#Pastor's Emergency League

[whositmcwhatsit]

Stay the Same

A/N: I am so close to the wire with this one! Angsty smut written for last week's prompt: army Elvis (We're sort of army-adjacent because I'm a rule bender.)

As always, shout out to my people: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @ellie-24, @missmaywemeetagain, @from-memphis-with-love, @vintageshanny for love, support, encouragement and deep, depraved horniness.

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“I need you, darlin’. You don’t understand. I need you somethin’ awful.”

It played over and over in Kitty’s head as she sped along the dark highway, praying that none of the wildlife she glimpsed skittering about at the edge of the road decided to do a suicide run in front of her car. She could explain away taking the car, an emergency maybe, a sick friend or someone who was having trouble at home. Lots of her friends were getting married right now, and there were always dramas in the early days. It was plausible. What she wouldn’t be able to explain to her mother was why her station wagon had an armadillo smushed in the fender; not many of them wandering around their suburban streets.

Oh Lord, what was she doing? She lifted her foot off the gas slightly and started to look for a place to safely pull in. She was not a flighty, foolish kind of girl. Ask anyone who knew her and they would tell you that Kitty Cowan was not the spontaneous type. For a girl who graduated early so that she could travel around performing in a country and western duo with her brother, Kitty had a surprisingly level head on her shoulders. Or she used to, until a certain Hillbilly Cat had wandered onto their roadshow with his Blue Moon Boys and promptly melted the sense right out of her mind.

Back then, all he’d have to do was stare at her with those shy, hooded eyes and flutter those long, thick lashes and she would be doing his laundry and pressing his shirts like she was a combination laundress/housewife. Her brother Chick, knowing how she pitched a fit when their mama asked her to help out with chores at home, would gawp at her like she had gone and sold her brain for a dime, but all Kitty needed was that lopsided grin and the press of Elvis’ soft lips against her cheek when she handed over the clean, pressed clothes and it seemed worth it. More, she felt like she had done something important for someone who was worth it.

Only, all that craziness had ended a couple of years before when Elvis had moved up to the big leagues and Chick and Kitty, having grown bored of the same old shows at the same old places, decided to stash their guitars in the garage and settle down for a real, normal life. There was never a question that they could follow him, Elvis paved his own pathway through the wilderness and none of them were quite talented enough to follow it.

Which was fine, Chick had got a job at a radio station, putting that gift of the gab to good use, and he was doing well at it, travelling around again as an emcee for the new rock n roll shows that had burst onto the scene, feeding off the teenage excitement. Sometimes he’d run across Elvis and get to spend time shooting the breeze backstage.

‘He’s just the same,’ he’d report back to Kitty, ‘His performance has gotten real smooth, but off stage he’s still the same old unassuming fellow. Everyone I talk to can’t say enough about him.’

It seemed like no one could say enough about him. Kitty couldn’t read a newspaper without an article about how that shy, charming boy was ruining the youth of America. She often thought about him quietly playing gospel songs on the piano between shows when she read that pastors were denouncing him as Satan in sideburns from their pulpits. When she saw him on television, jiggling and gyrating right there on the screen, she could still see the playful, bashful boy she knew, but there was something else now, something shiny twinkling in his eyes that she didn’t think had been there before. She wondered if that was what had everyone so flustered and furious about him.

Now that dangerous threat, that affront to polite society, was headed to the Army. Chick had spent night after night for the past few weeks fielding calls to the radio station from wailing girls calling to protest their heart throb being stolen by Uncle Sam and also requesting his new single. Chick said he couldn’t work out if it was career suicide or promotional genius, because everything Elvis released was shooting up the charts. And Kitty hadn’t thought much about it at all until the phone rang at home and Chick, up in Memphis for a series of dances, was shouting down the line saying that he had someone with him that wanted to speak to her.

“Hi Kitty Cat? You there?” Kitty’s stomach did a strange loop de loop that had her dinner almost returning the way it came. She recognised the voice immediately, even though it was louder than normal, much louder, trying to be heard over the racket in the background.

“Elvis? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me, darlin’. You forgotten me already, huh?”

“No, no, of course not. Only I can hardly hear you! Where are you?” She heard fumbling and Elvis’ voice off in the distance, followed by some loud guffaws, then a thumping noise. When he got back on the line, it was quiet in the background.

“Had to shut myself in the dang closet,” he informed her, chuckling quietly. “Hi, hi Kitty honey, how are you? It’s been a hundred years. Where are you?” Kitty frowned at the receiver.

“You called me at my house, Elvis.”

“I know,” he laughed in that silly, self-conscious way he had. “I meant, why ain’t you here? Why ain’t you here where I need you, baby?”

Kitty didn’t know quite what to say. She cradled the receiver, feeling how cool the plastic was against her rapidly heating cheek.

“Hey, you still there? Damn stupid-ass phone, I-“

“I’m still here,” she murmured, touching her face, her hair and the back of her neck like she was reminding herself that she had a physical, material body that prevented her from floating down the telephone line that she wanted to.

“Oh, huh, thought I lost ya. You can come, can’t you, honey? You know they’re sending me away soon and I might not have another chance to see you before I go.” He’d had the last two years, a cool, doubtful voice in her head pointed out and she nodded at it before she disregarded it completely.

“Come where? Where are you?”

“Oh, right now? Right now we’re at Hotel Chisca, helpin’ out my pal Dewey on his, uh, show. Red, Hot and Blue, you know it?”

“Yes, I’m aware of Dewey Phillips and his show.” She wondered if he thought she had stopped existing the minute he had left her behind. Perhaps he thought she had been packed away in a closet with her guitar.

“How soon can you get here, darlin’?”

“Tonight? Elvis, I-”

“Now, I don’t wanna hear that you can’t make it. My days are numbered, honey. I tell ya, I just wanna see as many folks as I can before- before it’s all over.” He went hoarse at the end like it choked him up to even say it, and her heart panged for him. In her head she was already imagining herself running upstairs to change and sneaking her mother’s keys from her purse.

“Will you still be there?” she asked finally. “At the Hotel Chisca, by the time I get there?”

“I’ll wait all night if I have to. I need you, darlin’. You don’t understand. I need you somethin’ awful.”

After several aborted u-turns and a whole two-way argument with herself as she hit downtown, Kitty pulled into the parking lot for the hotel. She had been listening to Red, Hot and Blue on the way and Dewey had been hyping up his listeners with the news that Elvis was haunting the corridors and was even choosing some of the records he was playing, so she wasn’t surprised to find the lobby of the hotel packed with kids. Luckily, she spotted Chick having a laugh and a joke with some of the girls up on the mezzanine floor where WHBQ had its offices and booths and she called to him, beckoning with her arm as much as her little black bolero jacket would allow. His eyes widened and he hurried over.

“Kit, what in God’s name, girl?” He waved to the security guard, letting him know that Kitty could be allowed through. “Do Mama and Pop know you’re out this late by yourself?”

“I’m a grown woman, Charles,” she informed him. “And of course they don’t.” She felt bubbles of anticipation in her belly as Chick opened the door into the corridor and revealed a lively group laughing and talking over each other. At the edge of the group, but somehow still seemingly the focus, was an unmistakable tall, dark-haired boy.

“Well, folks, look what the cat drug in,” said Chick in his charming brotherly way.

Leaning against the wall, laughing and about to take a sip of Pepsi from the bottle in his hand, Elvis glanced over his shoulder and straightened sharply. The look on his face would have been comical if it hadn’t crushed Kitty so completely. He looked shocked, like he had not been in the slightest bit serious when he had begged her to come, like he had not thought her stupid enough to rush off into the night the minute he asked. Her face burnt with embarrassment and she leant back against Chick’s hand that was between her shoulder blades, trying to retreat.

As her vision fractured and blurred under the sting of mortification, Elvis shoved his bottle into his cousin Gene’s chest and strode towards her, giving Chick’s shoulder a squeeze even as he was pushing him away. She exhaled sharply when Elvis crashed into her and squeezed all the air out of her body. His arms were locked around her, his face buried in the crook of her neck and his hips were jammed against hers. She was trapped. The guys in the corridor snorted and guffawed like it was part of a skit for their entertainment, but the longer Elvis remained clinging to her, the quieter they became.

“I can’t believe you’re really here!” he murmured, finally drawing back, but only enough so that she could stare up into his heavy-lidded eyes and feel the breath from his mouth as he spoke. “You came all the way up here just for me?”

“You asked me,” she returned, the edge still in her voice because it still stung. Not that he thought she was pathetic now, but that he thought she didn’t care enough to come when he asked.

“Not everybody would’ve,” he said softly, adjusting his tight arm around her waist, tugging her in just a little bit closer.

“I’m not everybody,” she returned, studying his face.

“I know,” he said in a small voice, pecking her softly on the tip of her cold nose. He was almost cross-eyed staring so intently at her with their faces so close together. All of a sudden, that irrepressible, dazzling smile spread across his face and she had turned away from the glare. It hurt to look at.

“Come meet everybody.” He grabbed her hand and yanked her before she had absorbed his words, making her totter a little on her heels as he rushed back to his group. “Hey y’all, this is that little girl I told you about.”

Kitty’s inside froze when she heard those words, her chest tight and heavy. He wouldn’t have told them, he promised!

“Chick and Kitty here were real kind to me when I first started out. Man, I was so green, most everybody laughed me off the damn stage, but Kitty Cat-” He wrapped his arm around her waist again, tugging her into his side and pulling her off balance, making her stumble into him. “-She made sure I didn’t go down in flames inside of a week.”

The guys nodded politely, most of them eyed her chest and ran their eyes down her legs, but it was the handful of girls in the group that examined her most closely. Kitty could feel them measuring and portioning her up, their sharp eyes noting the body language and the way that Elvis couldn’t seem to bring himself to loosen his grip on her. Women saw things that men missed.

They lingered longer in the corridor, someone explaining that Dewey was about to interview Elvis, and everyone was laughing and joking. Elvis was boisterous in a way that Kitty had never really seen before, fooling around with his cousin like they were the two stooges, play fighting and talking in made up words that no one else could understand. The girls kept trying to join in, grabbing his arm and knocking into him, and he would get distracted for a minute, before he retreated back to where Kitty was standing with Chick. She was wondering what she had dragged herself out of the house for, because it wasn’t this brash, loud boy whose thumb had just ‘accidentally’ grazed a pretty blonde girl’s breast as she grabbed him by the waist.

Taking a couple of clumsy steps backwards, he wrapped his fingers around Kitty’s wrist and angled his head behind him, motioning for her to walk backwards with him. In the most ridiculous pantomime, they slipped away, giggling as they ducked inside a door, and Kitty found herself standing in a storage closet, a bare light bulb hanging over their heads.

“Was this where you were when we were talking on the phone?” she asked, glancing around at a broom and the cans and bottles on the shelves.

“Huh? Oh yeah, this here is my office at the Hotel Chisca,” he intoned in a deep, officious voice. “Not much room, but just take in those spectacular views!” She scanned the narrow cupboard and then frowned at him, flushing when she caught his eyes sliding down her body.

“Stop it,” she muttered, shoving him. He instantly placed his hand over hers on his chest and held it there. She could feel his heart pounding beneath the warm cotton of his shirt. “You used to be such a nice boy!”

“I’m still a nice boy,” he returned absently, his free hand slipping onto the small of her back and pulling her in. “Just like you’re still…” He bit his lip and his nostrils flared slightly before he exhaled. “…Sorry, what was I sayin’, honey? I lost track.”

Kitty shook her head, but she was grinning as she sank against him, her mouth finding his as if no time at all had passed. He tasted the way he always had, sweet and warm, which, when combined with the soft muskiness of being enveloped by him, brought her straight back to cheap motel rooms and hastily snatched minutes and hours on the road.

“Hell, I miss this,” he sighed, pulling her with him as he leant against the far wall and the sign that said, ‘All items property of the Hotel Chisca signed by Management.’ “Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty I don’t miss about those early days, the lousy motel rooms, havin’ to grab shut-eye in the back seat while Bill drove my car like a damn madman, washing up in dirty dressing rooms… No, but this, this I miss.”

“You mean to tell me that a big, fancy movie star like you doesn’t have girls just hanging off him at every turn? Because what I saw out there makes you out a liar.” He ducked his head so she only caught a glimpse of his wide, radiant grin.

“Naw, I ain’t saying that,” he admitted to his shoes. “There’s girls, there’s girls all right… None of them are you, though, honey.”

No one else could have said that so sincerely, she reflected, and had it received that way too. She didn’t feel like laughing, because she desperately wanted it to be true even as she knew it probably wasn’t.

“And I ain’t gonna be a movie star much longer.” The light faded from his smile, doors slamming shut and windows being shuttered. “Just gonna go back to being little ole Elvis, whoever the hell he is.”

Kitty put both her hands on his chest, a little surprised at how easily the old familiarity came back. Chick was wrong, she reflected, he wasn’t the same, but somehow he wasn’t any different either. Sliding her palms down his chest, she caught the way his breath hitched as she continued down his stomach towards his belt.

“He was- is- a sweet, talented, devastatingly good-looking man and no amount of time in the army will change that,” she informed him with absolute assurance.  He huffed a laugh, tugging her hips in against his, and she tried not to notice there was a firmness poking against her pencil-skirt now.

“Devastatingly good-looking, huh,” he replied with a grin. “I seem to remember you thinkin’ I was pretty goofy looking at first.”

“Well, that ain’t my fault, you were!!” she protested and he burst out in loud laughter, throwing back his head.

“You turned out all right though,” she continued with a playful wink. 

“I wore ya down,” he nodded, his features growing calmer and still, those sleepy looking eyes back and fixed on her. “Wore you down pretty good if I recall.” Kitty felt a wave of goosebumps crash down her spine as his hands descended, cupping her ass.

“Elvis,” she murmured, turning away her face, but making no effort to break free of his hands. “We should-“

“Get a hotel room?” he finished with a small smile and a lift of an eyebrow. He said it in a way that meant he could make it into a joke if she refused, but also sounded serious if she agreed.

“My brother and half of Memphis are outside that door,” she reminded him.

“I can handle Chick,” he murmured. “No one would even notice, honey, I promise.” He seemed to realise at the same time that she did how that made him sound: practised, and skilled at impulsive sex in hotel rooms. In response, he draped himself over her, his lips pressed into the crook of her neck, hot breath against her skin.

“I just- I just wanna- Wanna spend some time with you without everyone watchin’. I want you all to myself again, darlin’, like we used to.” She opened her mouth to respond. “You know, I’m heading off to war soon…”

“There’s no war, Elvis,” she answered slightly reproachfully, as if she was stupid enough to fall for that.

“Well, you never know,” he shrugged diffidently. “And you gotta get your kicks while you can.” The effect was ruined by the smirk he was wearing.

“Aw, Hollywood went and got you real good, didn’t it,” she remarked, shaking her head.

She didn’t mean it as a condemnation. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that he had become more confident, more aware of the effect that he could have on people, girls mostly, but she was a little sad. She had liked that boy, the one that had trembled when she first sat on the end of his bed and unfastened the buttons of her blouse. She still sometimes caught herself thinking of how he used to look, mouth open and eyelashes fluttering as he moved above her; the little lip curl as he flushed with pleasure, twitching in her hands.

Whatever she intended, Elvis’ face dropped and his brows drew together, making him look like a confused, sad little boy.

“Now, wait a minute,” he said, starting forward and somehow looming over her in the confined space. “How is that fair, huh? You got no idea the- the bullshit I gotta go through. I mean, I ain’t complaining, I’m blessed, I know that, but… If I act like I’m enjoying myself I’m big-headed and- and I’ve forgotten where I came from. If I try to seem humble I’m ungrateful and a liar… Hell, what am I supposed to do? How do I keep everyone happy?”

“Well, you can’t,” Kitty replied, reaching up and giving one of his beseeching hands a squeeze. “Nobody can make everybody happy all the time, honey, not even you.” He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but someone started banging on the door, disillusioning them that they had ever sneaked off unseen in the first place. They were calling him for his interview with Dewey and he hollered out that he was coming.

