Obedience - Tumblr Posts
Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 3
It’s been a long day, very exhausting as I drove to my sister’s college to move her out of her dorm and then drove back and unloaded. We had a little help, but it was still a full day where I didn’t get home till very late. So sorry for my post coming so late. Anyways, here’s part 3, and I hope you all enjoy it. Oh, and in this part, we get to welcome back an old friend. I know you all have missed him. *Insert wink followed by evil grin here*
“Come on, wake up, damn you!”
Suspended. Floating. Was he still dreaming? What … what was that? He just blacked out and then … then …
“Hunter, you son of a bitch, I swear if you don’t respond soon, I’ll put you through hell when you get back; I swear to god.”
Control … that was Control. He … he was back. How long was he out? The stuff in the pipes. Must have been some form of sedative. But … he was still safe. Still on the other side. Alive. No one had come for him. At least not yet. He might still be able to manage this mission after all. “Control?” Hunter asked as he slowly shook his head to clear it. The dream was all a blur. Doesn’t matter anyways. Not important.
A sigh of relief. “Thank god, Hunter. Your brain activity dropped for a while there.”
“How long was I out?” Hunter adjusted his package absently as he took in his surroundings. He really needed to talk with ops about getting some tailored dive suits. This one could barely hold his massive meat. He allowed himself a mischievous smirk as he remembered a few of his more enjoyable conquests. Mmm, that brunette was a fine woman. He shook his head again. Stop that. Focus on the mission. Take in surroundings. Clear water, check. Underground lighting, check. Clear pipe, check. Upward slope, check. Big steel door behind him, check.
“About five minutes. Hunter, you damned idiot, do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”
“For guessing the proper combination and saving myself? If I hadn’t guessed that code, do you seriously think I would’ve been able to swim out of here in time before I went under, Control? Come on. The whole pipe was probably flooded with the stuff, whatever it was.”
“Hunter, your orders are clear. Abandon the mission. The enemy knows you’re coming. We can try again another time.”
Hunter rolled his eyes, then smirked. “Never going to let you live this one down, Control. For once it’s not my fault.”
“Just get out of there, lover boy. And do try to keep it in your pants. I can see your vitals. Your heart rate’s up and your dopamine levels are starting to increase.”
“You know you’re just jealous,” Hunter jabbed back as he swam towards the vault door of a hatch. A red light flashed from the screen. “Any chances of an override, Control?”
“Just slide the ID across the door, meathead.”
Hunter shuddered. His bulge grew more insistent. He needed to let off some steam when he was done with this mission. Maybe a nice vacation somewhere in the Bahamas. Yeah, that’d be good. Take on a few ladies, then work on bulking up for his next mission. If he only barely beat Thirteen, then he’d need to be better prepared for any others like that hulk. He took out the card, and swiped it over the reader.
“Access denied,” the computer chirped
He tried again.
“Access denied.”
“Control, a little help here?”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Hunter growled in Meathead’s voice. “I did just what you told me to. Now get me out of here. And shut off this damn synthesizer!” he barked angrily.
“Alright, alright. Sheesh. Don’t get your wetsuit in a knot.” The sound of rapidly typing keys played across the comms unit for a good minute or so.
“By the way, Control, how did you get my comms back on? You don’t have some sort of emergency override switch on your end, do you?”
“You’re talking to one of the best hackers in the business, Hunter, remember? Now stow it. I have work to do.”
“Yes, sir. I obey,” Hunter said in an exaggerated monotone, only for another shudder to rock his body. This time he felt more than just a mild discomfort in the tight-fitting suit. He grunted. “Come on, Control.”
“When I’m good and ready, Hunter. Try to distract yourself of something. Calm down a little.”
Hunter shifted position in the water, trying to keep himself occupied. He absently checked his oxygen supply. Still three quarters of a tank. He’d be fine. He breathed deeply, controlling his intake as he struggled to calm his body down. A good five minutes passed. Unfortunately, the erection hadn’t.
“… Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Control asked.
“Hit me.”
“I can’t override the door. According to the coding, any employee that checks in needs to go to a second checkpoint and swipe the card there before he can leave through the pipe again. If I worked at it a while, I might be able to open it, but that would set off even an amateur’s radar. As it is, you’ll have to follow standard protocol for Stone’s employees.
“Which is?”
“How the hell should I know? Nobody we’ve sent to infiltrate reported back in, and you, of all people, know how difficult Thirteen is to interrogate.”
“As it is, he knows we’re coming. He’s not stupid. I’ve handled worse.”
“Just be careful, all right?”
“All right, all right. I will. And Control, you might want to keep my voice changer on for now. Don’t know when I might run into some guards or something I’ll need to fool, so I might as well keep it going.”
The computer chimed from its pad. “Meathead will report to the gym for immediate workout and debriefing. Acknowledge.”
“Hunter, I–”
“Meathead will report to gym. Meathead will obey. I obey.” Hunter shuddered as he said the words. He felt strangely lightheaded. The red screen cleared to yellow, and he turned around to swim up the pipeline.
“Hunter …”
“Relax, Control. I’m fine. I just need to–” he grunted “–get out of this suit. Besides, the computer mentioned debriefing. I’m guessing that means Thirteen’s master is going to make an appearance after he reports in. It’s the perfect place to kill Stone. I’ll stick to my mission first, drop in on the meeting, then pop on down to the gym for a little work out and kill him while I’m there.” Flashing lights guided the way up, shining in a multitude of colors as they strobed in their lines. Hunter swam up and above until he finally broke the surface, pulling his oxygen mask off and closing off the tank. He’d need it for his getaway. The room was surprisingly well lit as he made his way to the stairs, and he smiled as he passed the various screens the lined the walls.
“Welcome home, Meathead.”
“Report, meathead.”
“The gym is waiting.”
“Report to the gym, Meathead.”
“Obey, Meathead.”
A strangely annoying buzzing accompanied the messages as he passed, but he had no time to focus on that. His erection was killing him. Hunter quickly raced past the screens and into what appeared to be a massive changing room. An empty stall clearly indicated where he was meant to hang his suit, and seeing as his suit was so much smaller than the others, there was no need to worry about losing it. Spare tanks lined the walls, promising plenty of oxygen should he need a replacement. They were thicker and bulkier, most likely holding more air in higher concentrations. If Meathead was anything to go by, not to mention the sheer size of these other wet suits, Stone must have hundreds of these behemoths on staff. Where did he find them? What did he use to make them so large? Steroids? So many questions. With a heavy sigh of relief, Hunter stripped out of the wetsuit, releasing his body and the culprit of his misery in one go. Now he felt only pleasure. Pleasure, relief, the buzzing, and a nagging computer ordering him to report in, yet again. Of course, knowing Thirteen, it wasn’t that hard to understand. The big lug probably needed repeated instructions to get it through his thick, meaty skull.
