#they would cede the meditation room though

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Dark

Summary: Natasha gives you exactly what you need after a long week. 

Features: Smut; Domme Natasha Romanoff; consensually video-taped sex; blindfolded sex; 

Kink: Blindfolded

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/Reader; Background Polyamorous!Avengers

Notes: Kinktober has become more of a “whenever the fic gets done-tober” 

Word Count: 1548

Darkness engulfed you. The tick, tick, tick of a clock met your ears. You weren’t sure how much time had passed as you knelt on the floor, a pillow beneath your knees. Natasha was still somewhere in the room, that much you knew. 

You were fresh off a mission, out of the med bay. Bucky had retired for the night with Wanda and Bruce. You knew their evening would consist of taking care of Bucky. It had been a rough mission, one that saw you injured and the objective nearly failed. Tony had retreated to his personal residence with Pepper. Steve, Sam, Clint, and Thor were dispatched on another mission, halfway across the world. But they weren’t who you needed. No. That was Natasha. 

Stressful missions saw a night of gentle care and relaxation. Missions where you found yourself terrified, where things went south and out of your control, were the nights where you needed to realign. Willingly ceding control rather than having it yanked from you. Knowing that at any time, you could put a stop to what was happening and it would stop. Those were the nights Natasha took over, or Steve. Occasionally Bucky. It came down to who needed what, a beautiful dance to which you each knew the steps. It came with a practiced ease, being able to read the needs of one another. 

“Such a good girl, aren’t you,” Natasha’s voice cooed as she walked in a circle around you. You held back a shiver from the anticipation. 

You felt her trace a finger up your back. You sucked in a breath as she did so. Natasha was a musician and you her favorite instrument. She knew how to draw the reactions she craved from you. The soft moans when she was getting you warmed up, the high pitched noises when she pushed you over the edge, over and over again, and the raw, unsuppressed moans when you truly let go and let yourself just feel. Those were her favorite. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she got you there. 

“How far can I push you, hm? You deserve a reward, being so good for me. Tell me, did you touch yourself this week?” Natasha asked, her voice low.

“No, ma’am,” you said, your throat feeling dry. 

“Did Bucky touch you?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” you replied. 

“Did you cum?” she asked.

“No ma’am,” you replied. You could feel the heat radiating from her body as she circled you. You and Bucky had been gone for a week. The first half had been posing as a married couple at a ritzy resort, one that had a nebulous underbelly. You knew what Natasha had told him before the two of you departed. It was a punishment from the last time you and Natasha had been together. Bucky had no issues being on board with it. 

Normally, you didn’t condone deviating from the mission when in the field. But when the mission called for you to play the part, you weren’t going to complain. Bucky had brought you to the brink over the course of the week more times than you could count, leaving you in the perfect state of frustrated wanting for Natasha. 

“Perhaps I should record this for him. After all, he did the work of getting you so worked up this week. He should be able to see the pay off,” she said as her lips brushed the shell of your ear before trailing down your neck. Natasha enjoyed leaving her mark. 

She pulled lightly on your wrist, helping you to your feet and then to the bed. You could feel the towels beneath you. Tony had tracked down some of the softest towels you had even felt, a sound investment for the Avengers team. Every room had a seemingly endless supply of the towels stashed away. Natasha moved your hands so they were above your head before gently pressing between your thighs to get you to open up. 

You knew better than to move from where she positioned you. You heard the familiar buzz of a vibrator. She dragged the toy along one thigh and down the other, deliberate in her movements. She was going to drag it out for as long as she could. You felt her move between your legs. With your vision restricted, you felt everything more. Her breath against you as she took in the sight of how soaked you were, the light vibration of the toy, hovering above where you wanted it most. 

“Look at that. Soaked, just like I knew you’d be. I can’t resist a taste,” she said, moments before you felt her mouth on you. Her tongue delved between your folds, savoring the taste of you as she moved from your entrance to your clit, taking her time with the delicate bud as she pressed the vibrator into you with ease. You resisted the urge to arch off the bed as you let out a loud moan.

“Tasha, Tasha please, please,” you cried out. You could feel her smirk against you. She pulled you to the edge and pulled away. You whimpered at the loss of contact. 

“Does my sweet girl want to cum?” she asked.

“Yes, please Tasha, please let me cum, I’ve been so good,” you replied. 

“Hmmm, not yet,” she replied as she increased the intensity of the vibrator, dragging it along your slit. Your hips moved at the contact, drawing a light swat to your thigh in warning from Natasha. She pressed the toy back into you, leaving it there as she moved away. You heard the tell tale sound of her getting her strap on ready. You wondered what she would choose. She had a vast collection to choose from. 

“Open,” she said as you felt her press the tip of the toy to your mouth. You felt her press it half way into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the head, you narrowed it down. It was one of the ones that could make such a mess.

“Enough,” Natasha said as she withdrew it. She pulled you to your knees and turned you so you were at the end of the bed, facing the wall with the mirror. Though you couldn’t see it, you knew it was there. You spread your legs wordlessly as she moved behind you. You gasped as you felt her press into you. Natasha let out a moan of her own.

“Going to make a fucking mess out of you, baby. Going to fill you up, fuck you so good you’ll feel it for days,” Natasha told you. You were lost in the sensation. The room was filled with the sound of your moans. 

“Tasha please, gonna cum, gotta cum,” you moaned.