“Don’t go nowhere,” he instructed her, squeezing her arm as he sidled past her to the door. “I mean it now, Kitty.” She scoffed as he watched him being dragged along the corridor by his pals, wondering where he got the audacity to demand anything from her. But, of course she stayed, even as she judged herself for it, standing with Chick in the producer’s office, looking through the glass window into the booth where Elvis was teasing the girls peering in and grinning at Dewey’s hyper antics.

“You know what you’re doin’?” Chick asked out of the side of his mouth as they stood smiling.

“Rarely if ever,” she replied, shooting him a wry look. “Relax, Chickadoo, it’s just one night.”

“Yeah, those sound like famous last words.”

After the interview, Elvis strode out of the booth like he was on a mission, announcing that he was hungry and they were leaving. He rushed past Kitty, grabbing her wrist as he passed and not even slowing in consideration for the fact that she was wearing heels.

They took the service elevator down to the kitchens, Elvis bouncing on his heels and humming to himself. He started nudging Gene and they inexplicably engaged in some sort of battle to kick each other in the shin, even as he was entwining his fingers with Kitty’s.

Sneaking through the kitchens, they skidded around cooks and waiters, bursting out into the delivery bay at the back of the hotel. Kitty started to move towards her car, Elvis towards his and they engaged in a little tug of war that ended up with her skittering into his side because of her stupid shoes.

“What you doin’, we’re taking my car,” he said, looking at her like she had lost her mind.

“I need to drive home,” she countered. “I’ll need my car.” He gritted his teeth and looked intensely frustrated for a minute, before shrugging it off and announcing that Gene would drive her car. Gene seemed as unimpressed with this idea as she was.

“Look, everybody needs to stop coming up with goddamn problems!” Elvis snapped. “Y’all are doing my head in.”

It seemed a disproportionate reaction for a minor inconvenience to Kitty, but no one else seemed perturbed or surprised by his outburst. She handed over her mother’s keys with misgivings, making Gene promise, promise, that he would drive carefully what was technically a stolen car.

A bunch of people piled into the big, gleaming Cadillac and Kitty felt hemmed in pressed into Elvis’ side as he swung the wheel, trying to avoid the knot of people that spotted him and immediately tried to crowd the hood as if being run over by Elvis Presley would be an honour.

They drove over to Krystal and the car was flooded with greasy bags of their little square burgers.

“Didn’t you boys get Krystal’s last night too?” asked a blonde girl in the backseat, squashed very much like a slab of meat between two large guys.

“Yes, ‘cause they’re damn good,” one of the men said, shoving nearly the entire small bun in his mouth.

“Gotta make the most of it, huh, EP? They don’t serve chow like this in the service.”

Elvis had been fiddling with the radio knobs, moving his head in time with the music as he chewed, his cheeks filled like a hamster. At his friend’s words, his eyebrows dropped and he shot the guy a death look, which shut him up quickly. It seemed like Elvis was getting sick of hearing about what his life was going to be like after induction.

The atmosphere in the car got a little dense with nobody knowing what to say to ease the tension, when Elvis ducked down, his head pressed against Kitty’s chest, as he sucked on her straw from the cup in her lap.

“Hey!” she cried, overacting to counter the quiet, “that’s mine, you got your own!” She had her hand on the back of his neck and gave the hair at the nape of his neck a quick scratch with her nails, which made him shiver adorably. 

“I drank it already,” he shrugged sheepishly, sitting back up and pouting. Sighing, she offered him her cup and he grinned as he took it, repaying her with a lip-smacking kiss on the cheek.

“I like the hair,” she said softly, making the most of the relative quiet while his goofy, boisterous friends were still regrouping. “The black, I mean.”

“Oh yeah, well, it just looks better on film. Actors have been doing it all the way back to Tom Mix and Douglas Fairbanks, honey, right up to Tony Curtis today. Uh, I mean, I’m not comparing myself to them-” She nodded, reaching out a finger to snag a lock that had fallen across his forehead, giving it a gentle tug.

“It looks good,” she told him. “You look like a real movie star.” His lips curved into a more natural smile and he took another pull from the straw, his cheeks colouring slightly.

They drove around for about an hour, listening to the radio while Elvis took her on a whistlestop tour of significant places to him. They drove to Sun Studios. He wanted her to meet Sam Phillips and he thought that Sam might be up late like he often was, but the lights were out and the place all locked up.

“You know, I already met him a few times,” Kitty reassured him when he sighed and let himself drop back against the sooty wall at the back of the building. “Back when we were touring with y’all. I think Chick even talked to him about recording here, but it didn’t work out.”

“I was just hopin’ to see him,” he mumbled, his head bowed as he kicked out at a clump of grass that had fought its way through the concrete. “It feels like… like time’s runnin’ out.” She moved closer and gripped the bottom of his boxy striped sports jacket, giving it a tug.

“It’s just a pause, not the end,” she promised him.

“You can’t know that. No one knows for sure. I’ll tell ya, the Colonel and the folks at RCA Victor, and Mr Wallis, they all say right pretty things ‘bout how it’ll be when I get out, the plans they got to keep people interested and remembering me while I’m gone, but-“ He sighed a deep, chest-heaving sigh and drew Kitty in by the waist, squeezing her against him like he needed the comfort. “Look at how quick I came up, ain’t no one to say I won’t go down just as fast. Or maybe someone else’ll come onto the scene and all my fans’ll-“

“I know, because I know,” Kitty interjected, seeing how he was spiralling, one of his hands rubbing his face with increasing vigour. “I remember when I saw you sing for the first time, you were shaking and could barely put two words together between your songs. Even then I knew that you were something special, that you were different from the rest of us, and I was right, wasn’t I? I’m right about this too.”

“You know because you know,” he huffed a laugh and cupped her cheek with his hand, rubbing gently with his thumb. “Well, I’m convinced, Kitty Cat, by that stunning argument.” She gave his chest a shove with her forearm and ducked away as he laughed, trying to kiss her.

“You laugh now, boy, but when you’re out there in a couple of years buried under gold records and adoring fans, starring in all the movies, I expect you to come find me and beg for my forgiveness. On your knees!”

“Oh, I’ll always come on my knees for you, baby,” he intoned in a low, bass voice into the crook of her neck.

“You are so bad,” she giggled, smacking his shoulder. He nuzzled and nibbled on her neck, gripping her in a bear hold to stop her from wriggling away. Although they were sheltered by the shadows of the parking lot behind the studio, Kitty was aware that they were in public and that, at any moment, one of his friends might get bored waiting in the car and catch them.

“Elvis, Elvis honey, come on now, stop, people can see. Elvis!” She grabbed a handful of the hair at the back of his head, giving it a sharp tug to get him to let her loose.

“Come home with me,” he said one breath, squinting down at her, looking deliciously rumpled and excited. “I wanna show you- I can show you-”

“What about your family?” she asked in a low voice, her palms sliding up beneath his jacket, twitching as she followed the lines and curves, lingering over the peaks of his erect nipples beneath his shirt. He shuddered and didn’t waste time trying to answer, hooking her by the waist and merely lifting her over the low wall that separated the parking lot from the alleyway at the side of the building.

“We’re heading home,” he mumbled to his passengers, slamming his door. The car peeled away from the kerb with a high-pitched squeal. Nobody spoke and the journey passed in a blur of silence. Kitty’s eyes stayed fixed on Elvis’s white knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel. She barely registered the gate with the music notes, the winding drive or the impressive portico and columns.

“Well, I’ll see y’all later,” was all he said as he climbed out of the car, hands grabbing for Kitty’s forearm and tugging her towards him as he backed towards the brick steps. Kitty wasn’t sure whether anyone answered as she was too busy focusing on keeping up with him as he opened the front door. He turned back to her, grinning like a little kid and put his finger to his lips, pointing towards the stairs. Kitty slipped off her shoes, exhaling as she stretched her toes, and managed to grab them before he tugged her again, taking off up the stairs at a breakneck pace. She hissed at him to slow down, but he just shushed her and she could hear him laughing under his breath.

Kitty barely registered the dark room before Elvis shut the door behind her and pressed her into it, his hot mouth on hers snatching away her breath. Safely away from prying eyes, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and moaned into his mouth, pressing herself against him. He froze and pulled back, but she could barely see his face in the darkness and was about to ask what was wrong, when he gathered her up in his arms and threw her onto the bed. She shrieked, hastily slapping her hands over her mouth as she bounced on the mattress.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” he murmured, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket onto a chair like he was competing in a race. “This room’s supposed to be soundproof. Let’s test it out, huh.”

It was reassuring to see him clamber awkwardly onto the bed and throw himself down next to her just like he used to, a sign that the boy that she had cared for was not all gone, just hidden in pockets and alcoves of behaviour and words. 

“Kitty honey?” he asked suddenly once he had settled himself down on the pillows and was looking up at her with a slightly furrowed brow. “You know we don’t have to-“

She dove down, mouth catching his and draped herself across him. She felt his lips curved into a smile as his hands settled onto her back, soon grazing her curves until they were palming the weight of her ass, squeezing slightly.

Kitty’s body was buzzing and tingling, she could already feel the muscles contracting in her stomach and lower down and she tried to find some relief from the ache, but could barely move her legs within her tight pencil skirt. 

Elvis tried to follow her up as she withdrew, moaning a little when she pulled away, and she snorted at his forlorn expression as she drew up to her knees on the bed. His eyes widened as she shrugged off her jacket and started to unbutton the body-hugging blouse beneath.

Like a true gentleman, he was up on his knees too in seconds to help her. He was more a hindrance than help, his long fingers getting in the way of her slipping the tiny buttons out of the holes, but he seemed to want to be useful. He stared down at her bare chest and bra like a boy who had never seen either, which was funny because Kitty knew for certain that he had. Then, slowly, carefully, he reached out to cup the back of her head and bring her closer, kissing her like she was one of his co-stars and he was the romantic hero.

It was an intricate dance of shadows, Elvis moving with confidence and tenderness, while in her head she was seeing the first time when his hands had trembled and his ripe bottom lip glistened as he had panted, moving too slowly and awkwardly. She had had to guide him, her hands on his hips, around his ass, urging him to move faster, to stop apologising and asking if she was okay.

None of that now, it was more than a dance, it was a routine. Her eyes followed him as he kissed between her breasts, the tip of his nose grazing her skin as he made his way down, taking a detour to lick her nipples, circling them with his tongue before sucking. She arched up into him, noting the contrast of his hair as it splayed against her pale skin.

As his fingers grazed the inside of her thighs, she thought about how his body had changed, filling out and becoming broader, and there was hair on his chest that wasn’t there before. She raked her fingers through it as he moved between her legs, his eyes sparkling with tenderness and a little amusement.

“You okay?” he murmured, biting down on a smile, though his eyebrow twitched against his best efforts.

“You know, I told you that if you ever asked me that again I’d pummel you,” she gasped, tilting her hips so that he was grinding down onto the right spot, her nerves fluttering out and down the inside of her thighs.

“I know, I know,” he laughed breathlessly, his open mouth going slack as he started to inch into her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, tightening her thighs to bring him in closer, faster, harder. One thing hadn’t changed, he was still too careful and gentle with her. He got the message though, thrusting hard until their hips were pressed together, slamming a hollow moan from her as he grunted.

She adjusted her grip on his shoulders, realising that she might need a tighter grip, and stared up at his face. His bottom lip was between his teeth as he adjusted to being inside her, to the friction and the pressure, but under the weight of her eyes, he tugged his upper lip up into his famous sneer, drawing out and then grinding back down just as quickly. She gasped and pressed her feet down onto the back of his thighs, finding a way to cling on as he demonstrated exactly how he had earned one of his cruder nicknames.

Somehow, they got turned around and they were horizontal across the vast landscape of his enormous bed, Kitty’s head hanging back off the mattress. He grabbed a handful of her hair as it trailed down towards the carpet, pulling her head back further, nipping and sucking at her pulse point at the same time as he pressed and rubbed and circled her clit and filled her too. Each time she opened her eyes he had this sly, mischievous look on his face like he knew how good he was, like he was proud to show her what he had learned.

Flushing with warmth, buzzing and trembling, she felt the crest of the wave beginning to build between her legs and she whined a little, gasping for air, wanting the sensation to only ever build and never peak. He tugged at her hair again, this time a little sharper, so that she opened her eyes and her vision swam and then slid back into crystal clear focus.

“Say it, darlin’,” he mumbled breathlessly. “I wanna hear you say it.” He drove into her harder and faster, making her cry out and he tugged her hair again until she relented and cried out his name as she came.

Seconds later, he pulled out and she felt him pulse against her belly as he crushed her mouth beneath his. She could barely breathe with his heaving chest pressing down on her, but she didn’t mind, it would be a wonderful way to go.

Finally, he pulled himself away, passing her his shirt to clean up, and he pressed himself to her back, tugging her backwards onto him like a blanket.

“You know why I kept asking if you were okay that first time?” he murmured, exhaling deeply into her ear as he drooped with exhaustion and satisfaction.

“Why?” she whispered, though she already knew the answer.

“Because I was fuckin’ far from okay,” he giggled, his words slurring and sliding together. “I was scared half to death, thought my heart was gonna pound itself right out of my chest… ‘Bout how I feel now I reckon.”

“You were fine then and you’re gonna be fine this time too,” she promised, reaching up to squeeze one of the arms he had folded around her chest.

“I sure hope you’re right.” He yawned, pressing a kiss onto her neck before dropping back onto his pillow. “You usually are. I just hope everything stays the same.”

 It seemed a strange and futile thing to wish for, especially for a man whose life had not stopped changing in the past three or four years, but she crossed her fingers as she relished the time that she had left in his arms and wished it alongside him. Let everything stay the same.

#elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfic #elvis fan fiction #writing prompt game #1950s Elvis #army elvis #whositmcwhatsit #elvis x oc

[theharddeck]

texan!hangman headcannons that no one asked for

literally no one asked lol but my qualifications are (1) my father is Texan (2) every summer my parents shipped us off to Dallas to swelter at my grandma's house (3) I was in a sorority in Texas (4) I lived there for 5 years and also worked my first job there, okay let's discuss

so first of all, because I've been seeing some people say Jake's from upstate NY (??)-- the man is Texan

this is important syntax, people

there's from Texas (you were born there), there's lives in Texas (you currently are there), and there's Texan (your whole identity) and y'all he is the latter

his family has their pew at the First Baptist Dallas, whether they attend or not, whether they listen or not, they tithe on easter and christmas and when the pastor comes over for dinner, and no one sits in their pew

Jake saw The Alamo (1960) in IMAX when he was like 8 and it never left his subconscious

once, when Jake was being obnoxious about it, Payback was like hey remind me again what they were fighting for? At the Alamo?

Jake stopped bringing it up after that

but that movie was damn important, along with the rest of Texas lore, in determining his principles on independence, nobility, service and sacrifice

in the same way from Texas/in Texas/Texan matters, the part of the state matters

Jake is Dallas

Jake is old money

There's a certain type of Rich Texan who're so serious about pedigree, you guys, and Jake walks the way he does bc he was bred for it

His mother is a Texas first family, his father's father was in oil, and his father is the one who carried on the business and cleaned up good (he's now in local politics)

Jake's mom is from the hill country, and they have a ranch that goes back a couple generations in her family

they do not go to the ranch unless they're bringing outside-the-immediate-family with them

campaigning efforts for his father come to mind

if Jake has sisters, they were debutantes

once he hit high school, he was an escort every year for a Dallas Symphony League deb

which means he's none of this bumbling country hick/cowboy Jake, no this asshole knows his way around a gala

he probably resented it, probably drove his mom insane with dirt stains on his suit, but he knows how to smile when he doesn't mean it, lead a girl around a waltz, charm matrons who are waiting to be impressed, and fathers who want to see themselves in him

his father taught him different types of whisky when he was like 15 and he never wants a beer but he’ll take one if offered

there’s just a lot of unspoken rules, right, and Jake learned them early

open doors for a lady, walk on the outside of the sidewalk, sir/ma’am, the place you buy your boots, it all matters

because nothing is more important than how you reflect on the family

his folks aren't around much

there's always charity events that his mom is swept up in, and his dad never emerges from his perfect mahogany-covered library in their house

which is in Highland Park, obviously

idk what else to say, I just need people to understand that Jake is not country!Texan, he is highsociety!Texan

#jake hangman seresin #Jake seresin #hangman headcanons #misskielrambles

[glygriffe]

I can't stand to fly

@sicktember 2022 prompt 11: Emergency Room/ Ambulance (Young Sam & Dean Winchester)

Warnings: broken bones and anxiety

Summary: Sam broke his arm playing superheroes. They will reminisce and laugh about it in adulthood, but now, it's no laughing matter. They are NOT superheroes.