“Understood. Will report. Meathead obeys. I obey,” he murmured, standing there in his shorts as the cool air washed over his hot body. He sighed heavily. That deep voice didn’t sound so bad anymore. As a matter of fact, he kind of liked it.
“Hunter, you’re past the monitors. I think you can drop the act now. Calm down. Your dopamine levels are running through the roof. … Actually, so’s your testosterone. No wonder you feel so horny. Either way, you need to find a way to stop it and focus on the mission.”
Hunter shuddered again. “Sorry, Control. I, uh, think it might be a side effect from the chemical, or whatever it was the pipe got flushed with.” He hastily returned to the pipe, where his waterproof satchel sat waiting. He pulled it out midst the flashing bulbs and passed the screens yet again in his tight compression shorts. He firmly clamped his mouth shut, refusing to look at the screens as he raced past. He couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted. After all, he had to report. That is, spy, then kill, then report. He smirked. “Getting a little ahead of yourself there, big guy,” he murmured as he chuckled, shifting into his stealth suit. Fortunately, it wasn’t quite so tight as the wet suit, and he was able to change without much difficulty. As a last addition, he placed a form-fitted set of display goggles over his eyes, before making his way through the tunnel and up into the castle proper.
The halls were a bit on the chilly side, but Hunter was able to adapt quickly enough. Slinking by along the walls, he heard the distinct sound of hissing over loud speakers. Following the trail of wires, he eventually found the source. Interspersed a good ten feet or so apart, a series of loud speakers trailed. He heard deep voices and the sound of insipid laughter, and pulled against the side of the wall. His stealth suit flickered briefly, before his body blended perfectly with the stone work.
“Yes, sir. Report to main hall.”
“Must report.”
“Must obey.”
The sound of tromping feet echoed and redoubled, vibrating Hunter’s soles as twenty nigh-identical muscle men almost as big as Thirteen marched past in an orderly manner. They wore Tight black spandex outfits and matching helmets with bright green visors on their heads. A pulsing green light from the visors indicated potential cerebral programming as the men tromped along in dual file. Hunter pressed himself as hard as he possibly could against the wall. He barely managed to avoid being touched as the men filed on. “I’m in luck, Control,” Hunter whispered after they were gone. “They’ll lead me right to the main hall. I’m guessing they’re going to be part of some kind of display. Can you get me a route into the upper balcony?”
“Easy as pie.”
“Good. Lead on, good sir, that I may sally forth, and complete my quest.”
“Shut up, Hunter, and just take the next left.” What followed was a series of directions guided by a projected layout on the display screen that was Hunter’s goggles. Eventually, the spy was led to a set of stairs, which in turn took him to a shadowy and dusty balustrade. He proceeded to duck behind it as he observed the proceedings of the meeting below.
A series of large display units hung above the long table where each of the twenty men and their escorts had been seated. At the head of the table, a great hulk of a man sat. His hair was a bright platinum blonde, his eyes a stormy grey. He must have been at least a good eight feet tall, maybe even nine. The mountain of muscle flexed calmly, his arms rippling as he cut at the steak that had been prepared. His business suit clung tightly to his body, but not so much as to overstrain it. Clearly he had a tailor.
“Now, I know you gentlemen view America as an affront to your beliefs. I admit, I have no great love for this nation myself. The financial system is flawed, men and women are left starving on the streets to fend for themselves for lack of an education they can’t afford, or worse yet, a corrupt business field where they’ve been systematically cut out of the picture.” He chewed his meat viciously for a time, gauging the men before him, before patting his lips with a napkin and continuing his speech. “I have been wronged by this system, gentlemen, but that didn’t stop me from trying to better my situation.” He chuckled. “As you can see, I succeeded. … I am one of the few.
“Much like me, you, and those who follow your causes, feel that you have also been wronged. Whether your sacred lands are being trampled and torn underfoot, or you have lost your homes to corrupt businessmen, or simply because you feel that your religious rights have been taken away from you and you must take arms to defend that right. Whatever the reason may be, in that sense at least, we are brothers. In that sense, at least, we have a common ground. Much like you, I want to change the world, to make it a better place. That is why I sent my men to contact you, and that is why you are here tonight. I have called you here so that, together, we can make the world a better place for all.”
“And just how do you propose, Mister Stone, to further our … common interests?” Muffati, a short and portly man with a heavy robe and a bright white turban said. His beard had grown long, and was well trimmed with the salt and pepper coloration that was typical of his racial background at that age. His accent was thick, but his English was well pronounced. The other men nodded in agreement, even as they finished their respective meals.
“As I said, I can offer you a weapon that no man could possibly expect.”
“And that is?” Muffati asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.
“The perfect soldiers, of course.”
What followed was fairly predictable. The laughter carried for quite some time, though a few of the men simply settled with glowering. “You have us come to this abominable country for a fable, Mister Stone? We do not take kindly to such jests.”
“And I do not take kindly to idle threats,” Stone responded in an equally flat tone. The silverware on the table began to clatter. Soon the goblets were jumping, the liquid rippling from unseen vibrations. The screens flashed into life as a military anthem began to play. From every doorway, they poured in. Tall, muscled, masculine, and armed to the teeth, the towers of muscle marched in unison, eyes fixed ahead as they formed ranks around the table and the hall. Their helmets still remained firmly fastened to their block-like skulls.
As the anthem played, Hunter felt a distinct sense of dejavous. He’d heard this music somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite place it. It seemed to play over and over in his head, even as the song finished and the men cocked their guns at the guests.
“As I was saying, gentlemen, I’ve developed the perfect soldiers. Large, fast, powerful, experts in multiple forms of combat, skilled marksmen, lightning reflexes, superhuman endurance, and best of all, they are completely obedient. Isn’t that right, boys?”
A resounding, “Yes, sir, coach!” echoed through the hall. The men saluted, lowering the butts of their guns.
“You would lend out mercenaries? This is your, as you Americans say, sales pitch?”
“No. What I offer is the ability to make soldiers of your own, just as obedient, just as powerful, just as well trained, all under your command.”
“I do not believe it,” a skeptical leader said. His frame was lean and well-muscled beneath his robes, and the guard who stood behind him was taller still, and lither.
“If you doubt their skills, then why not pit your own guards against them?”
“It is a hoax. These few could easily have been trained in advance. Where is your proof?”
“My process, as I like to call it, takes place over various stages, each a vital part in the conversion to become what you see before you now.” He lifted a remote to the screens and they shifted to reveal a CGI of an average human male. “I admit, I prefer this method because it ensures a closer connection between me and my men, or meatheads, as they like to call themselves. However, I have also developed a more streamlined method of application for you men to make use of back in your various war fronts.”
