well that ends well.

Warnings: its pure pwp, idek where to start

Characters: Eun Jiwon/Sandara Park

Realisation of the upcoming uneasy conversation came upon Dara at the moment when he finally stopped a car in front of her apartment building; Jiwon was tensed at the point that even air was thick around them. He tried his best to afford it; to fail miserably. Dara could tell that he's stressed, because he squeezed the steering wheel to the point of white knuckles.

She wanted to break the atmosphere, to say something, that would ease his nerves. But what would that be? 'I didn't mean that, you know. You misunderstood. Hehe'.

No, Sandara doesn't want to take her words back. But the atmosphere now is changed. A lot. They barely even talked after he took her our of the event.

She said exactly what she meant to say. But with what have she been thinking when asking it; only God knows.

She was nervous as well. And it was no less obvious - tugging on the hem of her dress and not even looking at him; feeling like a teenage girl again. But shes not teenager anymore, right? It was her who said that, it's not like she can just bury her head in sand now.

So Dara found all the courage she had to ask him again.

Dear Lord and God and Jesus and someone out there, she had never did anything like that. Never in her life she stuck in a situation like that; Jiwon never helped her. Though he was never easy.

- So, I.. - she looked at the panel of his car, scanning with eyes smooth black plastic like it was the most fascinating thing she ever saw, - Look, I, um, it's not like I want to take my words back. In fact, I'd hate to, but I..

She hears him laughing all of sudden and looks at him with all anger she can manage. She was trying to say important staff! With all her courage! What audacity he really holds, huh.

- Don't make excuses, we both understand what it was, okay? You look ridiculous right now, - he continues smiling and Dara doesn't feel offended or something. They indeed understand. Yeah.

Dara smiles at him, nodding. She has no idea what should she understand.

- Coffee? You helped me earlier and took me home, I need to thank you now anyway, - atmosphere is still a little tense but it's not awkward anymore. She doesn't feel out of place. She has met him a few times and it all was in uncomfortable circumstances; yet she was always okay. It's all on him, right?

Jiwon helps her everytime in the end.

- Sure, - he agrees maybe a little too quickly. Maybe. And maybe she smiles a little too wide, - Let's go.

Fresh air feels incredible and Dara takes a few extra seconds to inhale; she had been crying like a bear just an hour ago and memories are still vivid. Her knees a little weak and hands shake slightly; it's difficult to make it to the elevator on heels, but she manages. She can sense that Jiwon waits for her by not walking too fast. And that is the part of a reason why she doesn't feel like falling to the floor and crying till the next morning.

- Aren't you tired? I can make it, - he stands a few steps away, burying his hands deep in the pockets and looking a lot more relaxed. Dara hopes that his brain is no longer filled with unnecessary thoughts and she's really happy about it, - I mean, your shoes. And in general. You know, the whole evening, all that cameras, people around..

He's rumbling and it's so cute, she smiles widely, not being able to surpass it. Oh, God. He cares. He really does.

- If you were wondering why I cried, it's because I was overwhelmed with 'the whole evening', you are absolutely right here, - Dara looks at him, trying to ignore everything that she feels about the whole thing. Because now she is not less overwhelmed, to be honest. But with different emotions somehow. Because maybe they stand a little too close, - I'm good now, so don't worry. Let me do it for you, okay? I'll be in my fluffy slippers, so it should be fine.

Jiwon smiles again, hiding with hand and it also feels amazing. He truly is her teenage year's crush. But now she is no longer a teenager, and he is no longer unattainable.

If it would be possible to tell teenage Sandara that something like that would happen in the future.. God, she would live only by waiting for it.

- Okay. Only because of fluffy slippers, - and the atmosphere is so good, she literally cannot hide how happy she is. Dara feels herself so light-headed. Like that shitty day, even, maybe, a week, suddenly came to this exact point to bring her an actual cure in the face of Eun Jiwon. Totally worth it.

- Feel yourself at home, - she offers him to enter first, apologizing that she has only one pair of fluffy slippers and even offering it to him; he says no, but Dara believes it's only out of politeness. No one can say 'no' to pink fur in their right mind.

She then goes to kitchen, feeling like she's flying - those heels really made her look fine as hell, even she was sure about it, but now she doesn't feel less fine without them; just a lot more short. A lot. Ugh.

She hears water splashing from afar when she had only turned a coffee machine on, and so at the next moment, he's standing beside a small kitchen counter already without a jacket and three upper buttons undone, looking through his phone with utterly serious expression. Jesus Christ. That is no good for her mental stability.

- My manager was looking for me. I feel like I'm five, - he puts his phone on a surface and rubs his face; Dara gets it quickly - he's annoyed.

- And so as an adult you patiently told him where you are so he wouldn't be nervous, - she turns to pay attention to the working machine, which already filled the air with strong coffee aroma, - Didn't you?

She doesn't get response quickly, but when she does, it's equally cute and hilarious.

- No, I told him to fuck off, - and Jiwon is so puzzled with himself now, it's written on his face clearly. Dara just laughs again, shaking her head and proceeding to make americano, - In my defense, I was polite.

- You cannot say 'fuck off' politely, - technically you can. Possibly.

- But I did, - he's now standing behind her, looking above her shoulder on what she's doing, - Smells nice.

- Thank you, it's all on her, - she tups the top of coffee machine, ignoring how a brood of goosebumps ran down her spine.

Dara turns around to get another cup, not proceeding that Jiwon is right behind her. A lot more closer than she thought, actually. It's such a cliché.

- But still, - he's not planning on moving tho. She can feel him tensing up a little and the next thing he says.. any other man in any other situation would have been kicked out in seconds; but God knows, thoughts on their minds are absolutely the same, - Is there a chance I still can ask you that question?

She waits just a second, melting under his gaze, and he is oh-so-close and mother raised a decent woman but it doesn't matter anymore.

She is a decent grown up woman and she can sleep with whoever she wants to.

The thing is, she is the only one who thinks it's something bad. And her face shows it; Jiwon frowns and tilts his head a little. Like a cute little puppy, but Dara is sure you cannot look cute while being that hot.

- I'm not going to leave after, I promise. We can try to.. - he places his hand on her cheek and her exhale is so shaky. She desperately wants to give up to him, she can feel that pulsating sensation in her body when she's even imagining it for a second. She bites lower lip, frowning her brows a little. Why is she so scared? Jiwon clearly can sense it. That's why his breath is not better, it lingers on her lips, she feels every his word on her skin. The perfect distance to make her lose her mind, - I'll ask you on a date no matter what your answer would be, Sandara. Don't be so nervous. I'll wait as long as you need. And I'm okay with..

She doesn't let him finish when he unconsciously touches her lip with his thumb and she kisses it. His face is priceless. She would never forget this moment; she sees it like in slow motion. His pupils delaying and the way he gulps and furrows his brows. And that low slow 'fuck' under his breath when she takes it further, licking the tip, sucking on his thumb deeper, looking him directly in the eyes.

She's not going to regrer it.

It's not a secret that she likes him. It was even on national TV, like, a lot of people know that. But it's on another level when Jiwon kisess her; being firmly pressed against the wall and feeling his hands pushing up a short dress she wears - it's the whole new level. And she's so down for the game.

They barely able to breath properly because the kiss intensifies exponentially and Jiwon doesn't want to let her go just as much she doesn't want to get away from the heat his body radiates. She already gave up on trying to unbotton his shirt since it's not possible to make shaking fingers work properly. His lips are hot yet soft and he bites. God, he did bite her lip. And make her look at him in the process. She's trapped under his gaze, Dara moan silently, when he sucks on that bite gently.

She is at the point when everything that he does make her lose her mind. And he did bare minimum.