“Do it. Cum for me, baby. Let everyone hear you,” she replied. You could tell she was close. Your moans increased in pitch as she removed the blindfold. She made you look in the mirror. To the side you could see the camera set up. She wasn’t lying when she said she was going to record it. Her fingers found your clit, drawing you over the edge of a blinding orgasm, a week in the making. You could feel her release inside you, the feeling of the lubricant feeling almost like the real deal. You were seeing stars. 

As you came down from the high of your release, Natasha placed a fresh towel under you with practiced ease, having you lay back on the soft pillows as she grabbed a chilled bottle of water and prepared fruit from the mini fridge. You had missed the bowl of water sitting with a clean washcloth beside it.

Natasha held the bottle to your lips as you drank from it deeply, before offering you the fruit. As you munched happily on the fruit, Natasha dampened the cloth, wiping between your legs with a practiced, gentle ease.

“I think a bath is in order. I got some new bath bombs while you were away,” Natasha said. You smiled at her.

“I think we should try them out,” you replied. The two of you headed for her bathroom, where FRIDAY had already begun filling the tub. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky wasn’t surprised to have the notification from Natasha. A new video to the collection. Stark had enhanced security on an offline intranet that was practically impenetrable. They knew there was still a risk, no matter how small. He chuckled at how scandalized the world would be if the cache of videos and photos ever made it to the public. There was quite the organized tagging system. 

“They didn’t invite you?” Steve asked when he entered the kitchen. Bucky had spent the evening meditating with Wanda and Bruce. He wasn’t as keyed up as you were when it came to the sexual frustration of the week. No, he had simply needed a chance to refocus and relax. 

“They did. Just wasn’t what I needed tonight,” Bucky replied as he poured some cereal in a bowl. 

When you and Natasha emerged sometime later, you looked far more relaxed than you had on the way home. You sat down on the couch between Steve and Bucky, settling in to watch whatever it was they had on. A perfect ending to a long week. 

[luminousbeansarewe]

wandering stars

ch 7: strike

pairings: none || rating: teen || characters: original characters, anakin skywalker, mace windu, cin drallig

tags: none

chapter list

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

Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 24BBY

    Mace Windu felt the threshold of what used to be the limit of his patience pass over him more than once before Sol and he began to speak meaningfully. He’d decided to begin teaching her about the Force— fundamentals that every Force-user should know, he thought, for her own safety. He did not coach her to use it, no; the council would have been quite unhappy with that. But the more he explained it to her, the more she started to let her guard down. 

    “I know you’re not sure why you’re here,” he said to her one day as their studies drew to a close. “I was hoping we might arrive at a path for you to take naturally. But I sense your uncertainty.”

    Sol shook her head. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, glancing away.

    “In light of that, I have a thought.” Now her eyes cut back up to him under their white lashes, and he saw for the hundredth time how no hope was ever without its complement of doubt in her face. “You may find it fulfilling to become one of the Jedi Temple Guard.”

    “What does that mean?” she asked, raising a brow ever so slightly.

    “They pledge their lives to protecting the temple,” Mace said. “And they must learn utter non-attachment as part of that.”

    “I don’t understand this.” Her frown was frustrated. “Attachment, you Jettise always say. But what does it mean?” 

    “It means an unwillingness to let go. A desire to possess someone or something, fearful of the pain of loss.” He thought he’d explained it fairly well, but realized quickly that the look on her face was not confusion. It was something more akin to disbelief.

    “That is… possible? To become unattached?”

    “Yes. All Jedi practice it, but the Temple Guard practices it to the end of its capacity. They bear no emotional attachment at all, even the kind that could be let go of,” he said. The girl seemed more and more to think, the concept winding its way deeper into her mind by the second. “It’s not easy,” he warned her gently. 

    “I would… like to try it.” There was something heartbreaking in her golden eyes when she looked back at him, and at once he was struck with unease. Was this a wise suggestion, after all? After the pain she had so freshly endured, taking root as such a loss always did?

    “Master Cin Drallig is the Jedi who trains the Guard,” Mace told her. “You would begin under his tutelage very soon. Tomorrow, even. Are you certain?” 

    “Yes.” Now her jaw was set in a way the Jedi had come to recognize; she was decided, and there was little that could dissuade her. His heart was a little heavy as he met her gaze.

    “Alright. Tomorrow, you will begin.”

    -----

    Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 23BBY

    It was some months later, high in the temple in the training room that was given only to the Guard, when Sol struck down Cin Drallig with an unseen fist. He flew backward from his seated position, hands on his face as he groaned. A human, an older one, with blood running in a thin trickle down his chin as he hauled himself back up to glare at her.

    “You are not even trying!” he barked, clearly flustered. The Master, whose demeanor was infuriatingly calm even as he berated her time and time again, had finally lost his composure. “How can you expect to become detached when you indulge your anger?” 

    Sol, on the other hand, was ever on the edge of the deep hollow feeling she had been pushing desperately to fill with her hours of combat drills and the hum of the yellow-bladed lightsaber pike. It came up in moments of meditation to swallow her, never more brutally than it had just then. Drallig’s lecture to her had been grating, one she’d heard dozens of times before— you are reckless, and you must let go of your feelings, let them flow and disappear, and your training shows me you’ve never once found a moment of peace. How was she to find something she’d never known and could not remember? Her argument had bubbled up as it ever did, churning from her guts with sorrow and resentment for the old man’s stern teachings. His rebuttals were stern and unmoved, as they ever were.

    And then the very air around her had sprung out, broken the fragile veneer of composure to leap with furious purpose right into his cheek. Her eyes flew open in shock, but the anger never left her face. 

    “You are not teaching me how!” she retorted. As Drallig rose to his feet, she followed suit, unwilling to be cowed. 

