#verse: the martyr

[shinobinvku]

The arrangement was political, with a two-year-long engagement due to war. Ryuketsu Tatsuo, the rightful ruler of Ryugu-jo of the Land of Rivers, had traveled to Konohagakure to form alliances with the Senju Clan, securing a large enough army to reclaim ownership of his land from his tyrannical and emotionally unstable elder brother, Ryuketsu Ryuuga. In exchange, Konohagakure and the Senju would reap the benefits of Ryugu-jo’s vast supply of iron ore and enriched minerals. As a testament to good faith, the Ryuketsu and Senju Clans would join their houses through matrimony. 

Underneath a dreary, gray sky, the beautiful viridescent world Chitose once knew fades from the palanquin window until nothing looks familiar anymore. For weeks, she, her elder brother, and an entourage of guards and servants have traveled along the high road across the snowy terrain of the Land of Fire toward the Hidden Leaf Village, where she will finally meet her betrothed and marry within the week.

Details about her future husband, Senju Tobirama, remain a mystery, except for the correspondence shared between Chitose and her older brother. She’s been told that he’s a pragmatic man and formidable shinobi of remarkable battle prowess, but nothing else. 

As they pass the main gates into the village, their entourage stops at a halt before Hashirama’s home within the Senju encampment. Tatsuo greets his host and family with a respectful bow, then announces his younger sister’s arrival. 

Chitose extends a hand for her brother to take as she steps outside of the palanquin. The path sparkles and crunches beneath her geta, like sugar underfoot, the winter cold turning her pale complexion rosy. She is a vision of beauty and elegance while wearing a deep indigo furisode kimono of handpainted silks mimicking the night sky with speckles of silver stars and waves of blue water with lily pads and white lotuses along the train. Her hair is a deep shock of burgundy, similar to that of the Uzumaki Clan, long and pinned back with fresh flowers and silver and gold kanzashi hairpins. 

As servants fuss over the train of her kimono, Chitose walks a few paces forward into the snow, allowing her brother’s hand to slide out of her grasp. Once she’s at the bottom of the steps before the Senju clansman, her body gracefully lowers itself into a small bow, awaiting her betroth’s greeting and approval. / @hatredcurse

[shinobinvku]

“Good evening. Mind if I join you?” Chitose murmurs, painted lips widening into a slight smile. 

Knowing her old, solitary friend, she had an inkling Madara would be here at his favored spot, alone with his thoughts, and decided to come be lonely together, bringing a second bottle of warmed sake just in case. 

In the other hand, Chitose held a gift for the Uchiha wrapped loosely in cloth: a handsome-looking gauntlet made of thick hide leather. 

“I had it custom-made for you. For your beloved falcons,”

it's snowing in Konoha again this year. the weather seemed to linger warm until winter had finally shaken off the dirt and dust and left them blanketed until the spring blossoms were ready to come through.

it's that time of the year again, one where he sits and thinks and shares a drink with no one in particular - though there's a spot beside him if one would want to join him.

[valtsv]

thinking about how tsv touches on the role that religious institutions of power play in colonial violence with the concept of battle saints. the amount of real-world locations named after saints denoting their historical subjugation under (western) christian imperialism. the grotesque irony of using brutalised and exploited bodies to erase the history of places built on brutalised and exploited bodies. there was never a town here.

[livwritesstuff]

Steve is home one day with his daughters when he realizes that his oldest, Moe, is ten.

Okay, obviously, he knew she was ten. She’s been ten for a while, as her birthday is in July and it’s now December, and the girls are discussing Christmas as they perceive it in their little girl worlds.

It’s really that Steve realizes that Moe is the same age Erica had been when he’d asked her to climb through air ducts and infiltrate a Russian military base.

It’s a realization that has Steve feeling a little nauseous, because Moe is ten and she’s plotting with her little sisters about how they’re going to stay awake on Christmas Eve to catch a glimpse of Santa (their conspiring has Steve worried for his and Ed’s own role in Christmas Eve and the way it hinges on the girls falling asleep as early as fucking possible), and she’d lost another baby tooth this morning and hasn’t stopped talking about what the tooth fairy might leave for her overnight, and she still sneaks into his and Eddie’s room after nightmares looking for snuggles, and she’s afraid of car washes and bugs, and she still wants to be read to before bed every night.