She hits her head on a wall when his lips starting to move down her neck; she wants to get rid of that dress so fucking much she's ready to rip it. And judging by how Jiwon grips the material, trying to find a zipper, she's not alone in that wish.

He pulls back to push his hair back and breath and Dara can't stand it. Fuck that dress, he looks glorious. She doesn't give herself a credit when she sucks on his Adam's apple and leaves tiny wet kisses on his hot skin, trying her best to undo his shirt finally. It's so impossibly satisfying to simply be that close to him. His scent, that filled her head rapidly; perfect mix of bitter smell of cigarettes and wooden, fresh cologne. Her head is spinning, and if not him pressing her to the wall, she would have fallen on weak knees.

He has all the chances to have her on her knees.

Everything that happens right now, on her mind or with her body, is strongly not like Dara acts in her life. Yet she loves it.

Her fingers meet his on his shirt and she doesn't expect touches this tender, when he squeezes her palms gently and holds it for a second, looking at her with a small smile and that soft peck on the tip of her nose. Goddammit.

- Please, stop doing it, I'm afraid I might fain, Jiwon, please, - she meowls it impatiently into his lips when he tries to kiss her and he smiles brighter, kissing her chin.

- What? - he's so proud of himself she wants to hit him. She meant his gaze, but God. She lets out a long moan under her breath, feeling his fingers messaging her through thin material of panties. Dara hits her head again, much harder this time, but she doesn't care. She cares about how does it feel like to grind on his hand while chasing his lips madly. Because that feels incredible.

Their faces are so close; she can feel his hot breath on her lips, how he sucks on air, when she moan louder because he decided to apply more power on her and his quick pecks everywhere when he can put himself together. Her nails digs in his skin harder when he pushes her underwear to the side to slide two fingers in. So slow, Sandara feels every millimeter and she moans all the way; his fingers are so fucking long. For a reason, apparently.

He moves them steadily, building rhythm in unison with her pinched meowls and hips' moves. She tries to chase for his hands, make him do it with more force and she doesn't know what to think when he complies. He understands everything she needs; he knows exactly what to do.

Dara surrenders to him; she has never felt this right in someone else's arms.

Jiwon made her cumming on his fingers in a few seconds.

She's blaming it on the fact that she was alone for a long time now; but she knows that it's her body reacting on him. In the ways she didn't know she was capable of.

Letting her head rest on his shoulder, she basks in the feeling of his palms gently soothing her bare skin.

She wants to hug him so much. To hug and to stay in his comfort forever. And she does. Dara pulls him closer, squeezing the material of his shirt in her hands. Somehow she wants to cry again.

- Do you think I did something wrong?

She's so afraid he would call her whore and leave. She doesn't care about anyone who have seen them leaving together, the press, internet. The whole world. She cares about waking up without him. She cares about finding disgust in his eyes. And..

- Sandara Park, God, if I told you that I don't, than I don't, - he pulls her face with his both palms to make her look at him and squeeze her cheeks, - And Lord knows I fed up with jerking off.

Jiwon looks at her with mixed adoration and his eyes are still filled with immense desire. She knows that she acts stupid and he suffers because of it. Yeah. Very stupid.

- Sorry, I just..

She starts rumbling and Jiwon rolls eyes, fighting the urge to shut her up. So Dara feels his kiss being a little bit forceful than she expected. But she quickly catches a hint; Jiwon moves away a bit, unzipping his pants and helping her to take off her underwear. No one talks about dress that is now pushed to her belly at this point.

There is a second before she kisses him again, tugging on his underwear to put it down enough to free his erection. Jiwon bites her lip and grunts lowly, when she strokes him painfully slow, squeezing the base lightly. Jiwon grunts again, throwing his head backwards and shuts his eyes, gulping and Dara thinks that that sight would be printed forever in her mind.

Jiwon's kisses are urgent now, he pulls her hand away and guides her to turn around and she complies to the hand on her spine to sag, pushing her hips into him. Dara is no less impatient by now. She has no idea how it is possible to make her this worked up just by doing.. Nothing. He did nothing. And she still wants him so much. He doesn't even imagine.

He pulls her closer with a hand snaking around her waist firmly and finds his way between her legs with another. Dara leans backwards, squeezing her palm on his wrist when he slides into her. He's painfully slow and when his full length is inside, he stops and places sloppy kisses at the base of her neck.

Sandara feels everything at once and it's a hard punch on her senses. And when he starts moving, she can't find any strenght to moan less louder. The only thing she cares about is him thrusting rapidly, his low grunts to her ear and the sound of skin slapping and it's the most erotic sound she has ever heard. Her head is spinning, it's impossible to stay still and she has nothing to cling to. Dara grips on the wrist of his hands and he starts to make steady rhythmic circles on her clit; Jiwon bites her ear, places a kiss there after and she meowls at his next words, feeling how the world turns into a blur when she turns her head, trying to look at him.

- Do it yourself, c'mon, - he can persued her to do anything with that voice. And he does. Jiwon tugs her palm and places it under his, letting Sandara doing it. She shuts her eyes tightly, finding herself equally ashamed and exciting, - Have you ever done it while thinking about me?

Jiwon doesn't stop even for a bit, but Dara can sense that he's a lot erratic and impatient now. He moans in her shoulder when she squeezes him and Dara is not twenty anymore. It's not like he could make her blush at everything he does or says. Even tho she can't help but blush hard.

- And you? - she shows one of her hand backwards, pulling on his hair and he particularly growls, - I know that you have.

Jiwon doesn't answer her, instead he thrusts harder, placing his forehead to the crook of her neck and guides her fingers to move, because she's so lost, she can't control her own body. She's on her toes by now, pushing her hips into his every time he puts any more pressure and it's so overwhelming. It's too much, she loses her sanity.

- I have and I'm not proud of it, - Jiwon whispers to her ear and she feels every part of her body tensing, like strings and she doesn't know if it's his husky voice, or scent in which she's drowning or his powerful movements. It's everything about him mixed up, that made her see blurred bright circles under her eyelids. She doesn't have strength to moan, just silent broken exhale and she grips his hair so hard, her fingers ache.

Jiwon pulls her impossibly close, he pushes her to the wall and after few moments she feels the loss of him, whimpering at the feeling. It feels cold suddenly, when he doesn't hold her anymore, now supporting himself with his hand on the wall. Dara turns around, nearly falling and covers his hand with hers and it's his turn to moan silently; there is not even a second when he releases in her palm, grunting low 'fuck' somewhere below her ear.

They stay like that.. Dara doesn't know for how many minutes. She listens to his now less erratic breath and tries to calm her own. It's like she's in another world right now, she doesn't know what to think about.

Right now, Sandara doesn't want to think about anything.

It's silence and than there is coffee machine beeping wildly, and she jumps in surprise, making Jiwon flinch and he.. laughs. Jiwon is laughing quietly, kissing her cheek and he hugs her gently, adjusting her dress so it falls down again.

She doesn't want to think about anything, but ahe does and it's not pleasant. If he would leave today, if he would go and forget about it, Dara doesn't know what would she do then. She doesn't want him to think that she does it everytime, because God knows she has a fucking checklist for a man who claims to get her in the bed.

Jiwon took that list, screwed it up and threw it to somewhere around her dignity.

God.

- If you still think I'm going to leave, you are dumb, - he kisses her again, placing small pecks on her face, looking at her finally. With such adoration, she's sure she feels butterflies in her stomach having a great party.

Maybe it's not that bad?

Dara thought he was going to despise her. She really did. She even accepted it in some way. But he smiles gently at her, kissing the tip of her nose and she sighs deeply, bumping her forehead on his shoulder to hide that happily stupid smile.