    “I have tried again and again to indulge you, to let you feel things so that they may drain from you,” he growled. “But you are a bottomless well, Sol Tannor, and I do not know where your anger ends!” 

    Though she still stood with her legs wide apart and her fists clenched, pain flaring through her knuckles, some part of her registered his words as a knife slid quiet and deftly into her heart.

    “Master Windu said—”

    “I don’t care what Master Windu said. You are not his pupil, you are mine. And you will listen to me. If you cannot hear, go and clean the wax from your ears.” Even though his voice had fallen back calm, he looked down his nose at her with his frustration on a bridle. “Never in all my years have I had such pupil. Do you want to feel these things, Sol? This anger and fear?”

    “No!” she almost shouted. “I don’t! I hate them!”

    “Then that is why you fail,” he said solemnly. “You have anger and hurt, and you feel hatred for them. You must let go.” 

    The girl looked stunned for a moment, blinking at him. The fury that seethed under her skin and hung like bile in her throat did not ebb, but somehow she knew at that moment that, for the first time, she’d learned a single thing from this man. 

    “I…” She’d found words, then lost them again. She still wanted to strike him for dangling peace in front of her, cruel and distant. Or perhaps he wasn’t cruel, and she only hated him for apparently having what she sought. 

    “Sit, and try again,” he instructed, taking a seat himself. But his willingness to be small, hoping to bring her drifting down with him into a silence that swallowed her, only stoked her ire. She was unsure if she could contain it any longer. 

    “I have to go.” And without fanfare she turned on her heel and marched towards the door. She heard his shout of protest, but it did not matter. In that moment, she was protecting him-- and herself. 

    A balcony led around the temple outside the training level, open to the crisp, metallic air and noise of Coruscant. Stalking around the building at a pace, she was nearly fully on the opposite side from her Master’s training hall when she almost walked right into someone else. 

    “Easy there,” he said, putting out a hand to catch her shoulder. She looked up to see Anakin Skywalker.

    “Sorry,” she murmured, acutely aware of the anger that was still pounding in her heart. 

    “Sol! Are you alright?” he asked, dropping his hand. Touch was not something the girl cared for, he’d discovered some time ago, and so he was quick not to make her uncomfortable. But he could feel the radiating heat from her body, the extra bristles in her presence. 

    “I’m fine.” 

    “You can’t lie to a Jedi,” he countered, crossing his arms. “You’re upset.”

    “Yes, I’m upset,” she ceded with a glare. 

    “What happened?” 

    “I…” Shame boiled sudden and hot in her cheeks. “I hit Master Drallig.”

    “You what?” His blue eyes doubled in size. “Holy kriff!” 

    “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re impressed,” she said, brow still furrowed. 

    “I… kind of am, actually,” he replied with his crooked grin. “Gave the old troll something to remember you by, huh?” 

    “It was an accident, Anakin,” she insisted. “I hit him with the Force.”

    “Hey, it’s okay! It happens.” 

    “Does it?” Her eyes narrowed, not convinced. She’d been shocked she hadn’t been expelled from the building right then; such a thing had never happened to her before, though she might’ve gotten close in the past.

    “Yeah, I mean, I accidentally do stuff with the Force all the time,” he said with a shrug. 

    “When you’re angry?” 

    “Especially then.” 

    “Do you… get angry for no reason?” she asked tentatively. “Or out of nowhere?” All she could think of was how she’d been serene that morning, drilling with her bo staff, and then in meditation the sheer cavernous loneliness that lived in her deepest parts seemed all too clear, filling her with sorrow that quickly turned nearly to hate.

    “Sometimes, yes,” he replied, glancing away as though he knew the same shame she did. “Didn’t you hear? I’m overly emotional. Or so Master Obi-Wan says, and everybody else, it feels like.” 

    “I didn’t know that.” Sol watched him, curiously relieved. 

    “Well, now you know.” He gave a humorless, thin smile, then a roll of his eyes that was more genuine. “Everybody has feelings. I don’t see how I’m supposed to just forget about them.” 

    “Yes. They are always there,” she said. “They come up just when I think I’ve found... peace.”

    “Keep practicing. You’ll figure it out. And when you do, let me know how it works,” he grinned. 

    “Mm.” She wasn’t sure at all that she’d ever know, but a smile was lurking under her stern expression. Anakin was always making light of things that felt heavy, the few times they had spoken; this time, it actually helped. “I should return to my master. I left in a hurry.” 

    “Well, I hope the rest of your day goes better,” he offered. 

    “May yours as well.” She turned, walking back without the loth-wolves at her heels this time.

[swinfinities]

Long Live the Queen: Part Seventeen

No one really liked the plan. All of High Command knew it was a long shot at best. If they failed (which seemed the most likely outcome), then the Rebellion would be placed pretty firmly on the losing side. It would be beyond difficult to recover from that sort of loss. Still, if they succeeded... then the war was as good as over. It was high risk, but an even higher reward.

It had taken a lot of convincing. Months of squabbling had passed before Mon, Padmé, and Bail had managed to convince the rest of High Command to vote in their favor. But it wasn’t until Yoda and Obi-Wan began to argue that minds really started changing. After all, it is hard to disagree with the Grand Master of the Jedi Order.