He’d been struck suddenly by how little Moe still is. Maybe he’s only thinking that because she’s his daughter – his first daughter, at that – but he still looks at that kid’s face and sees the newborn baby who’d made him a dad ten years ago.

He can’t imagine looking at her and seeing someone equipped to take on Erica had been asked to do, never mind actually asking her to do it, which is precisely what Steve had done twenty-five years ago.

It eats at him for the rest of the day.

“Just call her, Steve,” Eddie urges him after Steve brings it up for the sixth time that evening, “You clearly need to air this shit out.”

So Steve calls Erica.

Erica is in her mid-thirties now. She’s a kick-ass lawyer at a private firm in Indiana, and she picks up the phone on the second ring.

“This is Erica,” she says.

“Hey, it’s Steve.”

“What’s up,” she replies, still never one for beating around the bush.

“I just – I need to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For Scoops,” Steve says, “For Starcourt.”

Erica is silent for a while.

None of them really talk about any of that stuff anymore. They’d hashed everything out ages ago, until all that was left behind was the understanding that none of them would ever be able to truly move past it, that there would always be guilt and fear and pain they could never shake.

“Okay?” she finally says, question in her tone.

“I just…” Steve hesitates, “Look – I didn’t get it. I didn’t fully get how fucked up it was. I was the grown up in the situation and I should have put a stop to it but I was stupid and reckless, and now that Moe is ten, I can’t stop thinking about how insane it was for us to even consider roping you into that.”

“I agreed to it.”

“You were a kid.”

“You were a kid,” Erica insists.

“Eighteen isn’t a kid anymore.”

“Say that to me again when Moe’s eighteen and maybe I’ll believe you.”

Steve doesn't have anything to say to that, because Erica is probably right (though only time will tell, he supposes). Their phone call ends only a few minutes later with Erica telling him to go easy on himself and Steve saying he’d try before apologizing one more time.

“You gonna take her advice?” Eddie asks after he’s pulled a begrudging Steve into his arms.

“No,” he tells him, curling into his husband’s side and sticking his nose in Eddie’s neck so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.

“Figures.”

[lovechristianity]

The Story of a Hero Unlike Any Other

You must read this to the end. It is the story of Colonel Milad Al-Naddaf, a true hero.

In these very days of the year 2000, Lebanese Army officer Milad Al-Naddaf fell into an ambush set by the extremist group “Takfir wal-Hijra” in the Dinniyeh region. He was captured and placed in a room with his companion. The captors threatened them, saying that every hour, they would cut off a part of their bodies if they did not renounce their faith.

His companion pleaded with him to testify as they demanded, to save himself from their brutality, especially since he was a father to two daughters who were waiting for him on the eve of the holiday. But Milad refused to renounce his faith, even with the sword hanging over his neck!

His companion continued to beg him to accept their condition and save his life, assuring him that no one would ever know what had happened inside that dark room. But Milad remained steadfast in his faith with unimaginable courage.

At the top of every hour, the door would open, and the question would be repeated. And Milad like the millions of righteous martyrs before him, from the first, Saint Stephen, to the last martyr breathing his final breath today in defense of their faith refused again and again.

They continued to torture him, cruelly cutting off his limbs, while his companion desperately begged him to comply with their demands. Yet he stood firm in his refusal, until the final moment came, and he joined the ranks of the martyrs who have washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb.

After ten years, his companion, who survived because he was not of Milad’s religion, finally spoke of what he had witnessed. The barbarity of those who claimed to follow religion and the indescribable heroism and courage of a man who lived according to his faith.

He said:

How cowardly I am, and how heroic you are, Milad!!!

Milad Al-Naddaf’s story is one of extraordinary faith, resilience, and heroism. In the face of brutal torture and the certainty of death, he chose to stand firm in his beliefs rather than betray his conscience. His courage goes beyond mere bravery. It is the kind of unwavering conviction that has defined martyrs throughout history.

What makes his sacrifice even more profound is that he had every reason to yield: he was a father, he had a life waiting for him, and his survival could have been assured with just a few words. Yet, he refused to compromise his faith, knowing that some values are worth more than life itself.

His companion words after ten years acknowledging his own fear and Milad’s heroism serve as a powerful testament to the impact of true integrity. Milad’s story is not just one of martyrdom but of ultimate victory. The victory of faith over fear, of principle over survival, and of light over darkness.