Stone held up a vial while the screen portrayed the same. “A few drops of this incorporated into a man’s body by any means leads to a dramatic increase in testosterone production, human growth hormone production, and a variety of other natural chemicals in the body related to masculinity and growth, along with great pleasure and arousal.” The model on the screens was injected with a syringe, and the man began to experience a growth in muscle mass, along with a large tent pressing against his shorts. “Given enough time to work, this substance incorporates itself into the human body’s natural functions, reprogramming the brain to produce the chemical naturally, and send it coursing through the entire body’s circulatory system twenty-four seven.” The image paled to reveal the circulatory system and the brain. As the body continued to change and work, it revealed the brain slowly changing color and that color spreading through the veins as the image continued to grow in breadth, height, and muscle mass, among other things.
“The end result is what you see before you: perfectly built soldiers. As for their training, admittedly, that requires some small amount of effort, though we’ve streamlined the process significantly. Making use of the pleasure centers of the brain, we take advantage of the surges of hormones to rewrite their minds, inserting a desire for unquestioning obedience to an authority figure.” An image of another man entered and began giving instructions to the other. “The more they obey, the greater the pleasure they experience, and the faster they are able to reach their final stages.” Each task the image that received the injection completed resulted in a surge of growth. “During this time of rapid intake and obedience, we expose them to a variety of stimuli that will train their bodies in the various arts they need to know, and have them exercise it in practice shortly after to make sure their bodies have transferred it into all forms of memory, including subconscious, conscious, and muscle.” The screens shut off. “Any questions?”
“How is this training accomplished?”
“So glad you asked that.” Stone pressed another button on the remote and a wall pulled up to reveal six men standing side by side in perfect formation. Their square jaws rippled with muscle in their necks, and their giant chests barely were contained by the button up shirts they wore. They stared vapidly ahead, their legs spread in a parade rest. Their burly arms were held behind their backs. Their broad shoulders gave them a square-cut appearance, and their stance was so identical they seemed almost like a paper chain.
“Meet Grunt, Crush, Thrasher, Masher, Pounder, and Grinder. Before these men saw the light and joined my soldiers’ ranks, they were sent here to infiltrate and spy on my organization. It took many of my meatheads to successfully capture them, but once I had them in hand, we immediately began putting them through the process. Once they had officially converted to muscle, I had every piece of information copied and downloaded from their brains through a unique neural probe one of my think tanks came up with. Completely harmless, and minimally invasive. A nice touch when you want to keep your subjects alive, wouldn’t you say? Taking the base neurological makeup of each subject’s brain, we combined them to create an ultimate design for our subjects’ brains to reach in their training. We then expose them to the proper stimuli throughout the process to ensure their brains develop the necessary pathways, and thus, the skills for the job. Our six professionals then spar with each soldier to ensure the subject has learned properly. Boys, come here.”
The six men immediately marched in unison, and took their places, three on either side.
“What are you?” Stone shouted.
The resounding cry was deafening. “Meatheads!”
Who do you all serve?”
“Coach!”
Who do you obey?”
“Coach!”
“Who do you fight for?”
“Coach!”
“Who do you live for?”
“Coach!”
Not a soul moved. The room was silent. Stone looked around the room. This time, his voice was softer, calmer, but filled with more intensity than any of the questions he had asked before. His eyes had turned cold, his pupils hard as agates. “And who is your coach?”
“Stone.” It started out small, a single voice, barely a whisper. “Stone.” It came again. This time two spoke. It continued to build one at a time, increasing in intensity, speed, and fervor until they reached fever pitch. The screens blazed to life as images and words flickered across in a virtual blur that verged on pure white. The green visors sprung to life, flickering on the drones that wore them. “Obey Stone. Serve Stone. Coach is Stone.” And so it continued, until the chanting fell into a mindless cheer. One name. One focus. The guards who had come with the terrorists clutched at their heads, and groaned in pain. In a matter of seconds, they had grown as large as the men who now surrounded the hall.
“Oh yeah, one thing I forgot to mention. The closer proximity to others who have been dosed with the compound hastens the process.” The new thick, burly men rose to their feet and placed their meaty hands over their former masters’ shoulders, securing them in place. “They have almost a hive sort of mentality sometimes, so a little affirmation here, a little obedience there, and then they’re just like the rest.”
Stone snapped his fingers, and more of the meatheads came from the doors, each holding a helmet similar to the ones the soldiers wore. “So here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to turn all of your funds over to me. You’ll liquidate your assets and resources, and leave your stupid struggle in the Middle East. Don’t worry, it won’t happen all at once. After all, I have to make sure that you and your men all become part of my little experiment, and we need to make it look like the troops you’re fighting against are winning. You’re only too happy to help, aren’t you, boys?”
The new giants shuddered, and grinned as they grabbed the proffered helmets in their hands. Then they shoved them on the various leaders. In a matter of minutes, their former masters had slumped in their chairs, while their helmets flashed. Stone had completely neutralized the threat, and now had every well-known terrorist in thrall. Up by the balustrade, Hunter gaped.
“Control, are you getting this?” he whispered.
“We’re getting it, Hunter. And … I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me. Those men–”
“–Interceptor, Recon, Camo, Berserker, Napoleon, and Narcissus. We confirmed via retinal identification. If Stone’s telling the truth–”
“–Then he already knows about us and all of our operations regarding him and his men. All the more reason to kill the son of a bitch.”
“They were some of our best, Hunter. If he’s really trained every one of his men to be just as skilled, you’re up against some long odds. So am I for that matter. I thought the hack was too easy. He’s trying to play us.”
Hunter Smirked. “Then let’s play him. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
“Gentlemen, I’ll leave our new recruits in your capable hands. I have some business to attend to at the gym. Keep running the program for the next six hours at least. I want these men well oriented by the time I’m finished,” Stone said.
The men saluted. “Yes, sir.” A low murmur of agreement ran through the room as the other soldiers stared ahead. Their own helmets were flickering, indicating that they, too, were experiencing this orientation, even as these new men were. Content, Stone left the same way he had come, flanked by his guard of six. The rest of the men stood obediently as they watched the presentation. Hunter was careful to avert his eyes as he backed away from his hiding spot.
“Control, I need directions to that gym, and I need them now.”
“Already uploading. Get your ass out of there, Hunter. You’ve got a job to do.”