- I asked you to not to do that, please, - he kisses her temple, laughing and hugging her so strong her ribs clench.

- It's not like I sleep with women like that, you know. I'm no less surprised with myself right now, - he kisses her temple again and Dara can't help but close her eyes, drowning in his comfort, - What if you would think I'm not decent enough for you? Too careless or something?

- You are not, - she looks at him, finding him nodding to her answer.

- And so you too, - she proceed it for a second, not finding any lies in his words and frowns, realising that it's difficult to fight with logic.

- You might be not wrong, - he laughs at her choice of words and moves away, to adjust his clothes and goes to turn off the poor coffee machine that is still trying to keep coffee warm.

Dara looks at him from afar, smiling. He always says that he's not sure if he can make people comfortable; yet she has never been more comfortable around anyone.

And would never be, perhaps. That's why she doesn't regret anything.

She hugs him from behind, bumping her forehead between his shoulder blades, feeling his warm hands, stroking hers so gently she wants to cry.

He's not going to let her regret it. And she would do everything to make the same for him.

- If we wouldn't go to sleep in five minutes, I would fall asleep here, and than, - he stresses it, locking his fingers with hers, - You are totally going to regret it.

- You, my teenage crush, just had me against the wall in my fluffy slippers, I'm not going to regret anything at this point, - Dara hears him laughing and she shakes her head, squeezing his fingers stronger, - Let's go.

#eun jiwon #sechskies #sandara park #2ne1

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nancywheelxr · 6 years

Text

(our friends set us up on a blind date as a prank because we don’t like each other but neither of us wants to let them win so ) | Part 5:

( part 1 ) ( part 2 ) ( part 3 ) ( part 4 )

For once, Winn isn’t late.

In fact, he’s five minutes early.

And if this might have something to do with the fact that Brainy knocked on his door half an hour ago to remind him they should carpool this time, well. Alex and Kara don’t have to know that.

“See who needs an I’m late jar,” he scoffs, glaring at the closed door. They are getting better at this fake dating things, he thinks. But maybe it’s just that this is the first big gathering they’re going together– yesterday totally doesn’t count, there were too many shenanigans to count. Today is the real test, if they can fool everyone during Kara’s dinner, then they really can do this.

“You are talking to yourself,” Brainy comments, reaching past Winn to try and ring the doorbell again, but Winn bats his hand away. “Maybe they didn’t hear us the first time! You are mumbling– did you know that is one of the first signs of–”

“That sentence better be ending with genius or– hey,” Winn loudly draws out the word as the door swings open, hoping to cover up their argument, and snatches his hand back from where it had been pointing a finger threateningly. He brandishes the champagne they brought, grinning up, “Happy New Year!”

It’s Alex that answers the door, but she looks harried, her usual impeccable DEO uniform is askew, boots unlaced, “oh thank god,” she pushes them out of the way, locking up behind her, “Marlo is threatening to blow up the hospital and Town Square, dinner is canceled. Kara’s already there and I’m on my way to the hospital.”

“They put up a giant screen on Town Square, half the city’s there to watch the ball drop live– hundreds of people–”

“Yeah, I know,” Alex throws him a key, already shooing them back to the elevator, “which is why I need you and Brainy in the DEO asap. If he’s using the kind of weapons he deals, then we can’t waste any more time. Take Kara’s car, it’s on the garage somewhere but it should be working.”

“Kara has a car?”

“Why would Supergirl have a car?”

“Okay, you two need to learn to use your inside voices,” she huffs, pressing the buttons with more force than necessary, “and of course she does, she’s just terrible at driving.”

The elevator music plays obnoxiously cheerful as ever, and Alex seems about ready to draw her gun and shoot the speaker box right off the wall. Winn isn’t aware of all the details, has no idea where this guy even came from, but part of him is buzzing with excitement, rebelling against the boring civilian life. Don’t get him wrong– blow up the town? Bad, very bad. But also, going back to work? Awesome.

“And I know you still have to take that psych evaluation next week, but this is an emergency,” Alex continues, effectively bursting his bubble. “It’s an all hands on deck night.”

The doors ping open and she is stalking down the hall, leaving Winn and Brainy to figure out for themselves which car is Kara’s. Winn, for one, hopes it’s something very embarrassing that he will be able to lord over her head for the near future.

“I’m adding near-death experience to my list of things that happened in the 21st century,” Brainy tells him as they rush through the hallways at the DEO. Agents are scattered around, like spooked little mice, not knowing what to do, and Winn feels a pang of sympathy for them. Without both Alex and J’onn, they must be even worse off than him. And man, Winn had to listen to Brainy bitching all the way here, “you broke so many traffic laws I lost count– and it’s impossible for me to lose count!”

“For the last time,” Winn does not whine, “we were in a rush! We can’t wait for every red light! Or follow the speed limit and– and jaywalking is also a crime! That guy was clearly jaywalking, alright?”

“I shall drive the next time,” Brainy decides, completely ignoring Winn’s very valid counter-argument, “the probability of a car accident with you behind the wheel is too high.”

“Excuse me? Do you even know how to drive one of our cars?”

“The risk will still be lower.”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m tuning you out,” he says and promptly begins walking faster. Jesus Christ, they are so not going to be able to fool anyone for much longer. He leaves Brainy behind, feeling stupidly smug for reaching the control room first, and heads straight for his old chair–

And for one brief moment, everything’s right in the world.

– Kara’s voice rings through the comms, “guys, I found the bomb in Town Square, it’s in the sewers, how do I shut it down? Hello? Anyone listening?”

“Loud and clear,” Winn says, knowing his smile is stretching for miles. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Brainy finally pushing past a group of panicked agents. “But I need deets, hang on.”

“Winn?” She squeals happily as if there wasn’t a very dangerous device on her hands, “you’re back!”

“Only for tonight,” Alex warns, and it echoes strangely. She must be in the sewers too. “Don’t think I forgot the paperwork.”

“You are no fun,” he deadpans, even as his grin stays in place, even as he scans the sewers for the bomb. Just one more–

It pulls up on its own in the screen. What the–

“I’ve scanned the sewers under the square, we should have visual on the bomb in a few seconds,” Brainy says from the chair at his left, and Winn rolls his eyes. Of course he did. On the screen, the tiny blinking dot is magnified until they can see an X-Ray of the device. “This does not– I’m unfamiliar with this design.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Alex speaks again, “I’ve found mine too. There’s a countdown.”

“It’s going to blow up at midnight, isn’t it?” Winn asks tiredly. Of course it is. A flair for the dramatics is a requirement for bad guys, he’s pretty sure they don’t let you go about your villainy and nefarious business if you fail the theatrics exam. “That being said,” he continues, squinting at the screen, “this is giving me major Fort Rozz vibes. Didn’t we bust some guy dealing Kryptonian tech once?”

“Yeah, Frank McAllison. He had been buying things off the escaped inmates and reselling– and it wasn’t just Kryptonian either.” Alex recites, and he can hear the frown in her voice, “you think these came from him?”

“I mean, there was no way to be sure we got all of the stuff back,” he shrugs, watching Brainy turn the bomb’s schematics around, “but if it was from Fort Rozz…” he trails off, trying to remember if they downloaded all the data from the prison before Kara sent it flying off into space.

“It would be on the prison’s inventory,” Brainy finishes, and if this were a cartoon, Winn thinks a lightbulb would appear above his head. He entertains the idea for about half a second because it’s better than dwelling on the two bombs about to blow up two-thirds of the city. Brainy concentrates, connecting with the DEO’s servers, and files flicker on the screen, too quickly for Winn to process. And that– that is so annoying, how he just takes over things. But there’s a countdown and hundreds of people and there’s no way, no way, Winn could fine comb through all these files in time. So it’s fine.