All the while, Luke and Leia were kept safely hidden within the walls of the Yavin temple. Luke continued his training, at least when Obi-Wan wasn’t busy lending his expertise as a military advisor. Leia listened in on some of their sessions from time to time, but most of what they said was far beyond what she could understand. Yoda had promised, when all of this was over and the Empire destroyed, that she would be trained as a Jedi as well, alongside her brother and a new generation of Jedi knights. Sometimes, late at night, Luke would try to teach her some things, too, though not much more than a few simple meditative exercises. He even let her hold their father’s lightsaber once or twice. Leia always marveled at the power contained in such a small device—a power that seemed, somehow, not completely mechanical. As if there was some life to it.

But still, even being surrounded by thick walls of stone, guarded by trained soldiers and ancient Jedi, Leia felt a profound sense of unease. No matter how much she tried to meditate, to push it out of her mind, the feeling remained. A dark spot of dread in her heart that was slowly gnawing away at her sanity.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” her mother had said. “I’m afraid too. It’s okay if you don’t want to go on this mission. No one will think any less of you.”

No, Leia didn’t want to go through with this mission. But she still said yes anyway. Because it didn’t matter what she wanted. If she had a chance to do some good for the galaxy, that is what mattered. And she would do it standing side-by-side with her family, no matter if they lived or…

Or died.

Leia still had a hard time coming to terms with that part. She didn’t like thinking about it. She didn’t really even know how to think about it. The only thing she knew is that she felt scared.

But, somehow, the sound of the approaching ship, still just a little blip on the horizon, filled Leia with some long-awaited peace. It was as if the universe was trying to tell her that she was in the right place after all.

The ship approached the landing pad, making a soft descent and landing amid the sizable crowd that had gathered not only to greet the ship’s pilot, but to get a closer look at the ship itself.

“That’s an Eta-2 Actis-class Interceptor!” Luke beamed. “I’ve never seen one up close. They haven’t been in use since the Clone Wars! Heavy-repeating ion cannons… high-impulse, 118-megalight ion engines… Look! You can see how the reduced repulsorlift housing lets the ion impulse chamber gimbal up to thirty degrees for increased maneuverability. See, that was one of the big improvements over the older Aethersprite-class models—”

“You know that I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, right?” said Leia.

Luke looked sheepish.

“It’s just… a really great ship, is all,” he said. “Master Kenobi says he used to fly one like this during the Clone Wars. So did dad. Except dad’s was yellow, not red.”

“Yes, it was,” said the woman climbing out of the cockpit. Luke immediately recognized her as the Jedi from his vision. Their mother’s friend and their father’s old apprentice, Ahsoka Tano.

“I remember,” she said. “It was bright yellow. It wasn’t very good for staying hidden but… Anakin was never very good at that anyway. He always dove in lightsaber-first to any conflict. It was probably foolish but… we won a lot of battles that way.”

Ahsoka jumped down from the ship onto the platform and walked up to Luke. She offered him a small bow.

“You must be Luke,” she said, smiling. “You look just like Anakin. I can sense that you have a lot of your father in you. The Force is strong with you, as it was for him.”

“Thank you,” Luke said, bowing in return. “It is an honor to finally meet you, Lady Tano. I’ve only ever heard stories about my father… but you actually met him. I just… I wish I could have met him, too.”

Ahsoka laid a gentle hand on Luke’s shoulder. 

“There’s hope for that yet, young Skywalker. And please, just call me Ahsoka.”

“Alright,” said Luke.

“And it’s wonderful to see you, too Leia,” said Ahsoka. “Although you’re quite a bit bigger than the last time I saw you. I guess I’ve spent too many years running around the galaxy, I missed getting to see you grow up.”

“A pleasure, as always,” Leia said with a kind smile, curtseying just as a princess was trained to do.

Ahsoka caught Luke trying to get another glance over at the ship behind her.

“So, you like the ship?” Ahsoka asked.

“Yeah,” Luke said, trying to hide his excitement. “I’ve never had a chance to see one up close before.”

“It’s been sitting in storage for quite a few years now. Figured I’d dust it off again for one last mission. Do you want to get an even closer look? The cockpit’s all yours.”

Luke’s eyes lit up.

“Can I?” he beamed.

“Be my guest,” Ahsoka replied. “Just be careful not to disengage the reverse power coupling. The actuator tends to flip if you so much as breathe on it.”

Luke excitedly jumped up onto the ship and dropped down into the cockpit, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, well this certainly looks familiar,”  said Obi-Wan, walking up to greet them. “A Skywalker in the cockpit of an old Jedi interceptor. That does bring up some memories. Unfortunately, not all of them are good. I think I’m even getting a headache on behalf of my past self.”

“Obi-Wan,” said Ahsoka.

“Ahsoka,” he replied with a curt nod.

“You can’t fool me with that stiff-as-a-board routine, Obi-Wan. I know you too well. There’s a big, soft heart somewhere underneath all that beard.”

“Me? Stiff?” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t know where you got that. I can be funny—”

Ahsoka practically ran up to Obi-Wan and wrapped her arms around him. It took a few moments for Obi-Wan to get over the shock, but he hugged her back, too. They just stood there for a while, letting the other soak up so many years of shared pain before they finally let go.

“I’m very happy that you’re alright, Ahsoka,” said Obi-Wan. “If only one Jedi could have survived the Emperor’s purge, I would have wanted it to be you.”

“I’m not a Jedi anymore,” said Ahsoka.

“Are any of us?” Obi-Wan replied. “There’s no Temple. No Council. No Order. What does it matter what titles we wear?”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Ahsoka. “What matters is setting things right again. Speaking of which, where is Yoda?”

“In a briefing. That we should probably get ourselves to as well, unless we want to incur the wrath of Senator Amidala. Luke! Come. We’ve got to get ready.”