Announcing: Military Daze
I promised a special transformation to Army Brute for being the highest donor when I asked for your guys’ help making ends meet, and said generosity has not gone forgotten. With the end of Lifting Up and Dumbing Down, it’s time to begin a new story. Since Army Brute wanted something military, that’s what this next project will focus on. I don’t know how long it will stretch, but we’ll see as the world develops. Introduction: Your name is Abraham, though you prefer to go by Abe. You and your friends were the standard teenage boys: young, reckless, and with a terrible streak for mischief and trouble. Nothing outrageous, mind you, just ... problematic. At least, that’s how you tried to put it, when you played the diplomat. It didn’t play so well with your friend Kendall’s dad, however, and poor Ken found himself suddenly enrolled in a military academy. It’s been a couple of years since Ken was shipped off. You’re all about to start your junior year in high school. When Ken was home for the holidays, you and the gang made sure to take advantage of every minute vacation provided you, and he’d regale you with all the gruesome details of the rigid military lifestyle. As usual, he seemed adamant on getting into as much mischief as possible, while he was home. A buffer, he’d said, for all the brainwashing they do at the school. He’d then pantomimed a rigid military officer, while you all gasped in mock horror. Everyone had a good laugh at that bit, even if it did get a little on the stale side. It seemed almost as if Ken had to do it. He even went so far as to use his uniform last time as a prop. “To get it nice and dirty for them,” he’d explained. Ken didn’t come home this summer. Something to do with an incident involving party balloons, smoking joints, shaving cream, and dye in the sprinklers. His dad was furious. Apparently, so was the school. You always knew he might push a few buttons too hard one day, but still, losing vacation? That was harsh. You’d exchange emails every day to help him pass the time, but things had been getting a little ... strange the last couple of months. He joked and jibed the first few days, but that soon turned to something a little more frantic. Then, about halfway through break, it just ... cut off. Now you wonder just what’s going on in that place, and more importantly, what happened to your friend.
Military Daze Part 1
I’m telling you, man, there’s something going on in this place. It’s just not normal! Everyone looks and acts like everybody else, and it’s really starting to freak me out. I feel like I’m being watched wherever I go. And since it’s summer, that gives my COs even more time to breathe down my neck. My TAC officer keeps appearing in just about every hiding spot I try. It’s like they’ve got a tracker or something on me. They’ve been running me ragged with those exercises, and my back is killing me from all the cleaning assignments. On the plus side, who knew I could actually piss them off enough to get them to pull out the old tooth brush trick? On the down side, who knew cleaning would be so ****ing hard with just a toothbrush? It’s like my head barely hits the pillow and I’m suddenly waking up bright and early to morning taps reveille. It’s worth it, though. I won’t let them break me. I won’t let them mold me into a perfect cadet. I won’t let them play with me, like some doll. I’m ... I’m not a doll. I’m not. I’m Ken. I’m ... I’m just Ken. Just--. Shit Shoot. TAC officer just walked in. Abe, whatever you do, don’t stop sending me emails. Remind me who I am. ... Please. I’m Kendall Rogers. Prankster, fun-lover, rebel. I’m Kendall Rogers. I am not a doll. I am Kendall Rogers. I am Kendall Rogers. I am Kendoll Rogers. Kendoll Ken doll Kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
You sigh as you look up from the journal you’ve compiled. That had been the last email you’d received from your friend, but showing it to anyone else would have been a pointless endeavor. It would be put down as a prank Kendall was pulling to get out of trouble and try to diminish the academy’s reputation. After the last incident, most of the adults had given up on him. You knew him better than most, though. He actually sounded scared, and Kendall never allowed himself to show fear, even if he felt it. For him to open up like this, to actually admit he was getting “freak[ed] ... out,” something had to be wrong. ... It had to. Ken wouldn’t pull a stunt like that with you. He wouldn’t. ... Would he? You groan as you close the book’s cover and plop your arms on the desk to hold your forehead in your hands. You and the others tried your best to keep his memory alive, but without Kendall around, it just ... wasn’t fun anymore. You missed Ken. You all did. The others wanted their leader back. They were almost listless without their fearless commander pushing onward into the next adventure, heedless of the dangers, dauntless to the end. You? You just wanted your friend back. Unfortunately, you had the sneaking suspicion that may never happen. That last letter had been sent a month ago. You hadn’t received a reply since, but you honored his request to keep writing, all the same. You sighed again as the summer sun filtered through the window overhead to bathe you in its warmth. “Damn it, Kendall, what happened to you?” you mutter. And then the doorbell rang.
Military Daze Part 3
Hey, Abe,
Everything’s been going pretty well here. Sorry for scaring you. Lots of exercise, classwork, and fulfilling disciplinary requirements have taken up so much of my time. Please, forgive me for my inconsideration. A close friend shouldn’t have to suffer like that. Your letters have been a great help to me, when dealing with my homesickness, but I still miss hanging out with you and the guys. That’s why I entered your name into this contest at school. See, it gives the winner a chance at a full scholarship. Room, board, the whole thing. The school rakes in enough money from all the other attendees that they can afford to let a few people attend free each year. Anyways, I put your name in, because, well, I miss you, man, and turns out it got chosen. I was totally floored. Please, tell me you’ll come. It’ll be like old times. Military life isn’t so bad, really, once you get used to it. And if you do well here, you get a big boost for college applications. It’s a big step for our futures, ya know? Even if you don’t want to come, I really do want to keep in contact with you. But please, make sure to respond as soon as you can. The school should’ve sent you an email, too, with all the details. If you wait too long, then you’ll lose the opportunity, and I won’t get to see you for at least another half a year. Please, Abe, say you’ll come, at least for one semester. I miss you. Sincerely, Private Kendall Rogers P.S. Sorry if there are any formatting errors in the letter. I’m still learning how to employ proper grammar. My You blink in utter shock. Some parts of the letter sounded like Kendall, well enough, but others were just so ... formal. Just what were they doing to your friend over there? You furrow your brows in suspicion. Would you even recognize him anymore, at this rate? Or could someone have been ghost writing, pretending to be him? You shake your head. No, that’s not right. That would be nothing more than a conspiracy theory. Something else was going on. You narrow your eyes as you pore over the letter again. Eventually, the rest on the post script. Kendall always hated class of any kind, especially English, so why would he make a specific note to formatting errors? Fortunately for you, his hate of English was your love. It took you forever to even get the guy to concede to listening to recorded books, but you eventually got him at least a little into the spirit. Not enough to put effort into his writing, mind, but enough to make it so he didn’t hate books anymore. As you scanned over the document, you could see no errors in capitalization or punctuation, so it had to be something else in the letter. As you look over each of the paragraphs, you notice the varying lengths, comparing the short first two to the much longer third, fourth, and fifth. ... Length. You tap your chin as you recall the principle hammered into you from your youth. A proper paragraph should be at least three sentences in length, and even then, it’s preferable to keep it closer to five. So, why would he keep everything so short in the beginning? You take a closer look at the paragraphs. The sentences all seemed innocuous enough. Again, there were no errors involved. The letter was set to a formal header, with all the paragraphs lined up to the far left margin and no indentation. It was actually kind of funny. When you lined up the first three paragraphs, including the greeting, the letters formed HEL. You then looked down at the third paragraph. P. H-E-L-P. HELP. Help. Could it be? “An acrostic?” you pondered. It was a simple matter to link the other two letters from the last paragraphs. Help Me. “Shit,” you swore. Your heart rate picked up again. Your breathing became shallow. You wanted to get up and report this to someone, anyone, but you knew better than that. If this academy was doing something to your friend, you’d need real proof of wrongdoing, before you could convince anyone of the fact. This was the kind of thing that would get you laughed out of the station faster than you could present it. After you get yourself under control, you start your reply. Subject: RE: Congratulations! Dear Kendall, I got your message. Still, before I choose to accept, though, I need to ask a few things. 1. Is it all right for me to bring my equipment with me? You know how much I enjoy my film and photography.... You composed your reply very carefully to ensure it would fit the standards and evade possibility of detection. That being said, if there really was something off at this school, it was likely they would be able to see through your coded messages. Acrostics were a fairly simple coding system, after all. You would need to go prepared, if you went at all. Once you sent your reply with your list of “follow-up questions,” you turned to your next order of business. You quickly made your way to your spam folder and authorized the message from the academy. If you were going to do this, you would need all the information you could find on the place. Even then, ... you weren’t sure you would be ready.