[ianthewife]

every time shit really hits the fan i just repeat like a mantra Sister Carpenter had it worse… Harrowhark Nonagesimus had it worse… Sister Carpenter had it worse… Harrowhark Nonagesimus had it worse… Sister Carpenter had it worse… Harrowhark Nonagesimus had it worse…

[cainposts]

The martyr of Solway is so Faulkner

[dreadofred]

Traitors

Jason had followed the ‘Martyr’ for hours, waiting for that tragic moment when he had to sacrifice himself. The plan was simple: grab his body before Vought had the chance to and bring him back to Butcher for a little chat. As he waited far enough away with a suit to help keep his scent and heartbeat out of range from the sups, Jason watched the whole scene go down. It was not self-sacrifice and was not willing. Hughie was forced to do it, causing that jawline to tick at the way other sups shoved him into the way of the bullets only to push his body off the bridge, uncaring about his shell as it splashed into he cold waters below. They laughed, joked about dinner, went about their mission and talked about swinging around to pick him up in a bit. 

Cruel and not an ounce of humanity left in them when their powers made them think they were gods. Jason could not wait to take them down a few notches in the coming days, hopefully with a bloody shit-eating grin and middle finger held high. 

A timer was clicked on his watch. Boots and pants were taken off, left on the shore as he wadded into the freezing water just in time to grab that stiff wrist, dragging the robed body of the ‘saint’ toward the shore and up onto the grass. Quickly, Jason got redressed, removed the outer robes so the boy did not weigh so much as he carried him bridal style away from the river a few feet away to his van where he loaded the man carefully into the back and jumped in after him to shut the doors.  

Gear was removed and placed on the front passenger seat so he could move better to remove the wet clothing from the other man, redressing him in sweat pants and a hoodie as it was easiest to get over that wet, stiff body so when he came to, it was not to clothing that would make him freeze to death again. The robes were put into a bag, his others by the river collected before Jason retraced his steps to ensure there was no trail left behind before getting into the Van driver seat, starting it, cracking the heat up and heading away from the location. 

A small motel not far where he could park, check in under a fake name, and after waiting for the coast to be clear, carry the man inside to lie on the bed. The blankets were pulled over him before Jason took a seat on one of the chairs by the window and watched. There he waited for Hughie to come back to life, unsure how long it would be but timing it for his own curiosity. 

The muzzled mask stayed on his face, hiding those eyes and jaw from view.

@awkwardcourage

[godstrayed]

He was a person that got shit done. And in truth, he would have preferred to be as far away from the park as possible. However, it paid the costly bills accumulated & he was no longer drowning in. So he was more than happy to overlook a few things morally for the job's cushion of security. It only meant he was knee-deep in dinosaur shit every other day.

The problem? He shot first and asked questions later.

These things, a scientific abomination as far as he was concerned, were quite costly so his trigger-happy way of doing things was frowned upon. "And you're sure this motherfucker won't just turn around and take a bite out of us?" His brow raised at @thecoiiective, doubtful even. The circumstances were different now. Trapped in the middle of the fuckin' jungle with prehistoric nightmares lurkin' around every damn corner. ╱ continued.

[glasshcldhigh]

@ru5t 🧡'd

She doesn’t understand why they have to drive so far just to trade. De Vlinder swings close enough with comfortable regularity, and while Cap and Bear might have their creative differences, the trades have all seemed fair to her. Bear had said it’d be good for her to go with, get some time out of the Zoo, but she’s second-guessing that decision now.

Kit clings to the bottom hem of Raffe’s shirt, gaze skittering around the Wind Stop with growing unease. She ignores the conversation he’s having with one of the traders, trying not to simply bolt for the door and Rilla waiting with the car outside. Her left arm is held unnaturally still against her side; her wrist is still healing, and while the brace Hawk gave her helps, it still hurts if she jostles it too much.

The door opens to admit someone not-Rilla, and Kit cringes closer to Raffe, then flinches as the movement twinges her wrist. She watches the newcomer with slightly-too-wide eyes, estimates her to be around Dragon’s age, or maybe Python’s. Probably not a threat, so long as Kit stays tucked into Raffe’s side, though her gaze does catch momentarily on the newcomer’s gun holster. She tugs lightly on Raffe’s shirt; I want to leave. Raffe puts his hand on her head, one of the few touches she doesn’t flinch from, but doesn’t respond to her tug otherwise.