It’s fine.

And if Winn still wants to find a way to mess up the unruffled look he always wear– that’s just another Tuesday.

“There’s a match,” Brainy snaps back, straightening up suddenly on his chair. “It’s a very old Andorian design, hasn’t been used in a few years. Which would make sense if it really was made by an inmate.”

Kara whoops on the comms and Alex’s relieved sigh echoes soon after, slightly distorted by the sewers acoustics. The specifics provided by Fort Rozz’s old files line up perfectly with the visual they have on Kara’s bomb, down to the last screw and glue, but. There’s always a but. “Not out of the woods yet,” Winn grimaces, pulling up the scans he got from Alex’s device. It’s a different style, probably from a different maker, just different enough to throw them for a loop and lose them a time they definitely don’t have. He glances at the clock; five to midnight. “Hate to be a downer, but Houston, we have a problem.”

“Of course we do,” Kara grumbles, sighing a twin sigh from Alex’s, “what now?”

“They’re different bombs,” Brainy tells her, and there’s something tired on his voice that makes Winn think that unruffled might not be such an accurate descriptor as he originally thought. “And Director Danvers’s has no match on the server.”

The clock keeps ticking mercilessly, and a few of the nearby agents are beginning to look nervously between them, hands hovering over their phones. That’s not good; if word gets out–

“You can figure out how this thing works faster,” Winn says, turning to Brainy. The look on his eyes is two shades off deer caught in the headlights, at the most, but it vanishes quickly, determination setting in firmly after. “I’ll walk Supergirl through disarming hers, you worry about Alex’s.”

Brainy doesn’t hesitate, only casts him a doubtful look as he focuses on his task, “the files are in Kryptonian.”

“I know that,” he glowers, inching his chair further away with petty vindication, then clears his throat. “Okay, Supergirl, I’m not even going to try to pronounce all this, so let’s all use a bit of imagination with the literal translation, alright?”

Kara makes an affirmative noise, and fine, it’s been literal years since Winn had to teach himself the basics to fight off Indigo, he might be more than a little rusty, but it’s all they have as of right now so they’ll have to make do. Faintly, he catches bits of whatever Brainy is telling Alex, barely aware of anything that isn’t translating the confusing symbols into things that make sense and complementing with bits of engineering and mechanics he knows like the back of his hand.

Two minutes to midnight.

The bomb is halfway undone.

One minute to midnight.

Is it unscrewing the third screw or tearing off the wires?

Thirty seconds.

Definitely tearing off the wires.

Right?

Ten seconds.

Okay. Just– there should be a pop! noise any time now.

Five seconds.

Anytime now.

1–

An explosion goes off in the sky as fireworks outshine the stars with bright, colorful lights, and a crowd cheers the New Year, drunkenly loud, almost drowning out the twin pop! sounds of the bombs’ detonators falling off harmlessly in the dirty water of National City’s sewer system.

A wave of clapping begins behind them, and Kara is laughing breathlessly in the comms with Alex cursing her heart out in a tone too relieved to be taken seriously. One of the agents brings an open champagne bottle.

“Happy New Year, guys!” Kara gushes, “you so need to see the fireworks– it’s so beautiful!”

“Kara, if I see you hovering anywhere near the fireworks when I come out of the sewers,” Alex threatens without any real bite, “I swear to god– wow. Okay, she’s really not exaggerating this time.” A pause. “Happy New Year.”

Winn slouches on his chair, giggling incredulously, exhaling so unbelievably relieved, and turns to see Brainy leaning against the consoles, the tense line of his shoulders less tight-edged. “Hey,” he says, holding his hand up for a fist bump and not caring if his voice comes out softer than he intended. “Happy New Year.”

Brainy regards his hand with an odd expression, one Winn can’t quite decipher, before tilting his head with a small smile, “Happy New Year, Winslow.”

He returns the fist-bump.

It’s a quiet moment, with the world cheering on outside and the odd, unnamed look on Brainys eyes, but if Winn had to label it, he thinks it just might mean progress.

#winn schott #querl dox #brainy #alex danvers #kara danvers #winndox #fake dating #when in rome #gooosh everyone's finally left so i can finally go back to writing #now i can go through my asks again! promise!#i just really wanted to get this new year chapter out of the way first #totally played myself with this btw #its dumb bitch oclock i guess #anyway back to the barely barely fuzzy idea i have to where this is going #also saw into the spiderverse #not that its relevant here but that is a thing that happened

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cathrineteague · 6 years

Text

Condo by the Lake of Fire

A personal essay - originally written in 2012

God help me, but I think I want to talk about religion. Christianity, specifically, but not Christianity as it’s written in the Holy Bible itself. The Bible is hardly the root of the problem.

There is a place down South called the Bible Belt, where Church is the wheel on which everything turns. You know as soon as you’ve crossed into this strange, alternate world because suddenly one church per town won’t suffice, and Sunday morning just isn’t enough time for preaching.

You’ll see billboards in the big cities (Don’t make me come down there. – God). And on those otherwise beautiful stretches of highway through miles of green farmland, you’ll come upon the occasional massive, ominous white cross, looming over the highway as if to remind all who pass through whose country they’re traversing.

Don’t stop. Don’t get out of the car, not even to take a picture. Everyone you meet will be vying for a chance at your soul. Evangelical Christians—terrifying creatures bred on generations of threats of hellfire and brimstone—don’t know how to meet a living thing without inquiring about its status with regards to God.

“Hi! Nice to meetcha. Where ya come from? Where ya headed? Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior and if not, would you like to do so this very day? For we are living in the End Times! None of us is promised tomorrow, brothers and sisters, and God is not willing that any one of His children should be lost, say amen.”

More frightening for an outside observer than the prospect of crossing this land—to get to some more desirable locale where they don’t try to walk you into such a long-term commitment right away—is the idea of what it must be like to grow up in it.

Don’t weep for the little children, though, you heathen Yankees! They do just fine. They learn all the lessons they need to know at school, at Church and at home. And if one of these places tends to bleed into the others, well…hallelujah, that’s consistency! Sometimes it’s hard and painful of course, but what good, worthy things are there in life that don’t require some work? We have to purge our children of their sins before the Devil gets a foothold!

It’s violence, really. Emotional terrorism, praise the Lord and give God the glory. See the little girl sitting in the third pew, in an itchy pink dress she had to be wrestled into earlier that morning? Teach her Your ways, O Lord.

Teach her that when she gets older holding hands with the little blonde girl next to her won’t be okay anymore, to say nothing of all the other things she’s going to want to do. Teach her that her body and her mind are great betrayers, teach her to shut them down and ignore what they tell her. She must suffer as Christ suffered.

When Jesus was a little kid, did he want to hold hands with the other boys? Teach her not to ask such sacrilegious questions.

Teach her to be ashamed of having questions at all. A good Christian with a healthy relationship with God doesn’t have doubts or questions, and never-you-mind that Jeremiah prophet. He was a prophet, after all, and you’re just a girl. The Bible says women ought not to speak in Church.

Send your children to summer “youth camps” and winter “retreats.” Let them spend all day at the water park in some perpetually sunny Southern city, shrieking with laughter and not a care in the world. Send them, sunburned and still smelling like chlorine and the sunscreen they put on in the morning, to the dimly-lit interior of a hotel conference room. Show them how to raise their hands and sing at the top of their lungs to God, all the more joyful abandon, so the rocks don’t cry out.

Sit them down and bring out a fat, happy guest preacher who says he is their friend. He dresses like they do. He talks the way they do. He knows who their favorite musicians are, knows how to play the saxophone. They are all in agreement: he’s a pretty cool guy, and in the space of half an hour they trust him like they’ve known him all their lives.