Free
“I’m ... free to go?” Derek asked in a stunned voice.
The big man at the door nodded mutely, his tight black suit and blocky shades made him the epitome of the stereotypical villain’s guard. “You may leave this room and do as you wish.”
“No strings attached?”
“No strings attached.”
The shorter man leaned back against the bed as the full weight of those words sank in. “Free,” he mumbled. “I ... I can go.”
“Wherever you want,” the guard agreed in a grating rumble.
“Where are we?”
The guard smiled. “That’s for you to find out. I’m just here to give you the big news.”
The man scratched a casual itch on his thigh, then pulled at the strap on his thong. “This is ... wow. It’s ... well--”
“A lot to take in.”
“Exactly. I ... I can go.”
“Yup.”
“Any time I want.”
“Yup.”
“Anywhere at all.”
“Yup.”
“But ... I’m not moving.”
The guard shrugged. “You haven’t decided where you want to go.”
“Huh. Good point. I ... guess I should get my bearings, figure things out.”
“A sound idea,” the guard said in a neutral tone. He shrugged. “You’re free to go.”
Derek blinked absently.
“You going to move?” the guard asked. “I can’t stand here all day.”
“O-oh. Yeah. ... Yeah....” Derek strode dazedly to the door. He could hear the sound of shuffling footsteps and heavy thumps. He peeked outside. Identical rectangular doors were opening. A slow trickle of tan men slowly filtered out into the hall, peering bewildered at their peers. “There are ... others?”
“And you’re all free to go,” the deep voice rumbled behind him.
Derek took a tentative step into the hall. The other men mirrored his action, as though they were afraid it were some dream. Some retreated into their rooms. Others strode into the hall and blinked as they breathed the chemical scent of carpet cleaners and disinfectants.
“Free,” one of them breathed in utter bewilderment.
“Free to go,” another guard agreed from his place in the former prisoner’s room.
“Free to go,” one parroted. “I’m ... free to go.” He took one heavy step forward. The sound of the impact carried like an explosive charge. The whole hall tensed. Nothing happened. Nobody moved to stop him. His head darted left and right. His high-and-tight military cut accentuated the hints of jaw bone showing beneath his skin. He wore an identical thong to Derek and the other men. The hairs on his arms stood on end as the cooler air and exhilaration of sudden freedom sent goosebumps racing over his skin. He took another step forward. “I’m...” Another one. “Free to....” One more. “Go.”
He stopped, peered behind him in fear. The guard continued to stare from the portal, but made no move to follow. His breathing became shallow. A smile pulled at his lips, even as he fought back the tears that welled in his eyes. He stepped forward again, more confidently this time. “I’m free--” Thump. “--to go.” Thump. “I’m free--” Thump. “--to go.” Thump.
He grinned as he began to pick up speed and walk past the first few doors, reciting to himself in time to his forceful steps. “I’m free to go. I’m free to go...”
One set of footprints was soon joined by two more, then four, then six. The voices rang in unison, a motivating cry calling to the wary and frightened souls that still hovered in the doorways. Derek soon found himself ensconced in the ranks. The pace was awkward at first, but the continuous chant pounded in rhythm, and he soon adapted to the march.
Some laughed. Others cried. Others cheered at the top of their lungs. The call remained the same. It remained as their troops divided. Some waited by elevators, still chanting as they pushed the call buttons and marched in place. Others strode to a great metal door and shoved it open to the echoing stairwell that waited beyond. The echoes repeated as foot struck stair, smacking in time to the chorus of voices.
Derek peered down, surprised to see so many heads, so many bodies pressing forward in an orderly fashion. He wanted to think. He wanted to question. And yet, all he could think, all he could recall, was that wondrous phrase over and over as he grinned. “I’m free to go.”
The passage opened on the ground floor as the body moved en masse to pass through a finely decorated lobby. A backlit sign read Growing Pains Spa over the desk. A smaller subtext ran underneath the main title that read, Relax and Gain.
He blinked. His mouth kept moving. His bare feet kept thumping. His gaze turned idly to the tinted glass doors with their bronze handles and revolving shafts. Some of the other men strode through them. One cycle later, more guards would walk in with that same set of shades, broad shoulders, and rippling muscles.
Derek grunted briefly as he felt a familiar warmth in his crotch, followed by a tightness in the pouch. That warmth spread, until he began to sweat. His hands twitched and clenched as the march continued forward past a photo checkpoint and into a room filled with a hauntingly familiar sound.
Metal plates clacked steadily with the grunts and growls of many a muscular man. Music pulsed and thumped in his ears. And then he saw it in great bold capital letters that plastered the high brick walls in vivid red to draw the eye of every visitor in.
YOU’RE FREE TO GROW.
Derek thudded over to a weight machine, not even thinking anymore as his body moved for him. He watched impassively as burlier men strode into the locker room ENTRANCE. Seconds later, a new set of guards strode out the EXIT with grim expressions on their faces.
Derek hardly registered as one of them approached him. He pushed through the exercise, even as the visor lowered over his head. His posture didn’t deviate as the earbuds snaked into his ear canal. His form didn’t waver as his vision of the room slowly blacked out to be replaced by a bombardment of images accompanied by sound.