*****

The briefing room was emptied, except for the select few who had been given the clearance to know about this mission—other than the Jedi, there were the members of High Command, a few intelligence officers and high-ranking pilots. Luke and Leia were there, too, but they stood uneasily towards the back, both feeling very out-of-place in a war room.

“Thank you all, again, for your willingness to volunteer for this mission,” Mon Mothma began. “I’m sure you understand the risk involved. This is not a mission I would have approved under normal circumstances but… I have known Senator Amidala for many years, and I know that nothing would have prevented her from attempting the mission anyway once her mind was made up, in spite of anything I could have said. So, I propose that we give them the best possible chance of success that we can. As such, I am appointing Senator Amidala to be the commanding officer of this mission. I will therefore cede the floor to her. Padmé, if you will.”

“Thank, you Mon,” said Padmé, standing and taking her place before the council. “Captain Andor, you have the latest intelligence reports?”

“Yes, senator,” said the Captain, stepping up to address the group. “The ISD Devastator was confirmed patrolling the space near Saleucami. Two days ago, it made an emergency jump to Korriban, where it has been reported to have picked up a single Imperial light shuttle. It’s not certain, but the reports highly suggest that Darth Vader is aboard. The Devastator then moved to Telos to support the Imperial fleet against our forces stationed there. As of 0900 this morning, it is still in orbit. There haven’t been any sightings of Vader yet, but analysis of the Empire’s offensive strategies on Telos suggest Vader’s hand is in the campaign. This is the first real clue into Vader’s movements that we’ve found for months. If we’re going to act, we need to act now or Vader is going to disappear off the map again.”

“Is your droid ready, then?” asked Padmé.

“He is,” Captain Andor replied. “He is in position and ready to leak the information when I give the signal.”

“ISB is going to know it’s a trap,” said General Draven. “I don’t believe that they will commit a significant force to investigate, let alone Vader’s personal destroyer.”

“Of course they’ll know it’s a trap,” said Ahsoka. “That’s why we have to make the bait as tempting as possible. Not only the promise of the Rebel base, but of a Jedi… there’s no way that Vader won’t come see for himself.”

“He’ll have backup,” said Draven.

“It matters little, how many ships the Emperor sends,” said Yoda. “For no rebels on this moon will he find. A single ship is all we need. Risk destroying the ship, Vader will not, lest his prize he destroy with it.”

“Captain, is your strike team assembled?” Padmé asked.

“Yes,” Captain Andor replied. “Twenty men, plus the slicer. Enough to get us inside and take out more than a few stormtroopers. And I’ve got a pilot who should be able to get us in and out of a tight spot.”

“Then get ready and have your ship standing by for further orders,” Padmé ordered. “General Merrick, how long will it take to have the evacuation underway?”

“I can probably have all non-essential personnel off-world by 2200 tonight. It’ll take a little longer to get the equipment and munitions, but we can probably have the base cleaned up in two rotations.”

“You have one,” said Padmé. “Anything that isn’t boxed and shipped by tomorrow night is getting left behind. It’s not ideal, but time isn’t on our side. You are authorized to use any and all ships and crew you might need to assist in the evacuation. Getting these people out of the system is our number one priority.”

“Then it sounds like we’re committed to this,” said Obi-Wan. “The more I think about it, the more I wonder if this plan isn’t as crazy as I thought it was.”

“No, it’s still crazy,” said Ahsoka. “But just crazy enough that it might work. After all, my master was the expert in crazy schemes.”

“Yes, I suppose you did learn from the best. Well then, I suggest we all begin preparing. Tomorrow is going to be a very exciting day, no matter which way it turns out. May the Force be with us all.”

[postedbygaslight]

You’ll Be the One to Turn - Part 22: Kylo

Someone on AO3 asked, joking, if there would be another chapter today, because I posted the other one early. I sent a cheerfully nihilistic response, thinking it was true madness to suggest such a thing. And then I actually did finish the next chapter, so, I guess, enjoy. :)

The past had died.

Or part of it had. The part laced through with venom and pretensions to legacy. The months since he’d tracked Lor San Tekka to the enclave on Jakku had seen the collapse of his foundations. One by one, what he’d once viewed as essential pillars of what it meant to be Kylo Ren had been smashed apart, and most of it had been done by his own hand. The murder of his father, which had exposed Snoke for the pestilence he was. His inability to harm his mother, which had reminded him of what it was to love and be loved. His defiance in saving Rey from death, which freed him from the yoke of his decrepit master. Because the bastard would not have her, too.

But there had been nothing that had ever approached what happened the night before. And as Kylo sits in the chair in his meditation chamber, letting his mind settle on the memories of what were, he is visited by the stark collision of feeling that assaults him: revulsion at what he’d witnessed; adoration for the woman who’d been there to catch him as he fell.

He’d been certain Rey was mistaken about the cure for her issue with the kyber crystal. But, in the moment just before their two halves touched, his mind had cleared, and he could feel the Force anchored in the crystal halves aching to rejoin what had been broken. And the vision that had dragged him away from her had seized upon him with such mirthless intensity he’d been sure that he would be drawn into the morass of bitter cruelty into which he’d fallen, abandoned to suffocation. What he had seen was a gift from the Force. Like the vision he’d seen on Ahch-To, he knew what he’d seen was the perfect truth of the past, unadorned by the decay of memory. It was a vision of death and horror, a view of the slow erosion of humanity inside a husk that was once a good man.