Dad went to see Pastor Jim two weeks ago. He brought back my old bike, the one Pastor Jim had got for me a long time ago when we stayed with him. It's awesome! It's a little rusty and I'm now a little too big for it, but I'm not giving it to Sammy yet; he just started kindergarten and it would suck if he had a bike but not me.

There also was a package in the car when Dad came back from Pastor Jim's. A bag from Woolworth. He didn't take it out right away, so it was either hunting stuff or a surprise for us. I was betting on the surprise and I was right! He gave it to us yesterday: it's superhero costumes for Halloween!

The Batman one is too big for Sam, but he really wants it and since I almost rip it when I tried it on, that's his costume. The Superman one is even bigger, anyway, so it could be dangerous for him to wear it.

Today after school, Sammy was so excited about the mask and the cape and the costume... We went into the backyard to play Justice League. I showed Sammy how to crouch like a gargoyle on top of a building the way the real Batman do, to look for bad guys. He was a little afraid to lean too close to the edge when we were on top of the shed at first, but he forgot all about it when we saw the two squirrels squabble for whatever reason.

"Look, Dean, the bad guys are fighting!" He was laughing and jumping around on the roof, not scared anymore.

We went down the ladder to chase the "bad guys". I was fooling around being Superman. I climbed back onto to shed, took the ends of the red cape in my hands, and shouted: "I'm Superman, I can fly!" And I jumped into the mega pile of leaves we made on the side of the shed since the beginning of the month.

Sammy and I had a fit of giggles. It was so much fun!

But then Sammy wanted to fly too, and he jumped from the roof before I could tell him to aim for the pile of leaves.

***

Sammy's shrieking, but the sound is muffled like my ears are stuffed with cotton. It's like, I'm here, but not really. I know I ran to him, but I stopped before getting there. He is on his back, cradling his arm that is bent wrong. I think I'mma throw up.

I know I'm supposed to do something to help him. That's my job. I just don't know what.

I go closer to him and touch his knee to let him know I'm here. I lost my voice again. My throat has gotten all closed up, too tight, and it's hard to breathe.

My baby brother is still crying, but it's more whimpering now, his eyes still shut tight. And he is calling for me. I guess he didn't realize that it's me rubbing his knee, but I know his gonna be alright.

Slowly, the sounds come back to normal. I take a big breath and the air has more space to go down and up my throat. We're gonna be alright.

I move to get to his face and brush his hair away to see him better. Apart from some scratches and bruises, only his arm seems problematic. There's no blood, but I think it's broken. Of course, it's broken. It's already double the size it's supposed to be.

I look at my watch: Dad will not be home before another hour and a half if you're lucky. I was supposed to start supper tonight, but I don't really care about eating right now. I have a plan to help Sam.

My voice is still mostly gone, so I whisper: "It's OK, Sammy. There's nothing to worry about. Will go to the urgent care clinic, like we did last year, remember? The E. R.? When you had a fever?"

I'm not sure he quite understands me, but at least he's looking at me now. He's still in pain, for sure, but he wants to know what is the next thing to do. He's such a smart kid.

"You know what, Sammy? We'll take my bike. I remember the way to the E. R. Clinic, we'll be there in a jiffy."

I make him count to three before helping him get up. He's biting his lips, but he is a trooper. Getting on the bike without hurting his arm is more difficult. The stupid capes are in the way all the time.

We manage to get him on the handlebars and I try to make the ride as smooth as possible. I hear him whimper at each bump in the road. It drives me mad because I don't know how to avoid shaking him every which way as I push hard on the pedals to get to the Urgent care clinic as soon as possible.

To drown out his little cries of pain - I can kick myself for hurting him more but how else am I supposed to get him to the E.R.? -, I start to sing 'Slow Ride'. What do you know? My voice came back for that.

Finally, we're at the admittance desk of the Urgent Care Clinic. They take good care of Sammy and they call all the numbers they had on file from last year to talk to Dad. They ask me to sit in the waiting room. I do, stretching the sleeve of my costume to hide my hands. I wish they had let me stay with Sammy.

I rub my hands in my hair, but the movement stretched the costume funny. It feels wrong. This costume is stupid. I'm not a superhero. I hate flying like Superman. I hate flying.

#sicktember 2022 #sickfic #young winchesters #hurt #Title from the Five For Fighting Song #Superman (It’s Not Easy)

[donveinot]

[whatisonthemoon]

Iran-Contra and the Religious Right

by Victor Vaughn February 4, 2013

Oliver North worshipped in a charismatic Episcopal Church in Virginia called Church of the Apostles. It turn out to be one of those Shepherding churches, a cult movement within the charismatic movement. North’s pastor was Rev. Brian Cox, a National Coordinator of Sharing of Ministries Abroad (SOMA), a right-wing political orgainization in guise of of an active missionary work in South America. Their agenda was to fight communism in South America.

In 1976, Jesus freaks from Gospel Outreach of California came to Guatemala after its earthquake. They did not waste time aiding earthquake victims, they were trying to convert Catholics to Pentecostals. One early convert was Rios Montt,who became leader of Gospel Outreach Verbo Church. He smuggled Bibles into Nicaruagua after Sandisitas took over the country.

Christian Emergency Relief Teams (CERT) started in Carlsbad, California in 1974 to aid Honduras hurricane victims, but after Sandistas took over Nicaruagua, they switched to aiding the contras. They have even accompanied contras to battle. Templo Biblico in San Jose, California was a front for Full Gospel Businessman International and World Vision. It became a CIA conduit to contras in Costa Rico.

Glendale, California based Transworld Mission (TWM), headed by John Olson .When Somoza was head of Nicaragua, Olson produced rabid anti-communist radio broadcasts in US, supporting Somoza. He became friends with Oliver North.

When Oliver North became an officer, he joined Officers’ Christian fellowship, founded by Ret. Army Major Gen. Clay T. Buckingham on 170 US bases. it was a shepherding organization.

1979-83-NCPAC Financial Director Carl “Spitz” Channel formed a coalition of religious right wing organizations to raise funds for contras. Lutheran pastor Rchard Nieuhaus influenced IRD in 1981 to supporting contras.

In 1982- Charles Moser, Secretary-Treasuru of Free Congress and Education Foundation, formed a committee to support the contras. This committee had Enrique Ruedo of Free Congress, Dan Tefferman of Freedom Leadership Foundation, Reed Irvine of AIM, and Lynn Francis Bouchery of Council for Inter-American Security. Jimmy Hasan, Director of Campus Crusade in Nicaragua 1982-85, was working for the contras.

By 1984, the most prominent private donor to contras was CBN. Capt. Robert Warren, retired Navy counterinsurgency specialist, was head of Operation Blessing. He was also formerly of Operation Phoenix, the CIA assassination group in Vietnam. North, Secord, and Poindexter were also in Operation Phoenix. They had ties to John Singlaub, head of World Anti-communist League (WACL) and a former member of NSC. He was a coordinator for private aid to the contras. North went around US trying to get aid for contras and build domestic propaganda for the contras. CBN contributed $3 million to Nicaraguan Patriotic Association. Its president was Juan Sacasa, Houston representative for the contras. Harry Aderholt, the Air Force officer who pioneered Operation Phoenix, headed the Air Commandos Association( the Air Force Green Berets) and was supplying the Salvadoran Army against its rebels. Aderholt, with Warren and Operation Blessing opened a clinic in Nebay region in Guatemala that turned out to be a de facto concentration camp for the Indians.

Dr. Alton Ochsner,Jr. convinced Moral Majority to the contras cause. They started “Family Forum” in San Francisco, an organization to support contras. They formed Friends of America (FOA) in 1984. Ochsner became head of Carribean Commission, a contra support group. He introduced Jenkins to Council for National Policy, which was supporting the contras. Ochsner father was a well-known white supremicist. FOA supplies were flown by the National Guard of Mississippi and Louisana at taxpayers’ expense and illegal activity.

In Sept.,1985, Robertson asked Reagan on the 700 Club, who was the person going to Tehran to talk about hostages. Reagan admitted sending someone to Tehran to trade hostages for arms. That “someone” was Oliver North. He was accompanied by Robert Marrow, an CIA agent allegedly on the plot to kill JFK, and was part of Operation Phoenix and in Operation Blessing. Jimmy Hasan was arrested by Sandistas after an IRD meeting on Oct. 31, 1985. He fled and appeared on the 700 Club. He recieved money from North’s NSC safe. North introduced Derstine to Calero and Bermudez in a secret map room. Rev. Derstine was a televangelist. Calero and Bermudez are contra leaders. FOA leaders generate public support and coordinate private aid from US church groups for contras, though that was illegal at the time.Woody Jenkins went around claiming Sandistas were dictators.

In 1986, FOA used Kelly Air Force Base and airlifted at taxpayers’ expense 100,00 pounds of supplies to Honduras for the contras. The planes were accompanied by National Guards of Mississippi and Louisana. FOA also supplied SETCO, an CIA airline for the contras. Operation Blessing supplied gas and drove vehicles for the contras. CERT accompanied contras to their battles.

David Cousas and Oliver North spoke at National Religious Broadcasters (NRB) to get support for the contras. 1985-John Olson was Oliver North’s guest at the White House for a briefing on the contra war. Olson was there on behalf of NRB. NRB became staunch advocate of direct US military intervention against Nicaragua. Before the Hausenfus crash, Robertson knew about the contras were being supplied by Israel and South Africa. This was before the press found out. AFC Richard Viguerie lobbied for the contras in Congress and claimed North was innocent. Singlaub and Micharl Clifford (Robertson’s CBN staff member) were among AFC members. North was keynote speaker for Bev LeHayes’ Concerned Women of America (CWA), urging them to aid the contras. Barbara Abbey, CWA,co-sponsored a fund-raiser for contra leader Calero. CWA sponsored a contra refugee camp in Costa Rico. CWA got money from Pepsico, Levi, Avon,Amex, Subaru, Sun Co., United Bank of Colorado, and Government Employees Insurance.

Jose Gonzales Souza started Semilla (“Seed”) at the Chesepeake, Va, office of Pat Robertson’s National Perspective Institute. Souza was a graduate of Robertson’s Regent University and lead its Hispanic Studies.CBN gave him money to start Semilla to train and organize Christian leaders in the Western Hemisphere, especially in Latin America.S emilla got $1,714.34 from Spitz Channell’s National Endowment for Preservation of Liberty (NEPL), part of Oliver North’s multifaceted procontra propaganda project.

Robert Reilly, Reagan’s liason to the Catholics, denounced liberation theology. He worked with former Maryknoll worker Geraldine O’Leary Macras (who worked for Costa Rican contras). He also worked with Humberto Belli, former editor of La Prensa. Humberto Belli started Puebla Instiute in Michigan in co-operation with Sword of Spirit (Catholic charismatic group) and Ciudad de Dios (“City of God”), the Hispanic version of Sword of Spirit. Belli claimed there was religious persecution in Nicaragua. CIA paid Belli to do a film called Nicaragua Christians under Fire. Belli was advisor to pro-contra Archbishop Bravo. He had Bravo doing mass for contras in Miami. Archbishop Bravo had ties with W.R. Grace Corporation. He also got funds from North. Robert Pickus and George Weigel formed National Endowment for Democracy (NED), spending millions of taxpayers’ money funding Nicaragua’s opposition press. Weigel served as advisor for USIA. Pickus formed World without War Council (WWWC), which promoted US tour of Belli and contra leader Arturo Cruz.

1987- Bev Lehaye met Violetta Chamarro, editor of La Prensa, pledging support for the contras. Rev Geoff Donnan of Carribean Christian Ministries organized anti-Sandistas clergy in Nicaragua using private Christian schools there. Donnan worked under sponsorship of Paul lindstrom, a John Birch organizer.

1986- Donnan declared liberation theology as Satanic. He planned to publish a “Christian ” history of Nicaragua, written by Belli. Contra leader Joseph Douglas joined CERT. A few days before Swaggert resigned, he went to Nicaragua and saw the children victims of contra attacks. He withdrew his support of the contras and criticized them for their inhumanity. Suddenly, Marvin Gorman came up with pictures of Swaggert with a prostitute. Meanwhile, the contras smuggled illegal drugs into the US.

Politics make strange bedfellows. This proves it! In 1961, after a military coup of a democratic government in South Korea that brought Park to power, KCIA decided to organize and utilize a church called Unification Church, as a political tool of the right wing military government. They wanted to export this church to the US. They asked Rev. Bill Bright to help organize it and chose a leader of it. Bill Bright choose Rev. Sun Myung Moon to head it. Moon had been a friend of Bright for a long time. Numerious Moonies served as aids to various Congresspersons since then.

In 1977, Richard Viguerie got a contract for “Children’s Relief Fund”, sponsored by the Moonies’ Korean Culture and Freedom Foundation. Less than 6.3% of the donations went to the needy, the rest went to Viguerie’s pockets and the Moonies. The biggest chunk went to Viguerie.

In 1986, Moonies paid Viguerie to handle the distribution of their magazine Insight.

In 1975, Christian Freedom Foundation founded by Bill Bright, Richard Viguerie, Richard Devos, Arthur DeMoss, Rep. John Conlan, Ed McAteer. The money came from Moonies.

In 1983, American Coalition for Traditional Values (ACTV) began with Tim LaHaye, Falwell, Robertson, Bakker, Robison, Humbard, and Swaggert. The money that started it came from the Moonies. It was right after Gary Jarmin, ex-Moonie, introduced Tim LaHaye to Col. Bo Pak, Rev. Moon’s right hand man.

1984-Rev. Moon was arrested for his illegal business activities. Moonies formed Coalition for Religious Freedom (CRF), a front for defense of Rev. Moon. LaHaye, Falwell< Ben Armstrong, Robison, Humbard, James Kennedy, and Swaggert were on the executive board. Paul Crouch and Hal Lindsey joined in 1986.

Ron Goodwin, a top Falwell aid left the Moral Majority to work on Insight in 1985.

1987-Col. Pak paid 10.06 million dollars for Vigueries’ offices. Christian Voice was in Moonies pay and headed by Gary Jarmin. Pres. Robert Grant and the Christian Voice joined the Moonies to form American Freedom Coalition.

1988-Grant made ties with Anti-Bolshevik Bloc of Nations. It was a group made up of Who’s Who of WWII Nazis.

Coaliton on Revival (COR) was founded by Dennis Peacocke, a Bob Mumford disciple, and Jay Grimstead, an ex-Moonie. The money came from Moonies.

Mumford promoted dominion theology (Reconstructionism). Gary North of COR was a member of the John Birch Society.

The neo-Nazi church Identity’s rock group Legacy had entertained COR’s meetings and parties.

1985-While “Father” Dowling was passing off as a Catholic priest, he spoke at Grace Lutheran Chruch in El Cerrito, CA. Its pastor, Ralph Moelling, was a member of the Moonies’ CAUSA. Dowling served as national advisory board on CAUSA, which was paying Dowling’s travel expenses. Dowling frequently met Pat Buchanan at the White House and Bretton Sciaroni, a confident of John Singlaub. Dowling kept close ties with Linda Guell, director of Western Goals, which was involved in North’s contra fundraising. It was also a John Birch front.

1987-Christian Emergency Relief Teams(CERT) recieved a large amount of money from the Moonies.

1986-Moonies received money from South Africa, $45million, in exchange for South Africa’s interest in Washington Times, the Moonie paper.

1982-James Whelan, editor of Moonie-owned Sacramento Union, went to the Washington Times. Back in 1961, he was part of a secret UPI team in Miami that covered the failed US invasion of Cuba. He was PR man for ITT, when it helped CIA overthrow Allende and set up Pinochet. Whelan resigned the Washington Times in 1984, and worked briefly for CBN.