His mouth gaped open as he began to pant under his breath. “I’m free to grow ... I’m free to grow ... I’m free to grow ... free to grow ... freed to grow ... need to grow....”
The guard backed away and spoke in a dull monotone. “Relax and gain,” he said. “Relax and grow. Relax, ... and obey....”
What You’re Told
You stare ahead blankly with your arms at your sides. The black room’s featureless walls stared back at you. The corners had long since faded away to you. Your heart thudded steadily in your chest as the icy chill spreading through your veins was replaced with the familiar euphoric warmth. You could feel the passages expanding against your flesh as you breathed in time to the steady whirring that had bombarded your hearing for so long. You’re not even sure what day it is, let alone the week or month. Time has no meaning, when you have no means to track it.
You must wait. You know you must. You do not question why.
A deep voice sudden echoes from that seamless void. “What are you?”
Your pecs twitch as your mouth opens and you speak for what feels like the first time in centuries. “I am muscle.” A rush of pleasure cascades down your body from the top of your head to the very edges of your toes. You barely resist the urge to flex. Now is not the time. You are not sure how you know this, but you do. It is time to listen and respond. That is what you are here to do.
“And what does muscle do?”
“Muscle obeys the brain. It does as it is told.”
“That is correct. And if you are commanded to grow?”
“I am muscle. I will work. I will obey. I will grow.” You blink slowly as you feel your skin tightening, and your breathing becomes heavier, fuller.
“Muscle does not think for itself.”
“Muscle obeys,” you finish for the voice. It is a distant memory, this discussion, but it is so deeply ingrained within you that you know exactly what to say. How many times have you said it? Did it even matter? It was all Muscle memory now. You swallow as you feel your adam’s apple expanding and pushing against your throat. It bobs, while your trapezius muscles muscles expand in the slope along your shoulders and the cords along your neck thicken.
“That is good. That is right. Because you are dumb muscle.”
“Yes.” Your voice was deeper now. You could feel it rumble out from your diaphragm.
“You listen.”
“Yes.”
“You do as you are told.”
“Yes.”
“What is your name?”
You stare ahead blankly and do not respond. You feel the distinct pressure starting to build against your crotch, and know that you are growing as muscle should. It fills you with satisfaction.
The voice tried again. “Do you have a name?”
You feel the dull ache and hear the snaps as your feet expand. That is of no concern. No pain, no gain. A muscle must gain. Instead, you answer the voice’s question. “No.”
“That is good. That is right.”
You feel your arms rising against your will. Your expanding biceps press against your swelling sides, pushing your arms away from their resting place.
“Are you ready to obey?”
You answer without question. “I am muscle. I obey.”
Your pupils didn’t constrict when the door finally slid open to spill light over your frame. You stared ahead at the walls, where reflection upon reflection stared back at you with blank expressions. Something flickered briefly in the back of your head and in your chest. Your body tensed, but you weren’t quite sure why. Then you felt a hand on your bicep. Another figure had joined you, wrapping measuring tape around your arms and torso. He looked up at you, even as you continued to stare ahead.
“You may flex, if you wish,” he said, and the words were like a switch had been flicked. Your arms shot up in a double bicep pose. Your boulder-like shoulders bunched and tensed as the skin grew taut over your slab-like pectorals and brick-like abdominals.
The three truths echo over and over in your mind as you open your mouth to speak. “Muscle flexes. Muscle listens. Muscle obeys.”
The sneer that contorted the man’s face was irrelevant as he peered up at you. He was the voice. He was the brain. The brain commanded the muscle. The muscle obeyed.
“That is right,” he said as he patted your sleek skin, and you let him. After all, muscles must be examined. “That is right.”
If you like my stories, please consider joining my patreon. For a few dollars a month, you can enjoy more transformation, muscle, and more at your fingertips with new installations and stories provided each month. -------------------------------------------------------------------
Smoke and Mirrors
Image Source: comeandtouch
It was the draft that woke you first. That, and the sensation of hard concrete pressing against your body. The world was a blur at first, and then you thought you’d gone colorblind, at least until you perceived the frames mounted on your nose.
You rose slowly, groggily. You could just see the hints of radiant light striving to pierce the shield that the sunglasses provided you as they clawed at the edges of the amber screen. Your nose was struck by the sharp smell of freshly polished leather and an all-encompassing aroma of cigarette smoke, as if the very ground beneath you had somehow been permeated with that pungent essence. You weren’t entirely sure which was worse. Your arms were consumed by the length of your new leather jacket’s sleeves. the weight of it pulled at the edges of your shoulders, draping almost like a trench coat. The amount of skin you could feel exposed to the elements around your neck and chest was more than unnerving. And as you raised an arm to adjust your glasses, you discovered two black fingerless gloves barely hanging onto your hands.
You weren’t sure whether you wanted to try to dismiss this all as a dream or face the horror of the idea that you had not only been kidnapped, but undressed and shoved into this gear for who knew what reason.
“Please, I don’t ... I don’t want—”
“Oh, you’ll want. Because I say so.”
You turned your head toward the noise and winced as dizziness struck you. When the room settled again, you found yourself staring at a scene out of a movie. Two massively muscled men in black leather jackets and pants held a diminutive figure between them. Their expressions were grim, their jaws square, and their masculine features immensely intimidating. The scruff along their cheeks, jaws, and lips only served to enhance the image. They practically screamed thug, even as the lenses on their noses blocked any attempts to read their expressions.
The man who had spoken last was shorter than the muscle men. His build was leaner and well toned, but that didn’t stop his muscles from showing under his jacket. He moved in lithely and seized the prisoner by the lapel of his leather jacket and a bit of wadded shirt from beneath that layer. Smoke wafted out his mouth as if from the maw of a dragon as he leaned closer and closer.
The prisoner’s eyes widened in horror. “I-I’m not gay! I don’t want this. I don’t want this! I don’t —!”
His protests were silenced as lips met and the one breathed into the other. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but you could have sworn you saw a shadow of stubble forming along pale skin as the man who seemed to be the boss pulled away. The prisoner coughed.
“And now?”
A rasp crept into the prisoner’s throat as he turned his gaze back on the man that had forced himself upon him. “Let me go.”
“Do you want?”
“I want to be let go,” he cracked.
The sneer that followed that response was even worse through the distorted mirror of the prisoner’s reflective lenses. The curve made it broader, wider, more sinister. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and inched a fresh butt from the box. A lighter click click clicked with each decisive stroke of the boss’ thumb. And with every false start, the two thugs jerk jerk jerked into rigid posture like a pair of automatons wound by a key. You craned your neck to get a better look as the lighter finally ignited and a flame was held to the edge of the cigarette.