[astrxthesiai]

"The baby fire demon is not a snack. "

Sabrina lifted a brow. She grinned, flashing a set of sharp teeth. "Just for that, the baby fire demon is now. I've never eaten fire before, so why not start now?"

"NO! Don't eat it! It's too cute!" Fuyu shoved herself between Sabrina, the anon, and the baby fire demon. She breathed ice on the ground in front of the anon and Sabrina. It was a barrier.

(( Not sure what muse you were going for, or if you meant this for @calciferisms. So have some dragon slayer mage oc's. ))

[awkwardcourage]

semi-plotted starter | @qapsiel

Hughie had tried to be religious once. It hadn’t worked out. He wasn’t entirely sold on Christianity, nor could he find it in himself to completely discount it. He was firmly a wishy-washy agnostic, not that that had been a problem growing up. He was pretty sure his dad had only put him through Sunday school just so he could get a few hours free of childcare.

It was hypocritical to pray only because he wanted something. He was far from devout; but he was scared. He was only eighteen and was being murdered. Again. It didn’t matter that he would come back to life. Dying was terrifying and he didn’t want to go through it, he couldn’t go through it, not again. So he squeezed his shut, clenched his fists tight and prayed.

Please don’t let me die, please, it hurts, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, please, please, please-

Then, it stopped. Hughie dared to lift his head, opened his eyes to see where his assailants had gone and screamed. It wasn’t human. It was nothing Hughie had ever seen before. A indiscernible mass of eyes and wings and light towered above him. He scrambled backwards, unable to tear his gaze away, a shriek of terror still exploding from his throat.

He had prayed to be saved and what he’d got in return was a harbinger of cosmic doom.

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

anyone else find the lyric

If you let me I will catch fire To let your glory and mercy shine

extremely sobering considering the direction Paramore has gone in?

[willowswriting]

@hartofxmatter requested a starter from Josephine using the prompt below! 🤐  -  a  starter  where  our  muses  have  to  pretend  they’re  not  dating.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Josephine whisper yelled at the man who now stood in front of her. The two were practically pushed up against each other in the space of the coat closet that she had pulled Jeremiah into, her brow crinkled in the cute way that it always did when she was concerned. The two had been seeing each other for a little over six months now, which was a little awkward seeing as she was supposed to be doing a story on him... it had been the entire reason that the two had met in the first place. However she had come clean on the entire thing after one, well lets just say less than professional night the two had shared together. She didn't pull out of the contract though knowing that the moment she did someone else would simply be hired and at least this way she could continue to get the story pushed back. She was here tonight to have dinner with her boss and to discuss her 'progress'. Something that Jeremiah had been made aware of this morning when she had left his place. However half way through their meal her boss had pointed out that the man was here in the same restaurant, seemingly having the time of his life with some women draping herself across him while his little group kept erupting into laugher.

[lovechristianity]

On the early morning of Tuesday, March 12, 2024, Fr. Takla the Samuelite, along with Fr. Yostos Abba Markos and Fr. Mina Abba Markos, were martyred after masked terrorists attacked the Monastery of St. Mark the Apostle and St. Samuel the Confessor in Johannesburg, South Africa.

The three blessed fathers were reportedly dragged, viciously slaughtered and stabbed.

All three victims were found with stab wounds while a fourth who survived alleged that he was hit by an iron rod before fleeing and hiding. The murders remain unknown at this stage, as the suspects reportedly left the scene without taking any valuable items.

Information has been revealed.

The Monastery bell was rung between 2:30 am and 3:00 am for prayers. Father Takla was the first to head to the Church he was stabbed in the heart on his path to the Church. Father Mina heard something and ran to see what happened, he was beheaded on his path to see father Takla. Then the murderers went to Father Youstos and beheaded him on his rooms door step.

Fr. Hegumen Takla El-Samuely, Fr. Yostos Ava Markos, Fr. Mina Ava Markos, O holy martyrs, pray for us. May your sacrifice strengthen our faith and our Church.

"If the world hates you, you know that it hated Me before it hated you." - John 15:18

[britneyshakespeare]

His virtue was the brainstorm of a dreamer!

He died a fool. And may his fall pull down

his friend and all his century! We shall see

how they get on without me. For one evening,

the world belongs to me still. [...]

King Philip II of Spain, Don Carlos by Friedrich Schiller, Act V scene ii. Translation by Robert David MacDonald.