Reed Irvine wrote for Moonie-owned papers. Richard Zone was also with Christian Voice. Grant had ties with Anita Bryant, an anti-gay crusade. Tim LaHaye, Bob Billings, and Cal Thomas, an ex-Moonie, was with the Christian Voice. Billings and Thomas was also with Moral Majority.

Shepherding

In 1965,in South Korea, Paul Yonggi Cho started a sysytem called Shepherding. He was inspired by the organizational methods of Rev. Moon. He wrote the book Successful Home Cell Groups in 1981, based on his ideas of shepherding.

1970-Argentina. An Assembly of God pastor, Rev. Juan Carlos Ortiz, established a new church, Body of Christ. It had a highly structured authority from small cells led by a “shepherd”, who was in turn led by another shepherd and so on in a pyramid form of command. It was from reading about what Cho was doing.

1972- Rev. Bob Mumford visited Ortiz’s church and was impressed. He brought Shepherding to America. He was a Bible teacher in Ft. Lauderdale,Florida.. Mumford,with four other associates, moved to Mobile, Alabama, directing the Christian Growth Ministries. They saw in the Charimatic Movement too much chaos. Shepherding would bring discipline.

Most leaders of the Shepherding Movement required their members to disclose intimate details of their lives and submit to the Shepherd (no female was allowed to be a Shepherd).The shepherd directed all facets of their followers’ lives.

Pat Robertson denounced the Shepherding Movement, but he invited Don Basham, one of the Shepherd leaders, to the 700 Club in 1987.

They have a magazine called New Wine. Cult Awareness Network declared they are a cult.

Mumford promoted dominion theology or Reconstrutionism, which was trying to get theocracy in America.Rev. Peacocke was one of Mumford’s disciples and his Coalition on Revival (COR) promoted Reconstructionism.

Robertson and the New World Order

A few years back, Robertson wrote a book called New World Order, his take on the Conpiracy Theory. He said that secret organizations are working together to make a one world government. This government will try to eliminate Christianity. He mentioned the illuminati, the Bavarian group started in 1776 by Adam Weishuapt and was disbanded in 1787. Robertson is one of those who believed Illuminati never disbanded, but behind the scenes of worldly events.

He said the Warburgs, Rockefellers, and Morgans created te Federal reserve Board and the IRS. They were out to change the Constitution. House, an employee of Rothchilds, started Council for Foreign Relations and talked Wilson into participating in WWI. House helped formed League of Nations. Adolf Hitler was trained by occult groups, so said Pat Robertson. The British Labour Party socialized Britain after WWII. Sweden became socialized. Robertson said that Ford Foundation wants US to merge with the USSR.

CFR infiltrated our government and the Federal Reserve Board. Also the Foundations (Ford,Rockefeller, Carnegie,etc.), our banks, our universities, and our newspapers.Marxism is its goal.Helped Communism to take control of Russia, China, East Europe, Central America, and Africa. Some are motivatied by Satan, so claimed Robertson.CIA under CFR control.

Then, Robertson turned to Trilateral Commission, formed to link Japan, US, and Europe.Robertson mentioned International Finance ( a buzz word for Jews) as backing US Communist Party.

Robertson said Communism was brainchild of German Jewish Intellectuals.

Robertson talked about Great Seal of US. He said the eye above the Pyramid is Eye of Osiris ( actually its Eye of Horus). A select few was planning to to replace Christian order, said Pat Robertson.

Robertson talked about roots of Communism were in the Illuminati. They staged the French Revolution. He mentioned Moses Hess, a radical Jewish rabbi, who influenced Engels. Robertson said Hess was an Illuminatus. He went on and mentioned Nesta Webster. who is a favorite author of John Birch Society and a member of British Fascist Society.

Robertson claimed Solidarity was a front for the Communist Party.

John Ruskin and his pupil, Cecil Rhodes. With Rothschild funding, Cecil Rhodes founded DeBeers. He created Rhodes Scholarship. Rhodes created British Roundtable.

Robertson mentioned Club of Rome as one of those groups working for one world government. He mentioned John Dewey teaching ethics different from JudeoChristian. New Age movement is a front for this One World conspiracy. He claimed the first Masonic legislator was Buddha. Illuminati borrowed from Jewish Cabala.

Rockefeller funded Planned Parenthood’s start. Robertson claimed that Muslems, Hindus, and Buddhists would undermine US.

Robertson claimed Lincoln was killed because he did not US government to loan from banks. Robertson said European Bankers(Jews) and money lords of US had Booth kill Lincoln. Booth was in employ of European bankers.

Robertson stole so much from John Birch literature and Nesta Webster works, its a wonder he wasn’t sued for plagiarism. Robertson claimed occult came from Babylon and Egypt. Other times he said the occult came from China and India. He can’t seem to make up his mind. Historian Will Durant debunks the idea that Illuminati was connected to French Revolution. Many historians since then also debunk that idea. Robertson liked the old idea that only property owners could vote. That was a rule to prevent blacks and other minorities from voting, also keeping the poor from voting.

Well, in Robertson’s view, the Protocols of Learned Elders of Zion was real, that old Anti-Semitic forgery. I find this book both racist and contradictory. He is close to Mussolini here, with some borrowed ideas from Adolf Hitler, who was a believer in the Protocols, too.

https://espressostalinist.com/2012/02/04/iran-contra-and-the-religious-right/

#religious right #anti-communism #anti-semitism #judaism #jewish #gospel outreach #charismatic movement #charismatic renewal #illuminati #gary north #oliver north #coalition on revival #fascism #neo-nazi #right-wing politics #politics #american politics #us politics #Christian Freedom Foundation #nicaragua #moonies #unification church in the united states #unification church in usa #unification church #religion #john birch society

[mischiefandspirits]

Courting Disaster

In a world where Bruce's acquisition of his kids isn't as legal, but is just as well-meaning, the Justice League comes to Gotham in search of a Bat.

A prequel to Nightwings and Talons

Click here for more of this AU

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“… a scourge to our fai-fair city, summoned by Satan himself. A false prophet who-who tried to deceive us with his duplicitous protection so he could drag our-our chil-children to -” Barbara trailed off into laughter

Dick groaned. “It’s not funny, Babs! They just keep getting worse and worse. I bet this is about that pastor we put away for embezzlement.”

“They called him the antichrist!”

“BABS!”

Bruce hid his smile in his drink as his protégés continued to bicker back and forth in his ear.

The argument was routine by now. A month couldn’t go by without someone raising a fuss over Batman either because someone with connections was taken down by the Bats or because the Court wanted to have another go at Dick. Barbara always got a kick out of the theories people would come up with for who Batman could be or how they could take him down, while Dick took personal offense to everything revolving around Batman being a villain. This meant the two ended up having the exact same fight at least once a month.

As repetitive as the argument was, though, it was still more interesting than any of the conversations Gotham’s elite were having around him. For example, he was currently hiding from Mrs. McNeal since he was too sleep-deprived to keep his mouth shut around bigotry and the woman was complaining to everyone who’d listen about the woman her recently disinherited granddaughter married (Sabine Bellerose was a wonderful woman and he hoped her and Senga were doing well at Wayne Health’s California division). Then there was Janet Drake blathering on to Michelle Davis about her latest find on the other side of the ice sculpture Bruce was hiding behind. That woman managed to reduce incredible archeological discoveries entirely down to their monetary value without managing to disclose anything actually interesting about the items.

“How hard would it be to fake an emergency to get me out right now?” Bruce whispered, miming a sip of his wine.

“Alfred said that if you don’t stay at least four hours, you’ll have to cook for yourself for a whole week,” Dick reminded him.

Bruce was honestly considering taking his punishment when Barbara added, “And he’ll go on vacation for that week if we help.”

“Which means no ready meals for Babs and I’ll have to put up with your cooking. Sorry, B, but you’re on your own.”

He sighed and took an actual drink. Then he ducked out from behind the ice sculpture and made his way across the banquet hall when he noticed Alicia Mathews spotting him. He was not in the mood to listen to her telling him for thirty-seventh time that it was such a shame that he hadn’t settled down and had kids yet (despite the fact he was twenty-nine) or her suggestions for sweet, appropriate young women that would make wonderful wives (including her daughter, who was closer to Barbara’s age than his).

Honestly, though, even if he wanted to settle down, he’d only ever developed an attraction to two women in his whole life. The first was so devoted to her father that their relationship fell apart, which was probably for the best considering the League had ties to the Court. If Talia got close enough to Bruce to discover he was Batman, he couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t tell her father and in doing so place Dick in danger. On the other hand, Selina could be and was trusted with Bruce’s son, but he knew she valued her freedom too much for him to risk their relationship by proposing they move onto something more serious than rooftop chases and the occasionally shared bed.

“How bad is Bruce’s cooking?” Barbara asked. “Does he live up to the stereotypes of rich people not knowing how stoves work?”

“No, he knows how stoves work, but he’s got white-people taste buds.”

Barbara snorted.

“And Alfred does too, but at least he knows how to use spices for my stuff. Plus, he gets distracted and leaves stuff cooking for too long. One time he put water on to boil and the water was gone by the time he remembered. And another time -”

“Yes, thank you, chum. I think she gets the picture,” Bruce muttered.

“Anytime, B!”

Bruce redirected his escape towards the bar in hopes of getting something stronger to drink. He couldn’t actually risk getting drunk in such company, especially with his protégés in his ear, but he trained hard to be sure he could get a little tipsy without worry.

All thoughts of alcohol left his head, though, when he spotted a certain pair of reporters.

The kids’ snickers cut out at his grunt.

“Who is it?” Batgirl asked, all traces of humor gone. “Someone from the Court?”

“There’s always a few people from the Court at these things,” Nightwing corrected. “The better question is how high up are they and why are they unexpected?”

“Our unexpected guests actually play for the other team,” Bruce grunted, casually readjusting the sunglasses hanging from his breast pocket in a way that would give the hidden camera inside a better look at the bar.

“Huh,” Batgirl said before typing could be heard over the comm.

“I thought Perry White placed a ban on Gotham after that reporter got caught in an explosion four years ago,” Nightwing pointed out. “And why would those two even be here? The society pages are below Clark Kent’s paygrade, let alone Lois Lane’s.”

“Well, it might be a charity event, but it’s also in Gotham. Maybe he thought if anyone could survive it’d be Superman’s girlfriend. And she usually brings Kent along to assignments she doesn’t want to be on,” Batgirl said as the typing increased.

“Stay out of my files,” Bruce ordered.

Ignoring him, she continued, “Or maybe not. Check your eight.”

Bruce stopped at a table, leaning against it and sipping at his wine. To his left, entertaining a group of women, was Oliver Queen.

“Why would Queen be in Gotham? Ever since his return, he’s barely ever left Star, let alone the West Coast.”

“He’s been making more trips lately,” Bruce reminded Nightwing.

“Wait, you think this could be a Justice League thing?” Batgirl asked. “What would bring them to Gotham? There’s no way something big enough to get their attention could have gotten past us.”

“I don’t know. Queen could just be trying to spread out his appearances so no one connects them to his other work, but I’m going to look into it just in case.” Bruce downed the rest of his wine and swayed drunkenly towards the group. “Ollie! What a wonderful surprise to see you here! How's what’s-her-name? Diana?”

Annoyance flickered across Queen’s face faster than most would notice before he donned a similar smile to Bruce’s. “Dinah.”

“Right, Dinah! Smart girl, and smoking to boot. How’s she doing?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Selina leaned closer to the painting she was pretending to inspect as she studied the security cameras around the room.

“Tell you you're the greatest/But once you turn they hate us,” came from Selina’s pocket and she quickly pulled out her phone, standing up straight.

“Hey there, handsome. If you’re calling for fun, I’m a little busy right now, but -”

“I’m not,” Bruce grunted, very clearly in Bat-mode.

“Pity,” she sighed and started heading out of the gallery. “What’s going on now?”

“The League is in town.”

“Ugh! You’re ex with them?”

“Not that League.”

She raised an eyebrow as she passed the valet her ticket and a twenty she’d slipped out of Bruce’s wallet during their last encounter. “Wait, are you talking about Metropolis and his boy band. Why would they be here?”

“We’re not sure. I haven’t found any reason for them to be here, but I have found evidence of all five of their founding members in Gotham. It can’t be a coincidence.”

She hummed and slipped in her car with a wink to the valet. Once she connected her phone and got on her way, she said, “I suppose this means I shouldn’t hit The Violet Rose.”

“Selina.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the warning, handsome. Think I’ll split town until the boy scouts leave.”

“Can I ask where you’re going?” he asked hesitantly.

Appreciating how he was trying to curb his need to know exactly where everyone was, she decided to throw him a bone. “Well, I did hear from a pretty reliable source that Coast City is currently without their hero. It’s the perfect chance to slip into their natural history museum to swipe that stolen Aztec statue and return it to Mexico.”

“And the Firestone Jaguar?”

“If there’s time.”

“Cat.”

“Bat.” She chuckled at his silent sigh. “What are you three going to do? I thought you made it pretty clear you didn’t like other heroes in your territory.”

“This isn’t Superman or Flash chasing one of their rogues past city borders. If the League’s here, it’s something big. I told Batgirl to lay low until they leave and we’re doing the same. Everyone except Harvey and Cobblepot are either in Arkham or Blackgate right now so I’d rather skip patrol for the next week or two than risk one of the kids getting dragged into an alien invasion or something of that nature.”

“Alright. If you want, I wouldn’t mind taking your little bird with me,” she offered, half of her wanting to rile up her Bat and the other half just as worried about her the kitten getting caught up in an alien invasion or whatever else the League could be dragging into town.

“No.”

“Come on, Bat. You know I’ll take good care of him and we’d only be doing a little bit of B&E, for a good cause.”

“Until I know what’s going on I want to keep everyone close, just in case.”

“Hm. Should I feel insulted that you’re not trying to keep me close then?”

“Would you stay if I asked?”

Would she? Selina tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. “Maybe next time. A pretty kitty’s calling.”

He grunted.

“Love you too, Bat.” She chuckled when he grunted again, but she sobered up after a moment. “Be safe, Bruce.”

“You too, Selina.”

Selina hung up the phone then called Maven to book a flight to California.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He really doubled down on the plan this time, huh?”

Batgirl shoved Nightwing off the building then turned to Batman. “Any news on what the League could be up to? I’ve been looking everywhere, but besides tonight things have been absolutely silent. Cobblepot’s focused on the lounge, all the other big names are still locked up, and all the lower-level thugs have spotted the League’s less than subtle flybys and have gone to ground. Aside from Two-Face, everything seems quiet. And they can’t be here for him or they would have shown up tonight.”

“To be fair, they’re only less than subtle for Gotham,” Nightwing said, flipping back up onto the roof. “And no, we haven’t. You-Know-Who even took a turn through the bars to see if there were any rumors about outsiders in Gotham, but there wasn’t even a whisper, let alone the gossip storm that something like that always turns up.”

“We must be missing something. I want you to be ready for anything,” Batman said, pulling out his grappling gun. “Don’t go anywhere without your gear. Even class.”

“Today was actually the last day before a three-day weekend,” she said as she and Nightwing followed their mentor’s lead. “I was gonna see if I could stay at the manor. I can get deeper into the dark web on the Batcomputer than on my rinky dorm room setup.”

“Your father -”

“Thinks I’m going camping with a friend. Besides, he’s busy. The criminals aren’t the only ones who’ve noticed the League’s here. GCPD is freaking out and they’re getting calls demanding answers from everyone who feels entitled enough to the Commissioner's time. I think he’s half-tempted to pull out the old signal and slap an S on it in hopes of getting an answer.”

“Let us know if he does so I can get popcorn and find a good spot to watch,” Nightwing snorted as they landed on a building near the Batmobile’s hiding spot.

“No. I don’t want either of you to get anywhere near the League’s business. Understood?”

The two rolled their eyes but nodded.

“Good.” Before Bruce could say anything else, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he spotted a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye. “MOVE!”

The teens jumped to the left and he leaped to the right, tossing a batarang at the ground as he went.

A yellow streak of lightning shot past where Nightwing had just been, snagging the boy’s arm as it went.