A deep pull as the butt glowed a deep red, then dulled as he let the smoke churn in his lungs before breathing out. A low, deep groan sounded in unison from the two thugs as they breathed deep, and their chests thrust out even farther for an impressive display.
Another pull. Another blow. This one was followed by a subtle cough as bits of that smoke curled through the captive’s nostrils and into his lungs. The boss lunged and locked lips again as smoke flowed from his nostrils and the edges of his mouth to curl and waft around his prisoner’s face. The shadows deepened again as the smoke dissipated. This time, you were certain you saw something.
As the boss pulled away again, you were rewarded with the sight of the beginnings of a proper beard now. There could be no dismissing it with the subtle gloss that emanated from the light reflecting off the hairs. You thought you saw a hint of an Adam’s apple jutting forward from the prisoner’s throat. And ... was it just you, or did his chest look a little fuller, his jacket and shirt a little less saggy?
“What the hell?” the prisoner cracked again.
“Do you want?”
“I want to see you behind bars.” Annoyance and anger had replaced fear. “I want the police to haul you away and lock you up where you’ll never be seen again. I want to go ho—”
This time, smoke puffed briefly out the prisoner’s nostrils as more smoke was blown in through the contact. Like a balloon inflating, the man’s chest puffed out. His shoulders pulled back. His neck thickened. He struggled to crane his head back, but the boss moved accordingly to block any chance of escape while a meaty hand from one of the thugs kept him from craning too far back. The struggle caused the glasses to droop lower on his nose, revealing the wild fear and revulsion that seemed to fog over as the man continued to blow into him. The struggles lessened, and the boss pulled away again.
“Do you want?” Again the question was asked. Why? What did this man have to gain by repeating himself?
“I ... I wa ... wha ... what did you do to me?”
Boss smiled as he tossed the dull remains of his cigarette to the floor. The embers burst from the edge of the butt in a shower of sparks, then slowly died. This time, as he lit the flame again, the prisoner was racked with shudders. The prisoner’s eyes locked on his reflection in Boss’ glasses.
“Is that...? I ... I, uh....” His breathing hitched. His nostrils flared as the smoke wafted toward him from Boss’ lips, followed by a gentle push along the bridge of his nose to return the glasses where they belonged. A deep groan followed as his shoulders slumped and his hands suddenly became visible at the ends of the massive leather jacket sleeves. They, too, were sheathed in black fingerless gloves.
“Do you want?” It was almost a whisper as he breathed in the prisoner’s ear. Unlike the others in the room, Boss’ hands were bare, and he ran his free hand over the prisoner’s head, slicking back his hair as the sides of his head became more visible with a closer cut that definitely was not there when you first woke up.
The sounds he produced weren’t exactly speech, more a ragged sort of breathing mingled with the rise and fall of his chest that made him look almost as though he were growing bigger just by the act of breathing. But surely that was just a trick of the light, ... wasn’t it? “I....” He huffed as a few tiny wisps were drawn into his nostrils. Down fell the cigarette. Poof went the embers. His mouth opened slightly as his tongue licked his lips.
There was no resistance this time, just a subtle, barely-perceptible jolt as lips locked. This time, you did see a difference. Trapezius muscles swelled into prominent mounds to compliment the expanding neck. Leather creaked as the sleeves began to fill like pressure cuffs. Subtle popping cracks heralded the growth of bone as growing mass was soon balanced by increasing height.
This time, when Boss pulled away, the thugs lowered their grips. The prisoner had grown taller. His thighs and calves had begun to strain ever so slightly against his leather pants. Thick, heavy boots surrounded feet that you suspected were rapidly swelling to fit the new size if they hadn’t already reached that point. Wisps of the smoke seemed to hang around the prisoner in a miasma that sought to seep into his clothes, his very skin.
“Do you want?”
The voice that responded was low, dull, and seemingly uttered without thought or emotion.
“I want.”
Again came the sneer as he drew close. “Good boy.” This time, when they locked lips, it was not forced. Greed and passion fed and consumed as the two linked, the one providing the breath that had suddenly become as precious as life itself to the prisoner. Pecs and torso swelled and expanded. Arms became long and rippled with muscle that rose and fell with every motion in a coordinated dance. Hands cracked and burst into thick meaty mitts as the bone in his brow and forehead became more prominent. The jacket parted to reveal bulge after bulge of cobblestone abs taking shape.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Two. Four. Six. Eight.
The smoke was pouring now, out his ears, out his nostrils, out the edges of his hungry mouth as he struggled to breathe every last iota of that substance, even as it choked out every last trace of his former self to make room for the new life being forged in the image of his Boss.
When the two finally broke away, the prisoner was no longer the man he had been. He slumped forward, his head dropped low as Boss stared at him with a knowing smirk. He pulled away briefly, retrieved his lighter, and....
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Jerk. Jerk. Jerk. Jerk.
The new THUG rose to attention as his two new fellows flanked on either side with a familiar machine-like efficiency.
Boss lit up another cig.
“What do you want?”
“Boss,” the three replied in a perfect unified bass that rumbled through the air.
Boss breathed slightly, letting the smoke waft around his mouth and face, but nowhere near the THUGS.
The two on either side remained perfectly still. The middle one swayed just barely.
“And you’ll obey your boss, won’t you?”
“Yes, Boss.”
The trio breathed deeply as Boss blew a heavy cloud of smoke at them. All three THUGS groaned, then stood rigidly as the last of the prisoner’s features hardened into an identical copy of his two on either side of him. An equally sized bulge swelled into prominence at his crotch as he widened his stance.
Boss smiled in satisfaction as he looked over the trio, running his hands along their biceps and triceps, inspecting their backs and stances, their stature, everything. And all the while the trio remained motionless during his scrutiny.
“Perfect,” Boss said. “The three of you could use each other for shaving mirrors easily.” Then he chuckled. “But you know how the old saying goes,” he said as he turned to fix his gaze on you and lowered his shades to expose the eager, hungry gaze that lingered behind them. “The best things in life come in pairs.” He drew near to you, followed by the trio of THUGS as he motioned them to follow. You soon find yourself surrounded as you’re lifted shakily to your feet to stare into Boss’ face. You straighten your posture almost without thinking as the click click click of his lighter rings in your ears.
He sneers. And then he directs that question straight at you as he lights up another cigarette and takes a deep breath. The aroma of the smoke is almost overwhelming, and you’re already starting to feel a little dizzy and tingly as your fingers twitch.
“So, tell me. Do you want?”
Your lips part. Your jaw grows slack. And as you stare ahead, you see yourself in Boss’ reflective lenses. As your thoughts begin to cloud over with the approach of his mouth, one of your last free thoughts bubbles to the surface, a curiously ironic twist on what’s been happening.