Let him talk to them for another sixty minutes. By the end of it they’ll all be on their knees in the altar, sobbing. They’ll cling to each other as they gasp out those prayers, begging God to forgive them for those seconds of the day when they forget themselves and are human. For that single unkind thought, for that dirty joke at lunch three weeks ago, for these offenses and a million more. They will beg forgiveness for everything they’ve done in their lives between Monday mornings and Saturday nights.

And no matter how hard they try, there will always be new seconds of imperfection to cry over come next Wednesday, when their young, handsome youth pastor gets up to remind them of the commitment that he’s sure “some of y’all have already forgotten.”

The battle begins on the first day of school, after all. When you’re walking through the overcrowded hallways, trying to get to your locker across the building in the five-minute break, trying to absorb useless details about ancient Mesopotamia that you’re sure you covered last year, and the year before, trying to understand what’s so great about A House on Mango Street anyway…don’t forget the commitment you made at winter retreat, and renewed on Wednesday night, and Sunday morning, and again on Sunday night.

They all forget, of course. Maybe not habitually, maybe only for a second, but it’s enough. Every single second out of the day they don’t spend in awe of Almighty God is fodder for their guilt-ridden prayers at the Sunday evening service.

The bass-voiced, solemn-faced preachers all says that Christianity is more than fire insurance, but I’ll be damned if they don’t use the eternal torment of Hell--and a shot at skipping it--as a selling point at every turn.

“Do you have a relationship with God? Are you ready? If you died this very minute, where would you go?”

“You with the heavy eyeliner, the black bondage pants and the heavy metal t-shirt, repent of your sins and come back next week in jeans and this hoodie with the youth group’s logo on it, only $25.”

“You in the low-cut blouse, stop tempting your Brothers in Christ to sinful thoughts. Cover yourself from neck to ankles and be forgiven for the sin of being a pretty girl.”

Your body is a temple; your body is a temptation. Your body is the place all sins originate, so divorce yourself from it as much as possible, praise Jesus.

It starts almost at birth and it never really ends. Even if you escape, drag yourself across the invisible border into a place where towns with populations under a thousand only have one church and no one defaces the highway with terrifying symbols of pre-medieval execution methods…even if you manage to run from the voices all around you telling you that you’re Lost, you’re a Sinner, you’re Backslidden, you’re Going To Hell...you’re not really safe. You can’t escape the voices in your head that tell you the exact same things.

So what if logic says it’s crazy? So what if every rational thought you have screams against the majority of what you’ve been taught since before you could talk? Those teachings took root long before some high school English teacher or college professor took pity and taught you to think, before some song on the radio ignited the tiny fire of rebellion that grew and eventually prompted you to run in the first place.

Your mama says rebellion is like witchcraft in the eyes of God. You shall not suffer a witch to live; it says so in the Bible.

Spend every day for the rest of your life telling yourself that God is love, that God forgives, that God shows mercy to His children. Read the Bible if you want to, highlight all those passages that prove your point. Live your life by day as if you believe it, but say your prayers at night the way you always have: searching frantically in your mind for that one damning little sin, some slip-up that you forgot to beg forgiveness for that’s going to plunge you into Hell if you die in your sleep.

Call home; listen to the voices of your past in a chorus of agreement.

“I’m praying for you, child,” says the elderly aunt before you hang up, every time. You feel her prayers; they prickle the back of your neck every time you pass a church, make you walk a little faster and keep your eyes to the ground.

And what if they’re right? That’s the question you can’t get away from, the one that logic can’t dispel because it’s not a logical adult asking it, but that scared, brow-beaten little girl in the itchy dress.

What if they’re right about everything?

You had a friend once, an anomaly living fun and fancy free among his religious brethren, a jolly-faced man you met at the community theatre who served on the deacon’s board at his church and went home every night to Jerry, his sweet-smiling house husband of more than a dozen years. They threw Christmas parties and pool parties, and welcomed you at the door with warmth and joy and homemade lemonade.

He used to joke that in Hell he’d be a VIP.

“When we all get there, you guys can just join me in my luxury condo, right beside the lake of fire.”

A small, sacrilegious voice inside you hopes that if they’re right, then he is, too.

#writing #writeblr #personal essay #christianity #bible belt #christian fundamentalism

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makeste · 4 years

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BnHA Chapter 272: (Directed by Michael Bay)

Previously on BnHA: The My Child Soldiers Academia arc finally started to live up to its name as Tokoyami became the first (but I assure you not the last) victim of traumatic mental scarring courtesy of Horikoshi’s sick games! So he and Dark Shadow showed up to stop Dabi from murdering Hawks and were all “please don’t kill our mentor.” Dabi was all “AH BUT YOUR MENTOR KILLED SOMEONE ELSE, AND ISN’T THAT JUST LIKE THE HEROES THOUGH, THEIR HANDS ARE SO STAINED WITH BLOOD” and then he tried to set both of them on fire several times in succession. Hawks was all “Tokoyami just run away while he’s in the middle of his five-hour sermon” and so they tried but Dabi followed them! But then Geten was all “ALL RIGHT EVERYONE... CHILL” and fucking froze everything for no discernible reason, and Tokoyami fled the building with an unconscious Hawks in tow as the battle raged on. The chapter then ended with Gigantomachia being all “I smell my master!” and standing up, hahaha oh fuck.

Today on BnHA: Well you guys are not going to believe this, but it turns out that Tomura waking up is actually a very bad thing. A “worst case scenario” if you will! Because, get this, he has a quirk that can destroy anything, which spreads from whatever he touches to fucking everything and everywhere else. Gosh, if only we’d known about this since like 35 chapters ago. If only we’d had a spy among the villains who could have warned us, and three entire months to plan our attack, and literally every single hero in Japan on call to help us when the time came. Anyway so you’re really going to be shocked by this I’m telling you, but it turns out that when a crazy powerful person who wants to destroy everything finally wakes up, he immediately starts destroying everything with his crazy power. So X-Less dies and Crust dies and everyone else runs, and meanwhile the kids, who are on the outskirts of the city finishing up the evacuation, stand there in shock as the plot rampages toward them ready to swallow them whole. The chapter ends with Deku powering up to FORTY-FIVE PERCENT YEAHHHHH, and oh shit. Finally we’re doing this.

I am not even remotely done with all the shit I’m supposed to be finishing up, but fuck it, I need a break and reading the new chapter is by far the funnest thing on my current to-do list, so!

OH SNAPS MY BOY HAS FINALLY OPENED HIS EYES

IT ONLY TOOK HIM... OKAY LOOK I’M NOT GOING TO GO BACK AND COUNT ALL OF THE CHAPTERS, BUT LET’S SAY... FIFTEEN. ...HUNDRED. CHAPTERS TO FINALLY SNAP TO IT AND COME JOIN THE PARTY. BUT IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT! PROBABLY. AHH LET’S JUST READ ON

-- ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohm --

[puts on glasses and unfolds map while poring through a mess of scribbles on post-it notes] -- hold up, if my calculations are correct, I’m pretty sure “somewhere a bit further from the hospital” is, in fact, where a certain THREE TROUBLE-PRONE DISASTERS ARE CURRENTLY HOLED UP. AHHH

can it really be true. are we finally rejoining our protagonist and his buddy cop friends after 97 years. how will everyone react to Deku reacting to Tomura waking up ahhhh

so Burnin’ is yelling at the civilians to let them know if they have any family or friends who need assistance evacuating

god I hate the fact that this is a fucking understatement

they’re not taking any chances after Kamino and Fukuoka huh. fool them once, shame on you. fool them twice, oh shit. but there will not be a third time! no one fucking destroys three cities in the span of six months on their watch, no sirree

(ETA: ...)

lol the kids are trying to get the elderly citizens on a bus to evacuate, but a lady is trying to give them candy and Kacchan and Ochako are of two different minds on whether or not to accept

Kacchan is absolutely right about Ochako’s motivations, but in her defense, who the fuck turns down free chocolate

IIDA!!