The batarang exploded into a mass of white webbing, which splattered across the rooftop and just managed to catch the streak.

The Flash yelped as he struggled against the adhesive substance and Nightwing broke the hero’s grip. He and Batgirl quickly slipped into the shadows as Green Lantern and Martian Manhunter flew up.

Without wasting a moment, Batman threw two more specialized batarangs. Both popped, one in a cloud of yellow powder that engulfed the lantern and the other in a ring of accelerant that ignited as it fell around the martian.

The two fell to the ground as the dust drained the Green Lantern ring’s powers and the flames sapped the martian’s strength.

Batman was tying up the lantern when someone landed on the roof behind him. He finished up then turned to see Green Arrow fighting Batgirl, his bow nowhere to be seen. He threw a bola at the Robin Hood-themed vigilante, but a blast of red knocked it out of the air.

“You’re coming with us, Batman,” Superman said as he flew down to the roof.

“I don’t think so,” Nightwing chirped and a bola shot out of the darkness to wrap around the kryptonian. The weights glittered green as Superman collapsed onto the roof with a groan.

“You guys get all the fun toys,” Batgirl huffed as she backflipped away from Arrow, giving Batman an opening to tie him up. She turned to the shadows a moment before a grinning Nightwing stepped out of them. “Kryptonite bolas and yellow powder batarangs? Seriously?”

“It’s not like we just carry them around with us, and we haven’t seen you since the League came to town,” the boy said, shrugging.

“Did you guys expect to fight the League?” she asked, turning to Batman. “Because I would have liked a warning.”

“No,” he grunted, eyeing the League members.

“But best to be prepared,” Nightwing added. “Do you want to find out Ivy can control Superman and not be armed with kryptonite bolas?”

“No, and that’s why I want one!”

Batman tossed her one of his and pointed at the League. “Watch them.”

“You got it, B!” the two said, giving teasing salutes.

Then Batgirl leaned against Nightwing and gestured to Flash with her head. “How much do you think he has to eat in a day?”

“I guess it depends on how much he’s been running around.”

Batman ignored their antics and grabbed Superman. “Why did you attack my team? I thought we’d come to an agreement. You stick to your city and I’ll stick to mine.”

“You’re kidding right?” Flash snorted.

The Bat kicked away the knife Green Arrow had been using to try to free himself and scowled at the speedster. “Do I look like I'm kidding?”

“That agreement was before you started abducting children, Batman,” Superman groaned, giving him a weak glare. “I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and overlook the rumors when they first started to spread out of Gotham, but then you took Richard to Atlantic City for everyone to see.”

Batman mentally pinched the bridge of his nose. Bring wasn’t exactly the right word. He had gone to Atlantic City to nab Clayface. The other two had followed him against orders. They were just lucky it hadn’t been a Court trap as Bruce had feared.

“Wait, you’re here about the Graysons?” Nightwing said, voice angry and face blank.

Batgirl’s eyes widened, then she gave a scowl to match the one Batman was wearing.

Arrow looked at the boy with sadness. “Kid, I know -”

“You don’t know anything,” Nightwing snapped and Batgirl grabbed his shoulder.

“Nightwing, Batgirl, fall back.”

They shared a look.

Batgirl shook her head. “Not happening, B.”

“I’m sick of this. The Justice League came after you! The Justice League!” Nightwing said, throwing his hands in the air. “All because people are too stupid to realize the truth!”

“The truth is that you’re Richard Grayson,” Green Lantern said.

“That’s not my name.”

“Batman might have done something to make you think it wasn’t, but it is. Batgirl knows it.”

She set her hands on her hips. “Batgirl can speak for herself.”

“My name is Nightwing.”

“That ain’t a name, kid,” Arrow said.

“It’s called a secret identity for a reason, Robin Hood. I’m not telling you my actual name.”

“I’ll give you a hint, it’s not Richard Grayson,” Batgirl said.

Arrow looked shocked by that. “He got to you?”

She stepped forward. “B didn’t -”

“Down!”

The two immediately dropped and rolled away as the Flash shot past them.

“Great, now he’s going to be on us all week about taking our eyes off the prisoners,” Batgirl groaned as she pulled out a bola.

“At least you don’t have to live with him,” Nightwing sighed, pulling out a batarang.

“Do they ever stop talking?” Green Lantern asked.

“No.”

“But you love us anyways, B,” Nightwing said, flipping into the shadows with Batgirl as Flash came back around.

“Ninjas,” the speedster muttered as he tried to figure out where they went.

“Don’t just stand there!” Arrow shouted and Flash darted off just in time to dodge a batarang that exploded into sticky webbing.

He went to Martian Manhunter, spinning around him to put out the flames. By the time he finished, the Bat had tossed Superman aside and slipped into the shadows as well.

“I’ll find them. Free the others,” the martian said, taking chase.

He couldn’t feel the bat, but the others’ minds weren’t so heavily protected.

He landed in front of them, hands raised in a sign of peace. “I do not want to fight you. I just want to help.”

The boy went to throw a weapon, but the young woman stopped him.

“Hold on.” She stared at Martian Manhunter and he could feel her thinking. “Martian Manhunter. J'onn J'onzz. Powers: Shape-shifting, intangibility, telepathy, telekinesis, and literally inhuman strength and durability. All courtesy of your green martian heritage. Am I right?”

“Yes. You seem to know a lot about us.”

“B’s paranoid,” the two said together, then the girl continued, “And you mean it about wanting to help?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop fighting us.”

“We just want to protect you from Batman, and we can.”

“Evidence says otherwise, but B isn’t hurting anyone. He…” The boy glanced at the girl. “He’s my dad. And I’m sick of everyone treating him like a criminal.”

“He kidnapped -”

“You’re a telepath. So read our minds,” the girl said.

That gave the martian pause. He didn’t like reading the minds of innocents. He didn’t really like reading anyone’s minds without good cause. Humans were so protective of their mental spaces and he’d learned to respect what they considered a private space during his time on their planet.

“You want me to read your minds?”

They both fidgetted and the girl sighed. “No, and B is definitely going to kill us for this, but if it will put all this Grayson stuff to rest, then do it. Just stay away from anything about secret identities. Ours and B’s.”

He looked to the boy, who nodded.

So he reached out.

In the girl’s mind, he saw labs and mindless assassins that were as good as dead.

In the boy’s mind, he saw a couple cheerfully discussing their son’s future.

In both minds he saw a dark figure shielding them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Batman was facing off against Arrow and Superman when an arrow froze in midair a foot from the Dark Knight.

“Stand down, Justice League,” Martian Manhunter called and the group turned to see him, Batgirl, and Nightwing floating down next to the incapacitated lantern and speedster.

Batgirl looked nervous, but Nightwing was thrilled. “Look, B! I’m flying!”

Batman grunted and plucked both kids from the air as soon as they were close enough. They easily settled on either side of him without the martian trying to stop them.

“J’onn?” Superman asked, eyeing the kids.

“We were wrong. Batman is on the right side.”

“Excuse me?” Green Lantern voiced the confusion filling the other’s faces.

“There has been a misunderstanding.”

“He kidnapped -”

“There is more to the situation than we were informed,” Martian Manhunter said, cutting over Arrow. “I cannot say much without betraying the trust the children have placed in me, but the child was taken because his parents were about to deal him great harm. He is now placed somewhere they cannot reach him.”

“Nightwing -”

“Nightwing’s civilian identity is not Richard Grayson.”

“Like I told you,” the boy chirped.

“How can we be sure?” Superman asked. “Just because the kids say -”

“They did not tell me anything. They allowed me to see into their minds and I was able to put the pieces together from that.”

Batman gave the kids a look and they flinched.

“We’re dead.”

“So dead.”

“I made sure not to peer at anything revolving around your secret identities,” Martian Manhunter said in hopes of soothing the Bat’s annoyance.

Annoyance, not anger. The man clearly couldn’t feel anger towards the children, and even the annoyance was fueled by and nearly buried under his concern for them. Especially for his son.

The rest of the team was still a bit unnerved, but they trusted Martian Manhunter’s judgment and stood down. They calmed more when Batman gave them a summary of the situation which was confirmed by the martian.

Richard Grayson’s parents had been part of a cult that had wanted to experiment on the boy, turn him into a living weapon. Batman had gotten him out and to a safe home before they could, but the cult had connections so he couldn’t do it the legal way. Batman was working to take the cult down, but it would take time.

“There has to be a better way,” Superman argued, not liking how far outside the law this was looking.

“If there is, we haven’t found it,” Batgirl said, helping Green Lantern out of his bonds while Nightwing and Martian Manhunter freed Flash. “Sorry to say, but sometimes you can’t just beat up the bad guy to save the day.”

Green Arrow snorted and Flash bit down a laugh, but Superman and Green Lantern looked unimpressed.

“Kal,” Batman said, grabbing the kryptonian’s shoulder. “You know I wouldn’t have done this without considering every other option. There’s a reason you gave me the benefit of the doubt before.”

“Could you at least tell us where Richard is so we can be sure?”

Nightwing, Batgirl, and Martian Manhunter turned to Batman, who shook his head. “No. The more people who know his location, the more likely it is to get back to the Court. His safety comes before all else, even my reputation.”

A small flicker of guilt passed over Nightwing’s face, but only the Bats caught it.

The League met eyes and shared a quick mental conversation before Superman said, “Alright, Batman. Given Martian Manhunter’s confidence in you as well as the past experience Flash and I have with you, we’re willing to believe you and stand down.”

Batman nodded, which Nightwing translated as, “Thanks.”

“Though I still think it’s a little odd that you seem so prepared to take us, specifically, down,” Green Lantern said as he pointedly scrubbed at the powder coating him.

“Welcome to Gotham,” Batgirl joked. “We’ve got contingencies for our contingencies.”

“Do you want to be unprepared when you find out Superman’s not immune to Spellbinder’s hypnosis or Mad Hatter’s mind control chips?” Nightwing asked. “Because we don’t. And on top of that, there’s Poison Ivy’s spores, Scarecrow’s fear toxin, Stran-”

“I think they get the point, Wing,” Batgirl cut in.

“We didn’t know why the League was in Gotham so we had to be prepared for any eventuality, including that one of our villains or some unknown outside force had or would take control of you,” Batman explained.

“It didn’t occur to you that we could be here for you?” Flash asked.

“It had, but it’s been two and a half years since I took Richard. I assumed that if any of you were going to get involved, you or Superman would have done so already.”

“Right,” Superman said, sharing a look with the speedster. “Well, if you won’t tell us where Richard is, at least know that we’re here to help. If you need anything, let us know.”

“Sure,” Batman said, but he doubted he’d take the kryptonian up on it. As Batgirl said, the Court wasn’t something they could defeat by punching it. It was too ingrained in Gotham. There wasn’t one tree to cut down, but hundreds of weeds that they had to be sure to pull up by the roots if they didn’t want more to grow back in their place. He knew Superman could be crafty and Flash was smart, but he also knew neither had experience with investigations of that nature. He wasn’t as sure about the others, but he doubted they did either.

Superman nodded then the League started heading out.

When Martian Manhunter was the last Leaguer left on the roof, he pulled a device out of a hidden fold in his suit and held it out to Batman. “It is one of the Justice League’s communicators. From what I’ve seen, both in person and through the eyes of your teammates, I believe you could be a good asset to the team, perhaps even a good member.”

“I doubt my reputation would do you any favors,” Batman pointed out, though he took the communicator.

“Hopefully one day everyone will know the truth, but until then, we all have experience keeping secrets.”

Bruce grunted and tucked the communicator into his belt.

“Can I get one?” Nightwing asked, skipping up.

The martian gave him a smile. “Unfortunately, the League has rules against minors.”

Nightwing crossed his arms and gave him a doubtful look.

“Something tells me those rules didn’t exist before tonight,” Batgirl joked, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“They were implied.”

“Sure. For the record, I’m 18.”

Batman valiantly resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

#batman #dick grayson #barbara gordon #bruce wayne #nightwing #fanfiction #witness protection: vigilante style #batnapping au

[seymour-butz-stuff]

A cold wind whipped through the prairie as they laid Buck Timmins to rest.

Timmins, a longtime coach and referee, was not the first person in Mitchell, S.D., pop. 15,600, to die of the coronavirus. He was not even the first that week.

As the funeral director tucked blankets over the knees of Timmins’s wife, Nanci, Pastor Rhonda Wellsandt-Zell told the small group of masked mourners that just as there had been seasons in the coach’s life — basketball season, football season, volleyball season — Mitchell was now enduring a phase of its own.

Pandemic season.

In a state where the Republican governor, Kristi L. Noem, has defied calls for a statewide mask mandate even as cases hit record levels, many in this rural community an hour west of Sioux Falls ignored the virus for months, not bothering with masks or social distancing. Restaurants were packed. Big weddings and funerals went on as planned.

Then people started dying. The wife of the former bank president. A state legislator. The guy whose family has owned the bike shop since 1959. Then Timmins, a mild-spoken 72-year-old who had worked with hundreds of local kids during six decades as a Little League and high school coach and referee.

His death shook Mitchell just as its leaders were contemplating something previously denounced and dismissed: a requirement that its staunchly conservative residents wear masks.

As Wellsandt-Zell led those mourning Timmins in the hymn “Jesus Loves Me,” the rumble of an approaching helicopter cut through the sound of the singing and the mourners’ soft tears. In Mitchell, the medical emergency helicopter, once a rare occurrence, now comes nearly every day, ferrying the growing number of people desperately ill with covid-19 to a hospital that might be able to save them.

Sirens echoing through the empty streets of New York marked the pandemic’s first phase. Swirling blades of helicopters on the American plains is the soundtrack of a deadly fall.

Oh, my God, here we go again, Wellsandt-Zell thought. Another one.

#2 #trump #maga #trump derangement syndrome #q #qanon #wwg1wga #antivax #antivaxx #anti-mask #antimask

[queennicoleinboots]

Chrissy And All Of Her Glorious Titles Have Spoken

A/N: Sequel to "Bears, Eat Your Heart Out, Chrissy, The Baby Girl with Many Glorious Titles Is Trying To Arrive. Apparently, So Is Everyone Else.

"Lights! Sound! Costumes! Make-up! Camera! Action!" Chrissy with all of her glorious titles spoke with her distinct English voice.

The cameras turned on to reveal seven speakers sitting at the purple Planetary Broadcasting Corporation's newsdesk sitting seven inches apart wearing seven different colors, seven different style shirts, and seven different collars having seven different personalities and representing seven different cities.

Blinky blinked seven times and wore a light teal long-sleeved button-down shirt with a gold chain collar. He wore round-framed glasses. He represented Ocala, Florgia, United Emirates of Chinta.

Count Vanilla growled 63 times and wore an off-white polo shirt with a pocket on the left side of his chest with a silver chain around his neck. He wore square-framed glasses. He represented The Fountain of Youth City of Georgia.

Banana Ice rolled his eyes fully in the back of his head before he spoke, "I'm Banana Ice, the submissive husband of Abigail Ice and son of Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas, the beautiful lady sitting next to me. I'm truly honored to be next to her and in front of you broadcasting, and... translating Count Vanilla's growls that translate Blinky's blinks. My mother will speak French." He removed his lip piercings to make it easier for us to understand him. He still had that same mohawk and wore the same black collar with the bananas hanging off of it, a sleek black long-sleeved button-down shirt with a banana yellow collar. He represented Graytown, Georgia, United States of America that is still America.

"WHAT?! YOU'RE MARRIED TO MY DAUGHTER?!" Bruce Ice shouted as he turned toward Banana Ice. "Nobody fuckin' informed me!" He was wearing a silver and blue tye dye blazer with a white button-down shirt, a pale blue tie, and a thick gold chain down his neck. He represented Athenia, Glorgia, United Emirates of Chinta.

"Oh yeah. That's going to be discussed in a later broadcast," Banana Ice said as he looked at Bruce Ice.

"Well, we should have prepared that AHEAD of time! How the hell am I going to concentrate? I have questions goddammit!" Bruce Ice shouted as he hammer fisted the desk with his right paw.