Kylo sits across from the mask of Darth Vader, infected by the sensations that linger from his vision. When he’d first realized whose life he was seeing, his reaction was one of disbelief, even though he knew the Force had merely been showing him what it was to be Anakin Skywalker in that time and place. He had spent so long elevating the deeds and accomplishments of the mask on display that he never stopped to consider the man beneath it. Now, having lived in the bone strewn furnace of Anakin’s mind and soul as he transformed into a deformity of spirit, the mask has adopted a different shape: a blot of darkness accented by the scorching threat of revenge.

Kylo accepts now that his grandfather had been fooled and seduced by the poisons of a man not unlike Snoke. He could sense the miasma of toxins pluming around Palpatine the moment he’d commanded Anakin to murder his prisoner in the throne room. But the monster on the throne had only represented the path to darkness. Anakin had chosen, one fateful decision after another, to stride confidently into shadow. And Kylo knows, just as he knows he will walk under this plague shroud no longer, that were he confronted with the same choices, he would not have fallen to the depths that claimed his grandfather.

Thinking of it sends a crawl of cold slime retching in his throat. Watching as Anakin cleaved and stabbed smoking plasma wounds into the flesh of terrified children. Watching as Anakin stalked and thrilled in the slaughter of those who’d welcomed him as an ally. Watching as Anakin Skywalker ignored the frightened pleas of the woman he claimed to love, reveling in his fury as he choked her into submission.

Grandmother. Padmé Amidala. A queen. A senator. A woman of pride and accomplishment. Laid low and murdered. By the man who’d sold his soul in the vain quest to shelter her from death. How her strength had reminded him of Rey. How he’d wanted to shatter the illusion of the vision, wrest control of the man whose actions had doomed her to a miserable end, and cause him to fall on his saber blade, or to attack Palpatine, or to cast himself into the lava flow at Mustafar. She had deserved better than the death she suffered, and the injustice of it screams in his soul as he imagines himself confronted with the visions that afflicted Anakin.

He can sense Rey now stronger than ever, and it’s present in her strength and her calm, her essential goodness, the grace and beauty of her bearing. The glow of her light now resides within him. The constant lantern at his side has now become a comforting warmth that swells in his chest. And where there had once been an emptiness suffused with doubt, he is now bolstered with courage, raised up by the foundation of her resolve. He is finished with this pointless charade. His place is with her. He’s known it for a long time, and only now has he clarity enough to recognize it.

As the comm at his private terminal starts sounding an alert, Kylo accepts that the events ahead will carry him forward to the destiny he is meant to find. And ceding control to whatever cosmic power brought he and Rey together has freed him to do what he could not before. It isn’t too late. And he knows what he has to do. He stands up, taking the mask in his hands, and places it in his waste disposal unit. Without ceremony or pause, he closes the lock, pulls the release, and walks away, not even bothering to watch as its contents are ejected into the void of space.

***

The war room aboard the Finalizer is much like those in other First Order warships: a long black table ringed with high backed chairs, flanked by banks of windows that amount to viewing platforms for the entire vessel. The table, fitted with inset holo-projectors, stretches the length of the room, and is now populated by severe men in black officers’ uniforms, all waiting on the arrival of high command.

Kylo strides into the room, taking stock of the emotions of the officers. Fear is high, and there are surges of confusion and anxiety as his presence is acknowledged. But, rather than use the Force to amplify their unease, Kylo makes a simple gesture before being seated, and everyone else follows suit.

“Supreme Leader,” General Hux salutes.

“What’s the situation?” Kylo asks without looking at him.

A display of the Tarisian star system springs up above the table, and the zoom function of the projector zeroes in on the third planet from the star, a tawny orange ball spiderwebbed with artificial lights. Kylo was well aware of Taris, as it had long existed as one of the most densely populated planets in the entire galaxy. Some even said its  colossal cities existed before Coruscant’s, but such were tales left to legend. The boutiques and salons of the upper cities didn’t concern him. The matter at hand, he knows, will be decided in the mangled collapse of concrete and steel that exists on the surface.

“The Star Destroyer Volition followed up on intelligence we received several days ago about a possible Resistance presence on Taris.”

“I’m guessing that presence is below the smog line.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Hux continues. “We’ve learned that there is a munitions cache of some considerable size housed in a facility beneath a derelict rail terminal.”

“What kind of munitions?”

“Small arms, though it seems they are of the rarer sort.”

“Meaning?”

“Ion disruptor rifles.”

Kylo stops a moment. He is unused to being genuinely surprised by anything. But this is a true shock.

“T-7’s?”

“And a few T-8’s, so far as we’ve been able to tell,” a lower ranking general chimes in.

“You’re sure this is Resistance,” Kylo presses. “Collecting weapons that were outlawed by the Empire.”

“Desperation will drive even the noblest men to questionable means for their ends,” Hux opines, and is met with nods of approval.

“If the Force is with us, who can be against us, eh?” The voice was from another ranking officer on the other side of the table. The quip elicits some choked and guarded laughter as everyone else waits for Kylo to react. And while his eyes do dart to the smug officer, whose face has drained of blood, he stays his hand, and continues on.

“Tell me about the facility.”

Hux clears his throat and continues the presentation.

“It appears to be a two-level subterranean compound with a main entrance here, and an escape tunnel here. The area has been shielded, and will withstand orbital bombardment.”

“Of course. Where’s our landing?”

“This airdrome tower seems ideal,” Captain Eskat, of the Volition, adds, his image beamed in from the bridge of his vessel. “Multiple landing pads. A variety of insertion points into the combat zone.”

“Good,” Kylo says, folding his gloved hands in front of him. “Anything else?”