FUCKING CHRIST JAPAN IT’S 200 YEARS IN THE FUTURE AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T SWITCHED TO DIGITAL RECORD-KEEPING? WHY IS THIS THE MOST REALISTIC THING IN THE ENTIRE MANGA TO DATE. MY GOOD SIR, IIDA IS LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH, ALL RECORDS AND BUILDINGS ABSOLUTELY CAN AND WILL BE COMPLETELY OBLITERATED IN THE CARNAGE TO COME. I’M SORRY TO BE THE ONE TO INFORM YOU OF THIS, BUT DAMN IT SOMEONE HAS TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY

(ETA: I sure hope these poor bastards had good insurance.)

also. this man here who looks like Beaker from the Muppets, who presumably has the power of Doing Anything Those Wacky Flailing Inflatable Tube Men That You See Outside Of Car Dealerships Can Do. ...yes. that’s it. that’s an intentionally incomplete sentence with a subject but no predicate. I just feel like we should all sit and stare at him for a good thirty more seconds before continuing on with our lives

OH MY GOD

THEY’RE EVACUATING THE PETS TOO AHHHH. EXCUSE ME CERTAIN SOMEONES WHO THINK ALL HEROES ARE “DIRTY.” I SEE YOUR ARGUMENTS AND RAISE YOU THIS ONE SINGLE PANEL. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT. NOW WHAT DABI. AT A LOSS FOR WORDS I SEE. YOU JUST SIT AND PONDER THAT FOR A WHILE

is... this... a space shuttle man

is this literally just a man with a Boeing for a head. FUCKING QUIRKS THOUGH!!!!! ~*~wild~*~

OH MY GOD AND WE’RE BACK

time for some HORCRUX SHENANIGANS!! IS YOUR LIGHTNING BOLT SCAR BURNING DEKU. I CAN’T BELIEVE HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED IS BACK AHHHH

so now he’s slightly hunching forward with his hands pressed together and Todoroki is immediately sensing that something is wrong ahhhhh

(ETA from like 5 days later: I had that as “Tokoyami” instead of “Todoroki” for the better part of a solid week you guys. SHOUTO YOU WERE GONE FOR SO LONG I FORGOT YOUR FUCKING NAME whoop.)

here come dat angst. here comes Horikoshi’s hand beckoning the trio closer and welcoming them to the pain parade ahhh. from now on that’s how I’m ending all my sentences btw. it just seems right. ahhh

OH MY LORD OH MY

ladies and gentlemen, YOU WERE SAYING DEKU DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT LATELY? HE’S NOT INTERESTING ENOUGH AS A PROTAGONIST, IS HE? well maybe that’s because Horikoshi has been saving this one juiciest of plot nuggets for a rainy day precisely like this! BRING ON THAT CHOSEN ONE ANGST AHHHHH

anyway so yes it is indeed OFA speaking to him in the form of Lil Bro a.k.a. the first user

lol I’m trying to think of commentary but it’s difficult seeing as I’M ALREADY SCROLLING DOWN TO IMPATIENTLY READ THE NEXT PAGE

lmao the fuck

okay Princess Zelda. can you get any more flowery with those descriptions though. A TRANSCENDENT BEING. A SUPERLATIVE ENTITY. A SUBLIME, PREEMINENT ORGANISM. FREED FROM ITS SHACKLES. UNFETTERED BY ALL EARTHLY LIMITATIONS

OH MY GOD

it absolutely boggles my mind that this guy is somehow still alive. ??! how many chapters and panels has it been now. he’s like the goat in the t-rex pen in fucking Jurassic Park. WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET EATEN ALREADY

...

do you... want a blanket. ...?

(ETA: do you ever just. wake up and you’re like “ah shit it’s cold”, and then you destroy an entire city. mm.)

do you all suppose X-Less is fully aware that he’s about to die though? he hasn’t even moved. I imagine that sitting next to Tomura actually is much like sitting next to a giant t-rex. like he has to know there is no getting out of this alive. poor guy

damn Mic isn’t even looking back he’s just running back into the main room where all the rest of them are

wow this fight is still going on

I don’t know why, I just expected it to all magically be over all of a sudden now that we have bigger things to worry about. do you guys remember when we were all worried about the High End Noumus being the biggest threat. hahahahaha

(ETA: moment of silence for ALL OF THE FUCKING HIGH ENDS lmao. that did not go how I expected that plotline to go AT ALL, but at least we got the best fucking battle in the entire manga out of it.)

jesus CHRIST ENOUGH WITH THIS

WE GET IT TOMURA IS DANGEROUS AND SCARY AND EVIL AND AWAKE!!! JUST PLEASE GET TO IT ALREADY GOD I’M BEGGING YOU

FINALLY

goddammit. my reaction to this should have been much more “!!!” and “OH SHIT”, but he dragged it out so much that my initial reaction was one more of relief than horror. maybe it’s because of the way I read the chapters, constantly pausing to do commentary as I go along, but whenever a chapter has a ton of panels of people just staring into the distance awash with dread, it really stands out to me lol. there’s only so much I can write about that kind of thing. ah well at least we’re finally getting to the action

I genuinely can’t tell if Ujiko is frightened that he’s about to be disintegrated by Tomura’s quirk, or excited that Tomura is awake

maybe both lol. well don’t worry you’re not gonna die that easily, much as you would not catch me complaining if you did

thanks Gran

lol where was all this speed throughout the rest of this arc though. “we’re only competent when the plot necessitates it” huh. is that right

oh shit it’s destroying the rest of the lab

those are all of Ujiko’s collected quirks, right? someone please tell me if this is a good or a bad thing. on the one hand if they’re all destroyed it means Tomura can’t get them and Ujiko can’t make any more Noumus. but on the other hand this means they won’t ever be able to give them back to the original users (if any of them are even still alive). and also that’s a lot of evidence that’s being wiped out as well

oh shit they didn’t know about this?!

even after Deika City, you didn’t put two and two together?? even with all of Hawk’s intel?? what the hell did you think happened there?

well this explains why everyone was so la-dee-da-no-rush about capturing him though. well that’s on you guys. next time maybe don’t waste 20 minutes uselessly battling redshirt Noumus while Mirko has to do everything herself

anyway so I feel like people other than X-Less are almost certainly going to die here, and fuck. I’m not ready for any of this

AHH THE KIDS

BIT SLOW ON THE UPTAKE THERE KACCHAN LOL. FOR A MOMENT YOU HAD ME WORRIED THERE WAS SOMEHOW A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THREAT APPROACHING FROM THE OTHER SIDE, BEFORE YOU TURNED AROUND TO LOOK WHERE THE OTHERS WERE LOOKING

ALSO JUST A FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT SHOUTO’S DAD IS IN THAT HOSPITAL, ALONG WITH THEIR TEACHER! HERE. COME. DAT. ANGST

LOOK AT THIS CONSPICUOUSLY INTACT BUILDING AS IT STANDS THERE ALL OMINOUSLY WITH THE NEARBY BIRDS AND CRITTERS FRANTICALLY FLYING AWAY

I want to see it crumble so bad. now this is the kind of foreboding cinematic disaster movie bullshit I can get into

FFFF WHY IS THIS PANEL SO HARD TO SEE

THERE’S TOO MUCH CHAOS AND TOO MANY PEOPLE LOST AMIDST ALL THESE SHATTERING AND FALLING TUBES, BUT I NEED TO MAKE SURE EVERYONE IS SAFE AHHH

...okay so I see Ryuukyuu in the top right, and I think that’s RockLockRock on her back. Thirteen is clearly there in the bottom center, but I don’t know who that is next to them. and then of course Gran and Mic on the left. and a bunch of others spread out in various other places, but... where the hell is Aizawa??