"Ay, merci, Bruce Ice, ay. Some of us would like to introduce ourselves. You sort of cut me off, as you say. Do you mind?!" Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas asked in her heavy French accent as she narrowed her brownish hazel eyes that had heavy mascara on the lashes at him. When wasn't that woman picture-perfect? She wore a pure white pearl necklace, a blue blouse with brownish gold speckles on it, and her sapphire wedding ring on the ring finger of her left paw. Her fur was brushed to perfection. She represented France.

"ABSOLUTELY! BUT THE SHOW MUST GO ON! Back to you, Gloria Balalalala-lalalalalas," Bruce Ice tried to say.

"Lala lala lala lalalas," Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas corrected him. "Ay. You English-speaking bears drive me crazy, I swear. But yes, I am Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas, wife of Skipper Balalalalalalalalalas and mother of Francesca Asiago Cheese, Victoria Filetmignon, and... Banana Ice? When did my son change his name to that monstrosity? This is news to me, Banana Ice," she said as she yanked a few of his ear rings with her right paw and stared at the camera.

"Yeeeeeooooooooow! That's in a later story as well, Mother Dearest," Banana Ice said as he winced in pain. "Ooooowwwww!!!" He gently rubbed his left paw to gently ease her paw off of his ear.

"THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN DISCUSSED AHEAD OF TIME!" Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas and Bruce Ice yelled as they stared daggers at Banana Ice.

"Sorry! We didn't have time until now! I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Banana Ice said to them with wide eyes before he turned back to the camera. "Besides, there are much more pressing matters to discuss than my existence right now."

"Very true," Bruce Ice said before he cleared his throat. "Hello, PBC viewers, I am Bruce Ice, husband of Megara Ice, daughter of Abigail Ice and three other female cubs that shall not be named because they are minors. This is a no-minor broadcast!"

Blinky, Count Vanilla, Banana Ice, Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas, Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets, and a new golden bear named Penn made growls and nods of agreement.

"I COULD NOT AGREE MORE! NO MINORS SHALL EVER PARTICIPATE IN THE PLANETARY BROADCASTING CORPORATION NEWS REPORTS EVER. IT WILL BE RARE THAT THEY ARE EVEN FEATURED, MUCH LESS TELLING NEWS ON THIS ESTEEMED NETWORK. THANK YOU VERY MUCH. NOW WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, I FINALLY GET TO SAY MY PEACE. It only took a DAY. The hell is wrong with this planet?! I'm Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets formerly known as Prince. Ahahahaha! No really. "Purple Rain" was my song. Some asshole from America stole my song. Bastard." Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets was wearing only a black tie and a black spiked color. He represented the Greek region of Hades.

Blinky, Count Vanilla, Banana Ice, Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas, Bruce Ice, Penn, Chrissy, and all of her glorious titles chuckled.

"Ahem. I was formerly known as Prince Oliver, Werewolf of London, but as you all know, if you watch this network AT ALL, London is literally burning in Hell right now. That's why a bunch of my crew and I, no seriously, I stuffed over 10,000 of us on that spaceship. When we all exited the ship, it looked like a multitude of clowns coming out of a car. It was RIDICULOUS!" His greenish gray eyes and mouth were wide as he spoke.

"I can vogue for that," Chrissy, babybaby said on a separate green screen as she wore a black and white maid outfit, a black collar with a gold bell in the front, black fishnet stockings, and black high heels. Her black and gray fur was brushed perfectly.

The green screen showed the footage of her, 44 wolf puppies, Master wearing a black and silver fox fur, EliEli: Mistress of the United Planets, Catman, Stan Doe, the entire cast of the PeeWee Herman show, 300 assorted cats, 400 dalmatians, 500 other assorted dogs, 600 goats, 700 sheep, the Chinaman from the pranking soundboard, the Vietman from the pranking soundboard, an android popularly known as Mark Fuckerberg, Max Headroom, 209 fat bears of all colors, and countless clowns, including Ronald McDonald and Pennywise the Dancing Clown, burst from that ship. How did they fit?

"Excuse me. I normally wear a black wig to further accentuate my head, but it's entirely too fucking hot on this planet for that shit right now. Summer everywhere in the last few galaxies has been ABSOLUTELY BARBARIC!" Chrissy, babydoll with all glorious titles spoke as she stared directly at the camera with her kaleidoscopic greenish yellowish hazel eyes.

Blinky, Count Vanilla, Banana Ice, Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas, Bruce Ice, and Penn laughed and nodded with agreement.

"Hahahahahaha!!!! All right. Hello Everybody, as if the news isn't crazy enough without the first bit of news we heard today, I'm Penn with Off Grid Desert Farming with Penn and Alexia doing a GUEST appearance on the Planetary Broadcasting Corporation news network to explain what is actually going on behind the jab, mandates, checkpoints, and why these space ass... aliens are pushing it so hard among all the planets," Penn spoke with his southern accent. He was a golden bear with serious blue eyes. His fur was brushed perfectly as well. He looked to be the same age as Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas, but in reality, she was much older. (She looked much younger than she was and gave that trait to all of her children.) He was wearing a navy blue shirt and his platinum wedding ring.

Penn continued to speak, "Sorry about delaying our news report on August 11, 2021 until now. The powers that be were downloading contact-tracing software to everyone's electrical devices. They are used to track and control jabbed people. They are also used as weapons against you if they decide to make it self-destruct in T minus five seconds. The jabbed are automatically being downloaded into. The patent number that has been downloaded into their brains is 060606. The jabbed are now (encrypted voice done by Chrissy, Encrypting Genius saying Five GEEGEEGEE) repeater towers. They are the temples made without hands. But SO ARE YOU. The Creator made the unjabbed without hands. More news will come on this topic. Please watch my news broadcasts on the 900 Club, Stumble.cahm, BiteChew.cahm, and Facefail.cahm. Thank you for listening."

"Yes. Thank you for sharing, Penn. Finally, some useful stuff this morning," Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets.

Blinky blinked. Count Vanilla growled Penn's message in his own words and spoke Penn's references verbatim in bear growl language to the bears.

"You have the choice on which side you take. I, personally, like to watch sports for hours, sing the American National Anthem, drive Captain America's speedboat, fly in my Batbearmobile, read books about everything including religious texts... from all sides. I personally like to debunk the arguments of all pastors on TV.... except Penn. Penn is solid. He is speaking correctly on the Federal Emergency Medical Assimilations news and what they are doing to us PATRIOTS!" Banana Ice grabbed the desk tightly with his paws and leaned forward for a moment before he sat back down and began to speak calmly. "Also, Austria Australia have cracked down on the unjabbed and stripping their rights away as they speak."

Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas translated Banana Ice's message in French. She added more, and Bruce and Banana Ice worked together to translate her message.

"In France, they are looking for the unjabbed and are trying to silence them with blowdarts," Bruce Ice said.

"League of Legends is a true story. Teemo, Trastana, and Lala are among us. They are shooting the (encrypted voice done by Chrissy, Encrypting Genius saying PLAGUE MEDICINE) and I mean that in the most sarcastic way. They are inhuman. They are (encrypted voice done by Chrissy, Encrypting Genius saying Communal Toilets)," Banana Ice said.

"No one wants to hear the Truth," Penn said. "People are talking about the CDPCP Captain Planet American shielding that separates the jabbed from the unjabbed. They're real. They're coming and coming fast! This is not a joke. This is real. I repeat. This is real. Banana Ice said correctly that Austria Australia has started to crack down on us unjabbed. They have come door-to-door asking for papers just like the Germans did to the (encrypted voice by Chrissy, Encrypting Genius saying JuJubes) back in the 1940s on Earth and God Knows Where Else. Then if you don't have papers, they take you away to some throwaway galaxy where no one can find you."

"IT'S UNAMERICAN! IT'S UNCONSTITUTIONAL! PATRIOTS MUST RESIST!" Blinky, Count Vanilla, Banana Ice, and Bruce Ice shouted.

Bears shouted in the background.

Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas spoke wildly in French. She spoke in English. "I'm just a messenger! I did not write these news!"

Penn spoke, "Read John 3:16. Read Psalm 91! That's what will save you! Stay strong. Do not get jabbed. Humble yourself. You know better than to take the (encrypted voice done by Chrissy, Encrypting Genius saying PLAGUE MEDICINE)! Amen!"

The screen switched to Chrissy and her glorious titles. A screen was scrolling with her titles. "Thank you, Penn, Banana and Bruce Ice, Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas, whoa! That name should be a title! Count Vanilla, Blinky, and last but not least, Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets for your news today. More will come after this short break."

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

A video of Chrissy, her glorious titles, and her 46 wolf pups playing played for five minutes as an intermission. It was still entirely too fucking hot for her to wear the wig.

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

The camera then showed Chrissy, submissively and dutifully our reporter standing in front of a photo of Mars still without her wig.

"Hello Everybody, as I am forced to say on every broadcast in case you aren't informed, I'm Chrissy, babybaby, baby baby hit me baby one more time, not Aguilera. Ugh. My glorious title changes every minute, I swear. My Dom is a cruel jokester. But," Chrissy.... spoke before she started. "Let us get on with our next broadcast. Jaybird, a floating head on Mars-"

Banana Ice was beginning to crack up. Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas elbowed him hard with her right elbow.

"Ahem, yes," Chrissy, babybaby space reporter on live television said before she was trying not to laugh. "Jayhead from Mars would like to tell us about a new and upcoming screenplay author who is a lot like me, not he or it but maybe something in between. Jayhead! Excuse me Jaybird, how are you doing?"

Jaybird's bald floating face with thin brown eyebrows, hazel eyes, a distinct nose, and small lips was staring at us in front of a giant intergalactic "solar system" green screen. "I'm great. Thank you, Chrissy-," Jaybird said with a Cleveland, Ohio accent.

At this point, Bruce Ice busted up laughing. Banana Ice had completely lost it and started to hyperventilate while laughing. He was falling out of his chair. Count Vanilla stared at the camera and looked disturbed. Blinky looked confused and wanted to know what happened to the rest of Jaybird's body. Penn was smiling and suppressing laughter.

"Excuse me. What's so funny? I haven't even told the story yet," Jaybird asked.

Chrissy, baby master of laughter suppression said with a grin, "Excuse me, Banana and Bruce Ice! Do you MIND? Some of us..." she said as she involuntarily giggled. "Would like to hear the news today. Could you please be quiet?"

Banana Ice was rolling on the floor while his chest heaved as he laughed. He was wearing black dress pants and those godawful ridiculous banana rocket shoes. It's dangerous to only spend a minute shopping for new shoes. The shoes were firing off and making him scoot across the floor. Bruce Ice was falling out of his chair laughing. Penn was throwing his head back and laughing. Blinky and Count Vanilla were laughing hysterically as they watched Banana Ice jet across the floor as he laughed. Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets was laughing sheerly out of disbelief.

Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas was trying to talk over the laughter. "This is why you don't wear rocket shoes in a news broadcast. What a mockery of news journalism. Or was that his point?" Even she was trying not to laugh.

"I have no idea," Chrissy, baby giggles said as she was giggling. "I think that clip's going viral."

Jaybird's floating head was hysterically laughing. "Wow! That's the embodiment of space right there! Sci-Fi, eat your heart out. And here I thought robots writing movie scripts was hilarious. Shoot, the best form of entertainment is buying your children rocket shoes and making them laugh hysterically to see what happens."

Chrissy, baby mama giggles stickles crackalacka cracked up. "Yes. Wolf pups with rocket shoes flying around would be something," she said with more laughter. "Whoever he bought those shoes from is going to have a massive increase in sales."

Banana Ice was trying to calm down and turn his shoes off. "Sorry! I just don't understand what's going on right now."

"Does anybody?" Chrissy, babybaby with more questions than answers asked.

"I doubt it, but this upcoming AI script-" Jaybird was trying to say before he was rudely interrupted by Banana Ice's continued laughter and scooting across the floor with rocket shoes.

Seriously, why the fuck did he buy those?

"I need to mute that screen. I can't report like this," Chrissy baby drama queen said as she walked off the set for a second. "Zachary Girrafinakis, mute screen 1 please!"

Zachary Giraffinakis, my newly hired slave who happened to be good at working cameras, looked exactly like the American actor Zach Gallifinakis. But he was behind the scenes and was born and raised on the Green Planet. We really do live in an alternate reality. I allowed Chrissy, babywolfgirl bitch mama news reporter with 46 hungry pups to borrow him for this breaking news report. Zachary Giraffinakis kindly muted the screen.

But Banana Ice was mute laughing and trying to shut off his shoes with not much success. Bruce Ice was beating the desk and heaving with mute laughter. Blinky was crying as he blink-laughed. Count Vanilla was mute growling and mute laughing. Penn was wiping his eyes while mute laughing.

Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas was mute speaking. The closed caption said, "You have to excuse my son. His brain is malfunctioning. I don't know why it happened. He got that faulty brain mechanic from his papa."

Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets was mute laughing and wiping his eyes with his tie.

"Thank you, Zachary Giraffinakis, now we can continue this news broadcast. I'm telling you. Today's broadcast alone has been one big news blooper. It goes to show that the events of the multiverse truly have begun to mock the multiverse itself. Perplexing," Chrissy, amused babygirl newscaster spoke.

"Yes. Truly. And the AI movie script writer actually touches on that," Jaybird said with a chuckle. "Excuse me. I'm still trying to get over a ridiculous-looking bear scooting... hahaha across the floor with rocket shoes. I mean, who wears rocket shoes to a press conference? That's a great screenplay idea for the AI script writer! Haha! I have no idea if he wrote one like that yet."

"No idea," Chrissy, babygirl Wolf Mama still in disbelief said. "I don't think I'm ever going to get over this traumatic experience." She was giggling.

"Me neither. Someone has GOT to make a Sci-Fi movie with malfunctioning rocket shoes during a news broadcast. If you're watching this Bouregard, you need to calibrate the transcripts from this broadcast and MAKE THAT INTO A MOVIE!" Jaybird said with laughter.

"How would he do that?" Chrissy, perplexed babywolfmama asked.

"Well, it all started with Ross Godwing, who collaborated with Oscar the Grouch to come up with this Artifical Intelligence Unit, sort of like Spock from Star Trek, that could write scripts using an algorithm that pools lines from all Sci-Fi scripts that have ever even been thought of. One day, they sat near a computer, the AI unit was computing a script by putting its head through the computer screen. After about five minutes, the AI unit took its head out of the screen and spat out a script for an hour and a half long Sci-Fi movie. The movie was called Moonfall," Jaybird answered.

The screen then showed a poster with a space background with a large white moon in the center and rainbow-colored 1960s style font saying "Moonfall." Two brown bears were on either side of a small female red bear. They all wore white space helmets and gray spacesuits.

"Moonfall is about a... very strange space station that has three bears in it who are trying to survive. They are in a disjointed love triangle. The first male bear is named B, and he has green eyes that are crossed the whole time. He is the leader of the group. The female bear is named X, and she has gray dead eyes. She spends all of her title in front of a computer that talks to her in gibberish. The other male bear is slightly smaller and is named Ib, and his eyes are all black. He speaks mostly in gibberish. His favorite line is 'I want to stick my head in a telephone socket.'," Jaybird continued.

Chrissy, curious babywolfmama, nodded and spoke, "That sounds advanced for an AI unit. And that is very eye-opening to see the result of years of Sci-Fi script writing. And a lot of the best stuff comes from 60 years ago. I'll be daaaamned."

"Yes. When the Sesame street crew got together and read the script, they pissed themselves laughing," Jaybird said.

"I can imagine. Would you like to play some clips from the movie?" Chrissy, curious babywolfmamallama asked.

"Why sure!" Jaybird said before he spat out some film.

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

Moonfall (2021), Act 2 - Holy TIHS, bro!!!!

Some Sci-Fi rap music was playing in the background, and the main computer was spitting out lyrics.

"I don't give a fuck. I'm rich, bitch.

Three pods and a ship. I'm rich bitch.

Hit the bar and blow it up. I'm slick, bitch.

I don't give a fuck."

Then the song "Intergalactic Fanatic Scholastic" by Peter Whitey Parker and the Floating Clowns started to play. (It sounds like "Intergalactic" by Beastie Boys.)