“The weapons are reportedly kept in this bunker here,” Hux says, adding what Kylo interprets as a proposed course of action. “Apart from the principle of the matter, Supreme Leader, these weapons are valuable and rare commodities.”

Kylo turns slowly to face the general. He does nothing to disguise his contempt for the man. He can sense Hux’s fear like never before, a glacial contortion of terror and cowardice twisted inside this small, tired despot.

“Want one for your personal collection, Hux? Planning a disintegration or two?”

“While I’m told the experience of watching death by ion disruption is singular,” Hux says with a snide grin, “I understand the smell it produces is less than desirable.”

The thought is repellent. Kylo had never seen a disintegration before, and he’d never sought one out. Ion disruptors were among the most vicious infantry weapons in existence, capable of downing spacefaring craft with a single bolt from a shoulder fired rifle. But, beyond that, the mechanism inherent in the disruption field produced by the bolts caused living tissue to slough away with a relatively gradual outward spread. That meant a target struck with a disruptor blast would be killed, but would experience an excruciating death by melting over the course of minutes.

Hux’s obvious enthusiasm for securing the weapons distracts Kylo for a moment or two, and he combats the urge to lash out at the general, just as he’s still resisting the urge to punish the officer on the other side of the room for denigrating the Force. But the warmth within him brings him back to a place of calm, and he presses on.

“Have we intercepted any Resistance response?”

“We’ve received actionable reports of an extraction operation already underway. We expect enemy units to be in the vicinity within thirty minutes.”

“And?”

“They’re being led by the girl.”

“The Jedi.”

“I assume.”

Kylo knows now what this is. A trap. For both of them. And he knows, just as he knows that Hux will spring to betray him as soon as he steps foot off of the ship, that he’s been outmaneuvered. For the time being. What’s important now is springing the trap, and smashing it apart.

Kylo stands from his chair. Everyone in attendance does the same.

“If they aren’t already, muster the troops in the main hangar. Infiltration units. No heavy weaponry. I’ll lead the mission myself.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

As he turns to leave the room, Hux positions himself in his path.

“Supreme Leader, allow me to apologize for yesterday’s impudence. I trust exacting vengeance against this criminal will set things right.”

“I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re planning or doing,” Kylo says through his teeth, drawing to full height. “And I’m not at all interested in your apologies.”

The fear that had twisted within Hux explodes outward in an icy blast, and Kylo wants to punish him for what he’s done. He wants to punish him for what he’s going to do. But, most of all, Kylo wants to hurt General Hux. To make him suffer. For arranging this ruse. For aspiring to power he is unworthy to wield. And most of all, he wants to hurt him for putting Rey in harm’s way, and using that as bait to try to seize a throne for himself.

“It won’t happen again,” Hux stammers.

Kylo steps toward Hux, his eyes dark and burning with rage.

“See that it doesn’t.”

And Kylo can feel the fear, so potent and sharp in the general’s heart, harden to pure hatred as he makes his way for the lift, en route to the main hangar.

***

Kylo stands at the head of the company of stormtroopers and reviews them in formation, ready to board transports. He makes his comments brief.

“Once we hit the ground, fan out. Eliminate any enemy targets you encounter,” he says, calmly, with deliberation. And then his tone hardens, and each word is a knife, meant to cut each and every man present in the room. “But the girl is mine. Anyone who brings her to harm will answer to me.”

The troops salute and file into the waiting vessels. Kylo boards his command shuttle and orders the pilots to make for planetfall.

He still feels the warmth and comfort he felt from before. Even as he knows he’s walking into a trap. Even as he knows that Hux is waiting to betray him. Even as he’s descending into a wrecked and blighted war zone, knowing that somewhere down there, Rey is in danger. Because he can feel her the moment his command shuttle breaks atmosphere. And he is made strong by her strength. And he knows that whatever light remains in him is greater than just an ember as the blue-black of the starfield above dips out of sight, and the windshield of the cockpit is swallowed in a haze of gold and brown.

[jameshboyd]

"The Church Needs To..." Misconceptions About Faith Based Charity

A number of years ago I was talking with an old friend who had not been to church in a while. One of the reasons he gave was that he did not feel that churches were doing enough to help people in need. While I ceded that there was always room for improvement , I also told him about a number of outreaches my church at the time was involved in. He responded, rather curtly  "Do you train them for jobs?" When I acknowledged that we didn't do that, the conversation completely shut down. He wouldn't listen to anything else I had to say. Certainly,  this does serve as a sobering  reminder to believers not to neglect our duty in these areas. Caring for those in need is the single most frequently repeated command in the entire Bible. As we attempt to live this out, albeit imperfectly, there are some who are quick to criticize the church for it's shortcomings. Often the criticism is valid, other times it is based on faulty and even unbiblical reasoning.

 This is embodied in  some of the popular Memes circulating on social media, which I will address as we go along.  Before we proceed, I will remind you of three things that I hope we can all agree on:

Are there churches that neglect God's command to care for the needy? Unfortunately, yes.

Are the "megachurches" that misuse their privileges and resources? Yes, but that is not typical of most churches.

In all areas, is there room for improvement? Absolutely! 

So with that in mind, let's look at meme number one:

First of all, having a nice place to worship is not at odds with Biblical charity. Simply look at God's instructions to build the Tabernacle (Exodus 26) and later the Temple (1 Chronicles 28). Many years later Jesus Himself would worship in a similar temple, and while He certainly did challenge its corrupt leadership, He still acknowledged it as God's house (Matthew 21:12-13).  In all likelihood, these homeless shelters, missions etc. are operated and funded by many of these same churches. Those volunteering on any given day may very well be members of these churches. Who is to say that the people in the SUV may not volunteer there on other days? 