OH THANK GOD

FUCK YOU HORIKOSHI, I KNOW FULL WELL YOU’RE NOT JUST GOING TO KILL OFF THE WORLD’S PREEMINENT DAD STRAIGHT UP OUT OF THE BLUE HERE, AND YET I STILL FELT ANXIETY AT THIS LAST PANEL. HOW DID YOU EVEN

BITCH YOU BETTER LET THE FUCK GO BEFORE I --

!!!

oh my god I gasped in real life. stop making me fear for the lives of main characters!!

he. he --. crust. he. ...

I literally stopped reading and had to stop and cover my mouth with both of my hands I’m

silence. no screaming. no flailing. no freaking out. just silence

shit. rest in peace you old sedimentary bastard. respect to you for saving the father of my children in your last fleeting moments. I still have not the slightest idea how you rose through the ranks to somehow become the sixth fucking highest rated hero (HERO BILLBOARD CHART, IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT. ARE YOU FEELING OKAY), but you sure did go out with style though

also this may be tacky of me to point out during such an emotionally charged moment, but one second Aizawa is wearing his goggles like normal, and the next they’re suddenly pushed up onto his forehead so we can see the anguish in his bloodshot eyes. there was no reason to do that other than angst and we all know it. so yes Shouta you dramatic bitch, I am calling you out. why Horikoshi felt he had to add to your many accumulated traumas is beyond me. you don’t deserve this and I am so, so sorry

OH GOOD I WAS JUST ABOUT TO ASK WHERE THE FUCK ENDEAVOR WAS

seeing as we just went over this with Gran, I will take the high road here and won’t ask why you’re only this fast now and couldn’t have been this useful this ages ago back before Tomura woke up. oh wait does sarcastically saying I won’t bring it up count as bringing it up. well whatever. middle road, then

sob I’m getting flashbacks to the end of Return of the Jedi when they’re all frantically flying out of the Death Star as it explodes

friendly reminder that Ryuukyuu, clearly the fastest one here despite carrying like 20 people, was number 10 in the rankings for some unknown reason. again, r.i.p. Crust you well-meaning geriatric soul

also just a stray thought, I hope it’s clear now why it was so important to give Deku those additional quirks. at a minimum he needs Blackwhip and Float just so he doesn’t instantly die the moment he’s in Tomura’s general vicinity. sob I’ve joked so much about flying quirks and here they are becoming fucking prerequisites now

anyway so Ujiko is mourning the loss of his lab, which again, good riddance mostly. but r.i.p. that evidence though

(ETA: nah the “total loss” part is referring to how the heroes fucked up so soundly and thoroughly. anyway no one would blame Mic if he accidentally dropped Ujiko in the midst of all this chaos, I’m just saying. I guess they need any intel he could still provide now more than ever though.)

OH MY GOD!!

LAUNDRY HERO WASH?! THIS SUDSY BOI CAN ACTUALLY KICK ASS WHAAAAT

oh my god oh my god it’s still spreading??!

fuck fuck fuck at this rate it’ll reach the kids

(ETA: that happened really fast actually.)

-- oh FUCK NO you had better NOT FUCKING TOUCH FUCKING PIXIE BOB, I WILL MAIL MYSELF TO JAPAN PANDEMIC OR NO PANDEMIC. DO YOU NOT SEE THE SIGN THAT SAYS “OFF-LIMITS.” RESPECT THE SIGN

SOB SHE’S SO BADASS BUT IT LOOKS LIKE IT’S STILL DISINTEGRATING FUCCCCCK. FUCK MY LIFE, FUCK EVERYTHING

AHHHHH

I can’t tell if her earthbending was able to stop it or not?? god help us all if it didn’t, I’m not even sure what else could stop it at this point

SHUT UP UJIKO!!

they really did. only to fuck it up completely at the finish line. well, the man most singularly responsible for it is dead now, again r.i.p. Crust you useless old legend

lmao despite myself

“by a miracle, or maybe through sheer will” even he acknowledges that Tomura waking up was basically complete bullshit. yes blah blah yadda yadda got zapped by some exposed wires explanation science. because we all know that getting electrocuted will fix you right up when your heart has stopped and you have completely flatlined. you can definitely trust Horikoshi on this and there’s absolutely no need to google how defibrillators actually work

also is he somehow wearing a cape now. again by a miracle or maybe through sheer will

YESSSSSSS

(ETA: one has to wonder what Ujiko’s plan was, assuming this scheme had actually played out. were they just banking on Tomura not waking up cranky and disoriented and wanting to test out his power. his quirk doesn’t exactly distinguish friend from foe here I’m just saying.)

the part of me that goes all “ooh ahh” when all the buildings explode in Independence Day is singing inside. but never fear, the rest of me is appropriately horrified though. what was that Burnin’ was saying about the city becoming a large-scale battle zone? sob

also this page sure serves as a nice refresher for exactly why Tomura Waking Up Was Bad, which was inexplicably a topic of some debate in recent weeks. yes in spite of everything the villains are still the bad guys who’d have thought. almost as if the purpose of humanizing a character is to show that they’re human, not that they’re right

WHAT’S THIS NOW???

WELL I’LL BE. IT’S BEEN AN EVENTFUL THREE MONTHS, APPARENTLY!??

HOOAHHHHHHHH

IT’S A BIRD IT’S A PLANE IT’S A BADASS OH SHIIIIITTTTTT

finally finally finally!!!!!!

THE SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN, REPEAT, THE SHIT HAS HIT THE PROVERBIAL FAN. THE PLOT IS FINALLY HAPPENING, REPEAT, THE PLOT IS FINALLY FUCKING HAPPENING AHHHHHH

and there is no one coming to save them this time. no one to arrive at the last second and say “it’s all right now because I am here.” they have to save themselves. they have to save everyone. the training wheels are finally coming off. the safety net has been removed. after 272 chapters, the story has finally reached a point where these kids, these children, who in spite of all they’ve been through have been protected and shielded from the worst of it up till now, will finally have to be the ones to save the day all on their own

and they are not ready. but also maybe they kind of are??! but they definitely are not. and oh god oh god oh god, FINALLY WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS. TIME TO FIX THE MESS THOSE SILLY GROWN-UPS MADE, CHILDREN. YOU GOT THIS

#bnha 272 #shigaraki tomura #midoriya izuku #aizawa shouta #ujiko daruma #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #if the next few chapters don't feature some kind of avengers-style epic team up pose I will sue #what has this all even been building up to if not that #remember that the kids are not allowed to die though horikoshi #remember what we agreed upon #you remember right #right #horikoshi???

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woodworkingpastor · 3 years

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Covid-19 and our faith in Jesus: a question of theodicy -- John 9:1-12 -- Sunday, September 19, 2021

When I began planning for today’s and next Sunday’s sermons several weeks ago, I approached them thinking that these two sermons would be the last time we would give serious Biblical and theological thought to the Covid-19 pandemic. At that time, we were worshipping the Sanctuary and making plans for fall Bible Study, Love Feast, the Bazaar. Things were quickly returning to normal.

Clearly, this is not the case. What seems much more likely is that at a certain level Covid-19 is here to stay and we will eventually transition from pandemicto endemic and will learn to live with Covid. Possibly (and time will tell on this point) things like booster shots and illness will simply be part of our experience.