While the computer spit out these lyrics,

"Intergalactic, planetary, planetary, intergalactic

Intergalactic, planetary, planetary, intergalactic

Intergalactic, planetary, planetary, intergalactic

Intergalactic, planetary, planetary, intergalactic

A new born dimension, a new born dimension

A new born dimension, a new born dimension

A new born dimension, a new born dimension

A new born dimension, a new born dimension

A new born dimension, a new born dimension

A new born dimension"

"COMMA!" B shouted in a high-pitched nasally voice.

B and Ib started to dance wildly while shaking their fat bear asses on camera. B kept sticking his tongue in and out and poking himself in the stomach. There was text above B's head that said, "Yes. These are stage directions. I told this mother f%$#^@ to do it."

Ib started shaking wildly and yelled in a deep baritone voice similar to yoitssteve on Twitch.TV, "Radio Mania! Radio Mania!"

Then the computer imitated Peter Whitey Parker's voice verbatim. It sang while it showed Peter's face on the screen.

"Don't you tell me now to well smile

I'll make you stick it around worth your while

Beyond my numbers what you can dial

It's because maybe we're so versatile

Style, profile, I say

It back brings always me when I hear, "ooh, child!"

From Savannah River out to the Nile

I grind the marathon to the very last mile

Well, if you fondle me I feel reviled

People always sayin' my body is wild

Got you gall, got you guile

Walk with me I'm a grape-o-phile."

Clowns, Ib, B, X, and Peter danced.

Then the signal got interrupted.

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

"Whoa! What the hell?!" Jaybird shouted.

"The transmission's been interrupted. What in the world is going on?!" Babywolfgirl Chrissy asked dramatically.

Banana Ice was mute-screaming. Count Vanilla was straightening his fur rapidly. Blinky was squirting eyedrops in his eyes. Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas was quickly redoing her make-up. Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets was gulping and staring at the camera as though he had seen a ghost. Penn was reading the King James Version of the Bible.

And Bruce Ice was mute-speaking and smiling. His closed caption said, "Thank Whoever interrupted that transmission. That was the worst movie I ever had the displeasure of seeing in my life."

Master then appeared on a screen by himself. He was dressed to the nines in fox furs and wolf tails. His aquamarine eyes, strong nose, full lips, and strong chin showed through his layers. Then he spoke in his deep voice, "Excuse the interruption, Chrissy, sub of many glorious titles. If I didn't know better, I would ask if you were a switch instead. But my point is, I need to announce that the Florida News Agency is no longer trendy."

"You are absolutely correct, Master. Thank you for the interruption," Chrissy, sub of many glorious titles said. "I'm as submissive as it gets, Master. I guarantee you that."

"I am well aware. Also, a fur gathering is occurring tomorrow at midnight. Be there, or be the Florida News Agency!" Master said with a chuckle.

Bruce Ice nodded, mute-laughed, and mute-spoke. His closed caption was, "Will do. I have thousands of dollars worth of furs to present at the event."

"Zachary Giraffinakis, please unmute that screen," Chrissy, sub of many glorious titles said.

"Yes ma'am," he said as he unmuted the screen.

"Only thousands, Bruce Ice? Really? I have like a whole case worth of furs. I have spent tens of thousands on furs. You don't know brown bear privilege," Banana Ice said.

"He is correct. Banana Ice... I can't with this *ridiculous* name, my dear son, is the most entitled, spoiled, and submissive subby cubby in every galaxy. I'm his mother. I can vogue for that, but as I'm saying this, I don't know whether to be proud or ashamed," Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas spoke as she visibly shrugged.

Blinky, Count Vanilla, and Banana Ice shrugged. Bruce Ice scratched his head and looked at her with a puzzled look.

"Definitely proud. His title should be Prince Banana Ice," Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets stated.

"Ashamed. The Lord doesn't award those who were spoiled here in this life. He values hard workers," Penn said.

"Actually. He's both," Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas said flatly to Penn.

"Can you explain that to us, please?" Penn asked. "I'm very confused right now."

"Oui. While my husband and I are extremely wealthy, we definitely trained my son to be inquisitive and read as much as possible. We also instilled the value of having a lot of physical activity through rigorous training. He also was taught to be specialized in his craft," Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas said.

Prince Banana Ice smiled at the camera.

"Someone put a crown on his head, please," Chrissy, sub of many glorious titles said.

"As a matter of fact, find a crown for Queen Gloria as well," Master spoke. "After all, a prince is not a prince without a queen."

"That is absolutely correct, Master," Chrissy, sub of many glorious titles said.

"Hold the phone. If Prince Banana Ice and Queen Gloria exist, then technically Abigail Ice should be Princess Abigail Ice, Megara Ice should be Queen Megara Ice, and I should be King Bruce Ice," King Bruce Ice said.

"THAT IS A BRILLIANT OBSERVATION," Master and Chrissy spoke at the same time.

"Everyone. Our news anchors are now all royalty. We have Squire Blinky, Count Vanilla, Prince Banana Ice, Queen Gloria, King Bruce Ice, Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets, and Pastor Penn," Chrissy, sub of many glorious titles said.

Squire Blinky smiled and blinked with excitement. Count Vanilla smiled. Prince Banana Ice smiled and blushed. Queen Gloria dramatically fanned herself with a shy smile. King Bruce Ice growled.

"Thank you, Chrissy, submissive queen of nomenclature," Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets said.

"Thank you. I appreciate your recognition of my being a pastor. I welcome the title, but I do not require to be called 'Pastor Penn.' I am forever humbled by the true royalty, my Lord Jesus Christ," Pastor Penn said.

"We have spoken! Can someone please get crowns, medals, and sashes for our anchors please?" Chrissy, sub with many glorious titles asked.

The backstage crew quickly rushed through the props.

"Thank you. And on that note, we will take a 15-minute commercial break," Chrissy, sub with many glorious titles spoke.

"Thank you. I need that in hopes of completing my broadcast," Jaybird said as his head took up the whole screen.

And Prince Banana Ice started laughing uncontrollably again over some elevator music that was playing to ease into the commercial break.

[gavinrutherforda]

Those factors, combined with the Great Depression, proved to be more than Falk could endure.

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[handeaux]

17 Curious Facts About The 1920 Election In Cincinnati

The election of 2 November 1920 was remarkable in many ways. It was, of course, the first national election in which women were able to vote equally with men. It saw the victory of Warren G. Harding, the final Ohioan elected to the White House. And it was the last “newspaper election” before radio started turning the media tide to electronic formats. Here are a few curiosities from the 1920 election as it played out in Cincinnati.

Sexism Was In Its Flower When the Nineteenth Amendment was finally adopted, the Cincinnati Times-Star, resolutely opposed to giving women the vote, predicted few women would actually register.  "If every woman is forced to give her age,’ the Times-Star opined, “there is going to be a great abstention from voting . . . "

Domestic Tranquility According to the Cincinnati Post [2 November 1920], “woman suffrage did not ruin one home Tuesday, or even spoil a meal.” Many newspapers timed women voters and determined that they spent more time in the voting booth than men – apparently making more individual selections and fewer party-line ballots.

Dogs, Babies & Girl Scouts The Cincinnati Enquirer [3 November 1920] reported: “Some women took their dogs along and mothers carried their babies to the polls and handed them over to an obliging policeman or a willing Girl Scout, while they disappeared into the booths to mark their ballots.”

No Need For Milk Officials in Precinct C of Ward 3 decided that some women coming to vote might bring babies and those babies might fuss and disturb the other voters. For just such emergencies, the polling staff kept a bottle of milk available. When no babies showed up at the Precinct 3 poll at 3558 Montgomery Road, clerk C.L. Hopkins drank the milk.

A Tradition Of Informing Voters The Cincinnati branch of the League of Women Voters evolved out of the Women's Suffrage Committee of Greater Cincinnati which decided on 21 September 1920 to establish one of the oldest branches of the National League of Women Voters. For the past century, Cincinnati voters have been educated by this dedicated organization.

Some Women Were Not Suffragists One of the leaders of the anti-Suffrage movement, Beatrice Shillito of the Cincinnati department store family, sent a letter to candidate Warren Harding outlining three of the reasons why she and other women were opposed to women's suffrage. First, it would double the cost of elections and increase the tax burden. Second, states' rights were being violated and, finally, the voters of Ohio had already rejected votes for women on four previous occasions.

Voters Needed Nine Ballots To Vote In 1920, voters were handed nine separate ballots as they entered the polling station, then deposited marked ballots in nine corresponding ballot boxes. The nine ballots were 1) Ballot for presidential electors for four parties: Democrat, Republican, Socialist or Single Tax; 2) statewide ballot for those four parties, plus the Farmer-Labor party and the Independent ticket; 3) a non-partisan judicial ballot, 4) the statewide Crabbe Prohibition referendum; 5) citywide initiative to expand streetcars to California, Ohio; 6) initiative to increase Cincinnati police pay; 7) a county road levy; 8) Cincinnati operating tax  increase; and 9) city schools levy.

No Elephants Or Donkeys Although political cartoonists employed elephants to signify Republicans and donkeys to depict Democrats, those were not the official party emblems. Republican ballots showed an eagle at the top, while Democratic ballots were emblazoned with a rooster. The Socialists employed a hand holding a torch. Prohibitionists used a rose.

Chaplin Movie At Music Hall To avoid the often unruly crowds that gathered outside newspaper offices waiting for updates, the Cincinnati Post rented Music Hall to announce election returns. Between bulletins from the Board of Elections, the Post showed films starring Constance Talmadge and Charlie Chaplin, with music by “Smittie’s famous band” and a program of stereopticon slides.

Scissoring Off Democrats A woman voter brought a pair of scissors to the polls at Colerain Avenue and Rachel Street, home of Precinct E in the 22nd Ward. As she left the booth, she pulled out the snips and started cutting away half the ballot. Confronted by the polling executives, she explained she had no use for the Democratic candidates and only wanted to vote for Republicans. They gave her a fresh ballot and some instructions.

Politically Correct Office Attire An unnamed stenographer told the Cincinnati Post she was glad the election was over. One of her employers was a Democrat, the other Republican. Throughout the campaign, she had to remember to wear a Cox button while in the Democrat’s office and a Harding button in the Republican’s office.

Former Slave Denied Vote William M. Kocsiss, aged 77, was denied a ballot because he had not registered properly. Kocsiss, a shoemaker during the week and a minister on Sundays, appeared at the Board of Elections in his Civil War uniform. He was a slave who joined the Union army on emancipation and first voted in 1864, supporting Abraham Lincoln’s second term.

Election Wagers Provided Entertainment The day after the election, Cincinnati commuters were entertained by men who had lost bets on the outcome. One man stood at the corner of Sixth and Walnut and crowed like a rooster for three minutes. Another man rode around downtown in a wheelbarrow while the loser pushed it. A portly gent shoved a peanut around Fountain Square with his nose.

Cincinnati Had Our Own Presidential Candidate Although he polled negligible numbers in 1920, Cincinnati was home to its very own presidential candidate. The Rev. Aaron S. Watkins, 4338 Eastern Avenue, pastor of the Linwood Methodist Episcopal Church, ran for president in 1920 on the Prohibition Party ticket and attracted but a smattering of votes.

Really ‘High’ Tech Election Results The Cincinnati Enquirer worked out a deal with the Union Central Life Insurance Company, owner of the then-tallest building in town, to flash coded election results from the top of the Union Central building. An H for Harding or a C for Cox indicated who had the lead at that time. The governor’s race was communicated by colored lanterns – green for the Democratic candidate, red for the Republican contender.

Results On The Rails The Big Four Railroad adopted a system – developed in Cincinnati – to share election results among passengers on all of its trains. Bulletins distributed by the general superintendent’s office arrived in all division offices and were parceled out to each train. Conductors read the updates in each car.

Questions About Absentee Ballots The day after the election, the Enquirer wondered: “It will be interesting to learn just how long after the election those ballots mailed by absent voters reached their destinations.”

#cincinnati elections

[sawtooth-society]

Local Groups Oppose Sawtooth Valley Cell Phone Tower

BOISE – The Idaho Conservation League and others have filed ​requests for a contested case hearing​ with Gov. Brad Little and other members of the Idaho Land Board based on concerns with a proposed lease for a 195-foot cell phone tower on state lands in the Sawtooth Valley. The Mayor of Stanley, Sawtooth Society, Sawtooth Historical and Interpretative Association (SIHA), and Advocates for the West have joined with ICL in support of the Idaho Land Board considering this issue at its next meeting on Nov. 17.

In addition, in a ​letter dated September 15​, the Idaho State Historic Preservation Office determined that the proposed tower would result in “adverse effect to historic properties.”

The Idaho Department of Lands is in the final stages of approving a lease with AT&T/New Cingular Wireless to build a new cell phone tower on state lands that are within the boundaries of the Sawtooth National Recreation Area. At three times the height of surrounding trees, ​the proposed tower would protrude above the green landscape​ and impact the spectacular views in this scenic area.

Stanley Mayor Steve Botti said, “The City of Stanley, and all Idahoans, benefit from the protections of the Sawtooth National Recreation Area, and as we face more and more development pressure it's important that we maintain and safeguard the area’s majestic views and dark skies. It's unfortunate that the Land Board and IDL have refused to cooperate with neighbors and stakeholders who would be most impacted by this lease."

ICL and others raised concerns with the proposed 195-foot tower at the Idaho Land Board’s July 21 meeting. In their testimony, ICL, SIHA, the Sawtooth Society and the Mayor of Stanley argued that IDL failed to consider public input and alternatives, such as co-locating a tower on the existing nearby lease with CusterTel, or to find other arrangements to minimize the impacts from AT&T’s proposed tower. Stakeholders also pointed out opposition from the Sawtooth Search and Rescue Committee, which raised similar concerns and stated that co-location of a tower could meet emergency communication needs Following that testimony, and despite repeated outreach to the Land Board, no response was provided and a public records request revealed that the lease was being finalized.

Another major concern is lighting for the proposed tower. The project site sits squarely in the middle of the ​Central Idaho Dark Sky Reserve​, designated by the International Dark Sky Association in 2017. The CIDSR is the first such designation in the U.S., one of only 12 such reserves in the world, and was awarded “Gold Tier” status - the highest ranking for night sky quality.

ICL and its partners seek to ensure the Land Board is fully informed about potential impacts of the proposed lease and alternatives, and to avoid possible litigation that may result if the proposed IDL lease is approved in its current form.

“We filed for a contested hearing because the Sawtooth Valley is a special place, not just for Idahoans, but also for those who travel far and wide to take in the majesty of the Sawtooths,” said ICL’s Jonathan Oppenheimer. “Governor Little spoke recently about the importance of collaboration on land issues, and we encourage members of the Land Board to heed his advice. The broad concerns from stakeholders, the county, the city, and others, at least deserve a response. Good neighbor policies should work on both sides of the fence.”

Congress established the SNRA in 1972 to preserve the area’s natural, scenic, historic, pastoral, and fish and wildlife values, and to provide for the enhancement of its recreational values. Opponents of the project argue that the proposed cell tower would conflict with core SNRA values and urge the State of Idaho to consider alternatives.

Governor Brad Little, Attorney General Lawrence Wasden, Secretary of State Lawerence Denney, State Superintendent of Public Instruction Sherry Ybarra and State Controller Brandon Woolf sit on the Idaho Board of Land Commissioners (aka Land Board).

[creepingsharia]

“Jihadists Martyred Him for Refusing to Renounce Jesus Christ”: Muslim Persecution of Christians, February 2020

by Raymond Ibrahim

The following are some of the abuses Muslims inflicted on Christians throughout the month of February, 2020:

The Slaughter of Christians

Burkina Faso:  On Sunday, February 16, Islamic gunmen raided a church during service and slaughtered 24 worshippers, including their pastor; 18 other congregants were injured during the jihad and several others kidnapped. The terrorists torched the church building before leaving.

In a separate incident on February 10, militant Muslims abducted and slaughtered a church pastor, his son, two nephews, and another Christian clergyman.

According to a separate February 3 report, “Jihadists, claiming to be killing ‘in the name of Allah,’ returned to the scene of a previous atrocity … and murdered at least ten Christian men in a village market place; some estimates have put the death toll as high as 50.”  The attack took place in the same small town “where Boko Haram extremists began their murderous rampage last year on 28 April 2019, shooting the pastor, his son and four members of the congregation.” Then, as in other instances, the Islamic gunmen “threatened to kill anyone who would not convert to Islam.”