Also, keep in mind that a church's activities in these areas may not always be immediately visible. Churches vary widely in terms of facilities, finances and human resources. In addition, different churches have different callings and giftings, so the methods they use may also vary. Just because you may not see the work directly on the church grounds does not necessarily mean that the church is not engaged.

Often, area churches will work together in parachurch ministries and consequentially can help many more people than they could individually. In the east Tennessee region where I live, examples would include .Knox Area Rescue Ministries, The Knoxville Dream Center and The Compassion Coalition,

So if you have questions regarding a certain church, why not actually contact the church and ask for yourself instead of jumping to conclusions? You might be surprised! 

  I do not deny this is a problem. I have personally left churches in the past over what I felt were inappropriate financial practices and will certainly never defend a church that participates in it. That being said, it is important that we don't take things to the opposite extreme as some do. There is nothing unethical about a minister being paid a decent salary. Jesus said the laborer is worthy of his hire (Luke 10:7, also see Matthew 10:10; Luke 10:7; Galatians 6:6, 1 Timothy 5:17-18 and Hebrews 7 1-11). 

However, if a person has the leadership skills necessary to be a successful pastor, he is likely earning significantly less than he could working a secular job. Many pastors are grossly overworked, often being on call around the clock. Pastors generally also have to purchase their own insurance and pay their own Social Security premiums, both of which can be very costly. If your goal is simply to get rich, then ministry is certainly not the profession for you! 

Nonetheless, the point is well taken. Especially in times like ours, it is more important than ever that churches and ministries handle their finances with the utmost integrity. I would encourage every ministry leader to meditate regularly on the following Scriptures:

We put no stumbling block in anyone’s path, so that our ministry will not be discredited (2 Corinthians 6:3, NIV, emphasis added).

We want to avoid any criticism of the way we administer this liberal gift. For we are taking pains to do what is right, not only in the eyes of the Lord but also in the eyes of man. (2 Corinthians 8:19-20, emphasis added).

But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people (Ephesians 5:3, NIV, emphasis added).

As for taxing churches, the problem with that is that it would be punishing all churches for the sins of the few. For each ministry that does these sort of things, there are countless others who are faithfully doing the work. They may be smaller and less visible, but they are out there.

If churches were taxed, the ones hardest hit would be the smaller churches who are operating on shoestring budgets. The aforementioned faith based charities these churches fund would suffer greatly. In the meantime the big money ministries the meme refers to would still find ways around it. They could simply write off their private jets and other extravagances as business expenses, for instance.

Tax exemption for houses of worship has a scriptural foundation (Genesis 47:26; Ezra 7:24). Is it sometimes abused? Of course, but it is there for good reason and doing away with it would do much more harm than good. .

.And finally, a favorite of many politicians:

Not exactly. In fact, misconceptions in this very issue led up to one of the first attempts to kill Jesus! In Luke 4:25-29,  Jesus boldly proclaimed His mission to bring good news to the poor. Interestingly, though, this same discourse reveals a somewhat surprising overview of how this operates. 

In verses. 26-27, Jesus referred to a time when a horrible famine was in the nation of Israel, but how many people actually received God's help? Only one, a widow who fed the prophet (1 Kings 17:9). Another time, there were many in the land who suffered from leprosy, yet God's healing power only came to one person, a man named Naaman, who likewise heeded the Divine directions given to him (2 Kings 5:1-14). The people who heard these words were so angry with Jesus the tried to throw Him over a cliff! 

The point He was making is that God's provision is not unconditional. In carrying out His mission today, it is not at all unreasonable to expect proper accountability from those who receive the aid.  Churches and ministries have limited resources which come almost exclusively from voluntary contributions (which the contributors have already payed taxes on. This is why the churches and other non-profit organizations  don't pay taxes on the money again). 

I once had a part-time job as a security guard for a church. When I first started the job and the pastor was going over the various responsibilities, he made it a point to tell me about people who came by the church seeking financial help. As he explained, there was a procedure they had to follow. For example, they would call other churches in the area to see if the people in question had been there first. The reason was that some people made their entire living panhandling from churches. While it is sad that this is the case, these people can quickly drain all of the resources from a benevolence ministry if proper precautions are not taken. Interestingly, we see similar issues discussed by the Apostle Paul in his letter to his protégé', the young Pastor Timothy. In this Epistle, we learn that Timothy's church is establishing a program to care for its widows, which is certainly a noble effort. However, Paul gives some advice to his close friend which would seem surprising by today's standards. He tells Timothy that those widows receiving the aid must meet rigid requirements regarding age (1 Timothy 5:9), and they must have no family or other means of support (1 Timothy 5:3-16). They must also have a proven reputation for pure lives and service to the church (1 Timothy 5:10). Paul even goes as far as to say refuse the aid to younger widows, as they would abuse the privilege (1 Timothy 5:11-12).  The same compassion that inspires the church's charity should also inspire proper stewardship of its resources to see that they do the maximum good.  I will conclude with a challenge. It is very easy to criticize from the sidelines. If you see something you feel is not being done, have you considered that God may be giving you a vision to help do something about it? If you have never surrendered your life to Christ, that is where it starts. Then, find a good Gospel centered church to partner with and see what God does from there! 

Keep It Real, 

James  #jameshboyd #keepitreal #yourfriendjames 

from Blogger https://ift.tt/2lXhiz6