But the theological wrestling remains. What have we learned about life with Covid? What have we learned about ourselves? And—possibly most importantly—where has God been in all of this?

I find it interesting to reflect on how public conversations related to Covid have meandered and morphed through media and social media and our thinking like a remote mountain stream.

Do you remember when the pandemic made us reevaluate who really counts as an “essential worker?” It doesn’t surprise me at all that we quickly identified medical professionals and first responders as essential; I suspect we were already there in our thinking. But we eventually had to venture outside to the grocery store and think about the low-wage employees who were attempting to keep our shelves stocked with things like toilet paper and we suddenly found a new appreciation for these people—possibly even more so now that we go out to eat and realize that almost all our restaurants (and lots of other places) are short-staffed. Scripture continually pushes us to value persons who live on the margins of society; so if some bridges between the Christian faith and secular society have been built that enable us to say, “Yes, these are people who hold a place of supreme importance in our communities” then it will be a lesson well-learned.

Maybe we’ve rethought the busy-ness of our schedules, although I suspect not as much as we might have or might ought to. When the pandemic began I noticed a lot more people taking walks in our neighborhood; those numbers seem to have returned to normal.

We’ve struggled somewhat with masks. I certainly continue to commend our congregation’s response to masks; we’ve been willing to say, “I’ll wear a mask because I love you” and go about our business.

But perhaps the most difficult reality of Covid is how it has taken a jackhammer to the foundations of our worldview, teaching us that we are neither as powerful nor in as much control as we think we are. We are vulnerable to something that is microscopically small; and it appears to me that the angry responses to both Covid and various attempts to mitigate or eradicate it is really grief over a worldview that is dying. We thought we understood how the world operated and we thought we knew our place within that operating system; now we know that this is not the case. Instead, we find ourselves somewhere along the spectrum of the five stages of grief: each of us moving through denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, on our way towards acceptance.

If we can summon up enough courage, we might realize that we’re wrestling with the age-old question of theodicy—our attempt to explain how an all-good and all-powerful God allows evil and suffering.

A question of theodicy

One of the unique challenges of being human is that God has given us enough awareness to contemplate our place in God’s good order, but not enough power to overcome the corruption and decay of sin.

Human beings are higher and more capable than animals, for instance, so we can write symphonies and build rocket ships and fall in love and even contemplate our fate. Animals can’t do this.

We recently had to put one of our cats to sleep. Stripes was a gift for Emily’s 9th birthday. But that was 16 ½ years ago. Stripes was old, her natural disposition tended toward crankiness, and she was in pain. But she couldn’t contemplate her fate. She went about her business as best she could, but even things like walking up the stairs was becoming increasingly difficult. Even though she was a good cat that brought us a lot of joy over the years (along with more than a few scratches) she was unable to engage us in meaningful conversation, care for us when we were sick, or create anything beautiful.

God has blessed humanity with so much more than this; but because we are lower than God, we are at a loss to overcome the weaknesses and trials of life on our own. We would much rather operate out of our power instead of our weakness. Covid and its related difficulties were of no issue to Stripes; but here the rest of us are, struggling to comprehend a world that is much different than we thought or wished for.

If we consider the testimony of Scripture, we will see that we are not alone in this struggle. The Bible takes the question of evil and suffering very seriously, generally much more seriously than we do. The case of the “man born blind” related to us in John 9:1-12 is just one of any number of passages of Scripture we might have looked at this morning to address this topic.

The basic question is one that is not as far from our lips as we might suppose: “Who sinned, that this man was born blind?” The disciples operated from the assumption that situations like these were caused by sin—even if the sin was someone else’s, or even if the sin was committed in the womb. We are not so different; we mostly understand sin as a moral or ethical transgression against God’s righteous standard. This is not an incorrect understanding, but it is an incomplete understanding.

Jesus’ answer to the disciples’ question about the nature of the man’s blindness, however, gives us a different lens through which to view sin and salvation. Jesus teaches us that sin is measured by how we respond to the revelation of God in Jesus Christ. “What happened to cause this?” (whether it’s this man’s blindness or our struggle with Covid) is not the only question, and it might not be the most important question. We must ask, “What is God going to do and how should we respond?” This question refocuses our attention from “out there” (in the world) to “right here” (in me, with the help of the church family). Affliction is not a question of God correcting something in the past; it is the opportunity to reveal what God is doing in the present and might do in the future.

Covid has threatened our modern world view. Conrad Kanagy (pastor of Elizabethtown, PA Mennonite Church) says

The modern worldview depends on being held together by four defining characteristics—counting things, predicting things, controlling things, and doing things—as quickly and efficiently as possible (A Church Dismantled, A Kingdom Restored, 24).

But look at where we are:

Whenever people ask me about our congregation, the first question is almost always, “How big is your church?” My current answer is, “I really don’t know.”

My prediction that this will be the last time I need to preach about Covid is almost certainly wrong.

Even with the vaccine, who of us can control whether or not we’ll get Covid?

Doing things is also difficult—we will have Love Feast, but like so much of our life, it will look different this year.

Because it is difficult to work through the grief of a worldview that is proving insufficient, so many have taken the path that is easier in the short term and sought someone to blame for our troubles. Somebody, somewhere, must have sinned to cause Covid: the Chinese, President Trump, President Biden, Dr. Fauci. Somebody must be to blame.

Perhaps there is blame. But can we imagine that Jesus looking at us in the midst of Covid and saying to us, “God is doing something here; if you’ll watch, God’s glory will be revealed.”

Lessons to be learned

The Lord’s Prayer helps us in ways we might not realize. We should notice that in the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus teaches us to pray "your kingdom come" and "forgive us our sins." When we come to the part of the prayer where we ask God to “forgive us our sins,” we ought to think about ways we have sinned: ways we have been dishonest, or hurtful, or unfaithful. But we also ought to think about this with a kingdom perspective—how have my sins been a hindrance to other persons experiencing the fullness of God’s kingdom? How have I been so focused on what I want that I have neglected what others need?

Just because we are limited in what we can do in the church building does not mean that we are limited in being the church. Have you thought about that? Could it be that one of the biggest sins we need to confess is confusing this magnificent building with the church as the body of Christ! Could it be that one of the things that Jesus wants to do is to help us work through the stages of grief and loss, move beyond our frustration, and say to us “this was so that God’s works might be revealed in you!”

I, for one, am really tired of wearing a mask. But then I see Scott and Alli and Stephanie, and Anthony and Monica all come in with their unvaccinated children—because they understand the importance of training up their children in the manner of Jesus! Who am I to complain about a mask?

I, for one, am hungering for Love Feast in a way that I haven’t hungered for it in a long time. We’re going to have Love Feast. But it is going to look different. And while I don’t want to diminish the importance of our way of doing Love Feast, this year’s Love Feast will not in any way be lesser than in other years. The unfamiliarity might help us grow spiritually in ways we never would otherwise.

Our calling is to respond to events in the world with a kingdom perspective—what is God teaching us in this wilderness that we would not be able to learn in any other way?

Conclusion

In the spring of 2014, I ran the Blue Ridge Marathon. I thought I was prepared for the race. In the fall of 2013 I had trained hard for the Star City Half-Marathon and I ran it in personal record time. I tapered off a bit in December, then began adding mileage again in January.

But then race day came. I was fine until mile 20. But by that point I was sick to my stomach on Gatorade and the temperature had warmed to about 74° under a full sun. The last 6.2 miles were some of the most miserable running miles of my life. But I had two things going for me—I knew where the finish line was, and I knew how to get there. Keeping going toward a certain destination made the experience somewhat more bearable.

The issue we currently have with Covid is that we do not know where the finish line is. But we do know how to get there! We will love one another and see what God is up to in our lives.

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