“Christians say they are in a fight for survival,” another report declared: “Dozens of Catholic priests have been killed; Protestant pastors and their families have been killed or kidnapped by violent Islamic militants. Villagers wearing Christian symbols are singled out and killed on the spot. Jihadists replace schools with what locals call ‘Arab’ schools; churches, shops and health centers are burned down.”

Democratic Republic of Congo: During several orchestrated raids, militant Muslims slaughtered a 60-year-old pastor “after he refused their demands to convert to Islam.” According to a February 6 report:

Ngulongo Year Batsemire, the Archdeacon of Eringeti, was walking to his fields with his wife when they were surrounded by members of the Allied Democratic Forces (ADF), an Islamist militant group that has been active in the north-east region of DRC for more than two decades and repeatedly targets Christians.  The militants demanded Pastor Ngulongo tell them where they could find other pastors. They then attempted to force him to convert to Islam. When the father-of-ten refused to renounce Jesus Christ, the jihadists martyred him. His wife’s life was spared. She recalls that the militants had uttered a local phrase known to be used when they are looking to kill Christians but spare Muslims.

According to a separate report, around the same day that the pastor was murdered and over the ensuing 48 hours, jihadists slaughtered “at least 74 civilians, many of them women and children, with knives and guns” in ten different villages in the Christian-majority nation in early February.

Kenya:  On February 19,  Muslims linked with the Islamic terror group Al Shabaab (“the youth”), raided another bus in search of Christians and killed at least three people (one report says four); two others were injured.  At least two Christian men, Kevin Onyango and Peter Kilonzo, were executed because they could or would not proclaim the Islamic statement of faith, the shahada, which instantly converts its reciter into a Muslim.  One man of Muslim background was also killed for heroically trying to defend the Christians (and therefore apostatizing in the terrorists’ eyes).  Discussing this incident, a local evangelist said:

We are seeing a return of planned violent attacks against Christians… Hostility against Christians has been escalating in Mandera at an alarming rate and is being carried out by al-Shabaab members. They target public service vehicles, where they separate Christians from Muslims and execute them. If not vehicles, they attack residential places and kill non-local Christian people.  We are, however, proud of the few courageous Muslims who stand up and defend Christians. In this bus attack, one of them was killed for trying to stop the gunmen from shooting the Christians who were not able to say the Islamic prayer.

Two months before this attack, 11 Christians were executed in a similar fashion: jihadists raided their bus and ordered them to recite the shahada.

Mozambique:  In the Christian majority nation (where Muslims amount for less than 20 percent of the population), “Continuing Islamist attacks,” a February 14 report documented, “have already claimed 500 lives and left thousands displaced,” since October 2017, and “shows no signs of coming to an end.”  Between just January 29 and 30 there were six separate attacks “causing a general exodus of the population and leaving behind a broad swath of destruction in villages.”  Local Bishop Luiz Fernando Lisboa decried the attacks as “a tragedy” and acknowledged his own vulnerability, adding:

I am not afraid. I’m simply trying to fulfil my own role, which is to support the missionaries who are there, in the direct line of fire. They are extremely brave. They are the oasis that the people need, [trusted figures] to whom they can cry out and ask for help. They have not abandoned their posts and so I have no right to be afraid.

Pakistan: Saleem Masih, a 22-year-old Christian farmhand, was tortured and killed for using his Muslim employer’s water well.  Once he saw what Masih was doing, the employer accused him of being a “filthy Christian” who “had polluted the water.”  A number of equally scandalized Muslims gathered; “vow[ing] to teach him a lesson,” they “dragged him to their cattle farm, where they tied his hands, chained his feet and continued to torture him with sticks and iron rods.”  Before he died from his wounds on February 28, Masih told his family that he had been “tortured just for being a Christian.” The employer later insisted that he had committed no crime; it was the murdered Christian who had “committed a crime by dirtying” their water, his murderer insisted, and therefore his punishment—torture and death—was “justified.”  Masih’s father also confirmed that his son was murdered “for nothing but for being Christian.”  Violent and murderous outbursts by Muslims whenever “filthy Christians” drink or use “their” water is not uncommon.  In 2004, Javed Anjum, another young Christian, was trapped and tortured for five full days, before being killed for having the temerity to drink water from a madrassa.  Even the most notorious case of Christian persecution in Pakistan, that of Asia Bibi—who was beat, falsely accused of blasphemy, and accordingly imprisoned for nearly a decade—began after she, then a farm laborer, also drank from a well, prompting outrage from her Muslim coworkers. 

The Massacre of Nigeria’s Christians

Many more Christians were killed and churches torched at the hands of militant Muslims (Fulani herdsmen, Boko Haram, generic terrorists).

On February 21, well over a hundred heavily armed Boko Haram jihadists raided Garkida in Gombi of Adamawa State, a predominantly Christian village.  According to one report, they “opened fire sporadically and indiscriminately and set churches and houses on fire, killing many people…  At least five churches were destroyed, including two houses of worship belonging to the Church of the Brethren denomination, an Anglican Communion church, and a church and a separate office of Living Faith Church.”  Possible abductions were reported. The raiders had suddenly emerged out of a neighboring forest after Friday prayers riding atop 60 motorbikes; each vehicle carried two terrorists armed with AK47s and RPGs, followed by about 20 mounted gun trucks. “Garkida is currently on fire,” one local reported; “many people have been killed and their houses covered with smoke.”

According to a February 18 report, the Fulani Muslim herdsmen that slaughtered 32 Christians during late January raids on three Christian villages (already reported here), also torched four Christian churches:

These churches include the Kauna Baptist Church and Church of Christ in Nations (COCIN) in Rubio village, and the COCIN Church and Anglican Church in Marish. Although other structures were also destroyed, the destruction of these churches demonstrates a particular hatred toward Christianity. Despite this, the Nigerian government insists that there is no religious motivation in Fulani militant attacks throughout Nigeria’s Middle Belt region.

On February 1, Michael Nnadi, an 18-year-old theology student at the Good Shepherd Seminary in Kaduna, was found killed.  Along with three other seminarians who had since gained their freedom, he was earlier abducted by unknown but suspected militant Muslims.  “Michael was a young and gifted seminarian,” said one of the teachers at the seminary. “He was an orphan who had been brought up by his grandmother. Just a few weeks ago, after a year of spiritual preparation, he had been clothed in the soutane. It seems that his only crime was his desire to serve God. The security forces and the government have failed him.”

During a homily at Michael’s funeral, Matthew Hassan Kukah, Bishop of Sokoto Diocese, said: “We have no evidence of what transpired between Michael and his killers. However, for us Christians, this death is a metaphor for the fate of all Christians in Nigeria but especially northern Nigeria,” where Muslims make the majority, and where “destroying Christianity is seen as one of their key missions,” he said of Boko Haram and its many sympathizers in the north. “Are we to deny the evidence before us, of kidnappers separating Muslims from infidels or compelling Christians to convert or die?” The bishop continued:

The persecution of Christians in northern Nigeria is as old as the modern Nigerian state. Their experiences and fears of northern, Islamic domination are documented in the Willinks Commission Report way back in 1956. It was also the reason why they formed a political platform called, the Non-Muslim League. All of us must confess in all honesty that in the years that have passed, the northern Muslim elite has not developed a moral basis for adequate power sharing with their Christian co-regionalists. We deny at our own expense. By denying Christians lands for places of worship across most of the northern states, ignoring the systematic destruction of churches all these years, denying Christians adequate recruitment, representation and promotions in the State civil services, denying their indigenous children scholarships, marrying Christian women or converting Christians while threatening Muslim women and prospective converts with death, they make building a harmonious community impossible….  Are we to deny the evidence before us, of kidnappers separating Muslims from infidels or compelling Christians to convert or die?

For his part, Femi Fani-Kayode, Nigeria’s former Minister of Culture and Tourism, accused the “evil Barack Obama” and his administration for being behind the persecution of Christians and general chaos plaguing Nigeria.  On February 12, the former government official asserted that,

What Obama, John Kerry and Hilary Clinton did to Nigeria by funding and supporting [current president Muhammadu] Buhari in the 2015 presidential election and helping Boko Haram in 2014/2015 was sheer wickedness and the blood of all those killed by the Buhari administration, his Fulani herdsmen and Boko Haram over the last 5 years are on their hands….  I just thank God for Donald Trump. Had he been President of America in 2015 things would have been very different, Jonathan [Goodluck, Nigeria’s original Christian president] would have won, Boko Haram would have been history and the Fulani herdsmen would never have seen the light of day.

Hate Crimes against Christians and Churches

Pakistan: On  February 2, local Muslims, led by Muhammad Akram and Muhammad Liaqat, opened fire on a group of Christians because they were building a small church on their own land in the village, which has nearly 150 Christians in need of a church.  The armed Muslims first came and tried forcefully to seize the Christian owned land, including by demolishing the church’s boundary wall.  According to the report,

When Gulzar Masih [the Christian owner] heard of this he and his sons rushed to the plot to stop the wall from being demolished, the Muslim attackers opened fire and three people (Christians) were severely injured. Azeem, son of Gulzar, was shot in the head, Sajjad was shot in his arm and Razaq was attacked with an axe….The other suspects fired their guns into the air and escaped the scene.

Egypt: On February 3, a Christian priest traveling to his church in Alexandria was ambushed and “nearly murdered” by a Muslim parolee. According to the report, the man “blocked the priest’s car and began attacking him with stones. Fortunately, only the car was damaged. The parolee, nicknamed Kareem Madi, has a history of attacking Christians—especially women and girls.”  Two weeks earlier, two other Christians—a woman who had her throat slit and a man who had his ear sliced off—were also randomly targeted in two separate incidents by Muslim men with known hatred for Christians.  The report adds that “These incidents are a reminder that while Egypt may be experiencing less Christian fatalities than previous years, the mindset which encourages the targeting of Christians still exist. It is a mindset that is encouraged by the government[,] by its policies which view Christians as second-class citizens and Islam as the official religion of the country.” 

Turkey:  After locals interrupted the burial of a Christian woman—including by shouting Islam’s war cry, “Allahu Akbar!”—at the cemetery of the Santa Maria Catholic Church in Tabzon on January 18, her grave was later found desecrated, its wooden cross broken and burned, when her husband came to visit it on February 14.  The priest of the church which the deceased woman was a member of, Father Andrea Santoro, was himself martyred in 2006 when a 16-year-old, also shouting “Allahu Akbar,” shot the priest in the back of the head while he was kneeling in prayer inside the church.

“Christians are losing everything they own without an actual legal basis,” said Fr. Slavomir Dadas in a February 6 report on the deteriorating situation for Christians in Turkey. “They are losing everything Christians have worked for over the course of history.”  Although the priest’s discussion was focused on the hilly region of Tur Abdin—an ancient religious and cultural center for Christians where harassment and persecution has become the norm—his discourse had relevance for the entire nation:

The Christians do not feel welcome in their own homeland and have to endure frequent harassment….  The biggest problem, particularly in Tur Abdin, is that people can no longer envision a future for themselves in the region. It is said that there were almost 50,000 Christians living there about 50 years ago. When I recently visited the area, they were talking about only 2,500 Christians…. [T]hey seem to be regarded as a problem because the area itself is considered a Christian region. This is not acceptable in a Muslim country… The villages were once inhabited by 200 to 300 families, most of them Christians. Today, two or three Christian families live in a village… They are guardians of the cultural heritage and the faith there.

Pakistan: In order to justify marriage to a 14-year-old Christian girl who was previously abducted, forced to convert to Islam, and wed to a Muslim man, on February 3, during a hearing on the case of Huma Younus, the Sindh high court in Karachi ruled that men may marry underage girls once they have their period, in direct compliance with sharia, or Islamic law.  “Our daughters are insecure and abused in this country,” Huma’s mother remarked earlier. “They are not safe anywhere. We leave them at schools or home but they are kidnapped, raped, humiliated, and forced to convert to Islam.” Marriage to underage girls is illegal due to the Sindh Child Marriage Restraint Act, which the high court ignored to side with Muslims against Christians.  Discussing this incident, Napoleon Qayyum, executive director of the Pakistan Center of Law of Justice, said “Another Christian girl aged 14 was recently abducted and gang-raped by some Muslim youths…  The victim is a student of grade nine and was abducted by four or five boys on her way to a local tuition center on Jan. 16, 2020. The abductors not only raped her but also obtained her signatures and thumb impressions on some papers.”  Although police recovered her, the rights activist “fears the suspects will use her signed documents to produce a fake marriage certificate and religion conversion letter in a bid to escape abduction and rape charges,” which, he said, “is common modus operandi of Muslims to confuse the court and avoid justice.  Moreover, the girls are also forced to give false statements in court that they have changed their religion of free will and had married of their own choice,” Qayyum added. “Girls belonging to minority communities often succumb to pressure and consideration for their family’s security, which has further emboldened the men belonging to the majority faith.”

Uganda: “On Feb. 20, I received some threatening messages that my church is going to be destroyed because of converting Muslims to Christians,” a pastor reported. “Some of my members have stopped attending the church for fear of their lives in a possible attack by the Muslims. Sending away the helpless family is not a good idea, but losing church members is also not good. We as a church are in a dilemma.”  Earlier, the wife/mother of the family had converted to Christianity and began to share the Gospel with a few of her children, who in turn shared it with their older siblings.  Within a year, all nine children, aged between 5 and 20, also turned to Christianity.  But then, “When I shared Christ’s love to my husband,” the woman explained, “he was so furious at me and responded by slapping and kicking, which injured my rib on the left side. I was taken for medication. But I continued praying and sharing Jesus with him. After two months Jesus appeared to my husband in a vision, which led to his conversion to the Christian faith. He then stopped attending the prayers at mosque.”  However, when one of their youngest children innocently told her paternal grandfather that the family had been attending church, her father’s “angry father summoned him to a meeting where mosque elders and clan leaders would determine his punishment for leaving Islam. Under sharia (Islamic law), apostasy is often punishable by death,” the report adds.  Instead, the family fled to and “sought refuge at the church,” his wife explained, “where we have been residing since December 2019.”

Jihad on St. Valentine

As happens every year, several Muslim nations made it a point to issue proclamations and threats of punishment for anyone who celebrates Valentine’s Day, which Islamic leaders widely condemn as a Western holiday with Christian roots.  This was the case, for example, in various regions of Indonesia, the world’s most populous Muslim nation:  In Aceh, “Those who are [caught] celebrating Valentine’s Day violate Islamic Sharia law applied in Aceh, and they can be caned,” warned the regent of West Aceh.  Similarly, the “Indonesian Ulema [Islamic Scholars] Council in West Java and the mayor of Bandung sought to ban Valentine’s Day celebrations in all secondary and senior high schools,” while their counterparts in Tarakan, declared Valentine’s Day “illegal.”

Similarly, in Iran, “On February 11 this year the Center for Reduction and Control of Social Harms of the Prosecutor’s Office in Qom warned businesses that promote ‘anti-cultural symbols such as Valentine’s symbols’ threatening to shut them down from one to six months if they do not comply. The statement issued by Prosecutor’s Office has also provided a number for the public to call to report ‘transgressions.’”

Raymond Ibrahim, author of the recent book, Sword and Scimitar, Fourteen Centuries of War between Islam and the West, is a Distinguished Senior Fellow at the Gatestone Institute, a Shillman Fellow at the David Horowitz Freedom Center, and a Judith Rosen Friedman Fellow at the Middle East Forum.

About this Series

The persecution of Christians in the Islamic world has become endemic.  Accordingly, “Muslim Persecution of Christians” was developed in 2011 to collate some—by no means all—of the instances of persecution that occur or are reported each month. It serves two purposes:

1)          To document that which the mainstream media does not: the habitual, if not chronic, persecution of Christians.

2)          To show that such persecution is not “random,” but systematic and interrelated—that it is rooted in a worldview inspired by Islamic Sharia.

#Persecution #Islam #Muslim #Sharia #Jihad #Legal #Immigration #Politics #Religion #Media #News