It’s all really smoke and mirrors, isn’t it?
You take a deep breath without thinking to chuckle. Instead, all you get is smoke and a strangely euphoric sensation as your chest begins to balloon outward.
And it feels so good.
As your cheeks begin to prickle and your lungs begin to burn, you’re drawn into your changing reflection as much as you are the smoke Boss is pumping into you.
Maybe you do want after all....
Febuwhump Master List!!
So I am so very late but oh well right? Anyway it was a lot of fun and I definitely look forward to next year! Febuwhump is one of my favorite Promt challenges!
Each fandom has a color which will be listed below! My favorites have a star beside them! All summaries/warnings are with the story!
Star Wars Rebels, EPIC the musical/the Odyssey, The Bad Batch, Star Wars The Clone Wars, Miraculous Ladybug,
Day 1: Helpless
Day 2: "I Love You" (Alt Prompt 2)
Day 3: "Bite Down on This"
Day 4: Obedience
Day 5: Last Words (Alt Prompt 7)
Day 6: "You Lied to Me."
Day 7: Suffering in Silence
Day 8: "Why Won't it Stop?"
Day 9: Bees
Day 10: Killing in Self Defense
Day 11: Time Loop
Is Free Grace Theology Biblical?
By Award-Winning Author & Bible Researcher Eli Kittim
Now if any man have not the Spirit of Christ,
he is none of his.
(Romans 8.9 KJV)
——-
Sola fide
Sola fide (meaning “faith alone”) is a theological doctrine which holds that believers are justified by faith alone. Originally, the purpose of this doctrine was to distinguish the Protestants from the Catholic & Orthodox Churches that relied on sacraments (such as the Sacrament of Penance, aka Confession) and “works” for salvation. By contrast, Sola fide maintained that it is on the basis of faith alone that believers are justified (pardoned) and saved.
However, the original doctrine of Sola fide (faith alone) didn’t mean to imply that nothing happened to the believer existentially, psychologically, or supernaturally *after* they were saved. On the contrary, many reformers emphatically stressed that *regeneration* should produce verifiable evidence of the spiritual life. As 2 Pet. 1.10 warns (cf. 2 Cor. 13.5), make sure your faith is real:
Wherefore the rather, brethren, give
diligence to make your calling and election
sure: for if ye do these things, ye shall never
fall.
The evidence of conversion is a believer’s *new self* in Christ (his new identity cf. Gal. 2.20; Eph. 4.24), with proof of ongoing fruit in their life. Many people mistakenly think they are converted or born again but they show no evidence of a personality change (a recreation) nor any fruit of the Spirit (love, joy, peace). Alas, despite what they say publicly, they have not been converted; they have not been reborn! Read Jonathan Edwards’ sermon, “Sudden Conversions Are Very Often False.”
The reformers knew the importance of John 3.7: “Ye must be born again.” This Biblical concept doesn’t refer to the time when, during a crusade, you decided to make a spiritual commitment to Christ, or to the time when you made a sincere profession of faith during an altar call at a Jimmy Swaggart rally, or when you decided to give your life to Jesus, in your living room one night, while watching Billy Graham or Joel Osteen. This “decision” is characterized under the category of “works” (since you decided the outcome by yourself), and it has absolutely nothing to do with Biblical regeneration or with God. Why? Because God had nothing to do with it, nor is there any evidence of a supernatural work of the Holy Spirit in your life. That’s why 2 Corinthians 5.17 declares:
Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a
new creature: old things are passed away;
behold, all things are become new.
Unfortunately, the sinner’s prayer doesn’t save anyone. It doesn’t change your carnal nature into a new creature. Your sin nature remains the same and dominates your mind and heart. So how, then, are you saved? A saved person is dominated by God, not by his passions.
That’s why the reformers spoke of irresistible grace (monergism). Regardless of whether we agree with it or not, the point is that this soteriological doctrine teaches that God’s grace is effectually applied to the believer in order to save them, and that God overcomes their resistance and *changes* them from *within.* In other words, a transformation takes place on the inside. It’s not just faith alone. If they cannot deny it or resist it, then that means that God’s grace has a direct cause-effect influence in their lives. That’s why scripture emphasizes the need for a baptism of the Spirit (Matthew 3.11): “He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved” (Mark 16.16)!
——-
Free Grace Theology
Free Grace (aka Easy-believism) is a Christian soteriological position which holds that anyone can be saved and receive eternal life simply by believing that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God (John 20:31). The only condition for receiving the grace of eternal life is *faith.* Nothing else is required. In fact, one is not even required to stop sinning. They have completely removed Sola fide (faith alone) from its original Biblical and soteriological context, thereby isolating and distorting it to mean something entirely different.
By contrast, *Lordship Salvation* requires obedience to Christ. And this is the actual teaching of Scripture! The free Grace movement apparently forgot Jesus’ teaching which states: “repent ye, and believe the gospel” (Mark 1.15). Grace is free, but it’s not cheap. Christ says in Mt 16.24:
If any man will come after me, let him deny
himself, and take up his cross, and follow
me.
Here are Jesus’ own words in John 14.15:
If ye love me, keep my commandments.
Besides, how can *mere belief* ALONE be sufficient for *salvation* if the demons believe just as much? (James 2.19):
Thou believest that there is one God; thou
doest well: the devils also believe, and
tremble.
In fact, 1 John 2.3-4 would call proponents of Free Grace “liars”:
And hereby we do know that we know him
[Christ], if we keep his commandments. He
that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his
commandments, is a liar, and the truth is
not in him.
And yet, *free grace theology* is constantly mocking Lordship Salvation, calling it evil and unbiblical. Therefore, we should take heed of Isaiah’s (5.20) stern warning:
Woe unto them that call evil good, and good
evil; that put darkness for light, and light for
darkness.
In this paper, I’m only talking about the *regenerated* or *born-again believer,* and what their salvation consists of. I’m trying to demonstrate that a rebirth entails a new identity, a new creation, and a constant outflow of the fruit of the spirit. Just to be clear, Christian salvation is not based on the *works* of the law. Obeying the commandments of Moses doesn’t save anyone. We are not saved because we obey; we obey because we are saved! Nor is salvation an intellectual assent to the truths of Christianity (see Wayne Grudem’s “Free Grace” Theology). You don’t simply look at the facts, weigh the evidence, and conclude that Jesus must be the Messiah. Salvation is NOT an intellectual exercise. Rather, it’s an experience! In Paul’s “Participationist” model of salvation, we don’t merely stand afar off and believe in the person and work of Jesus Christ. No! Rather, we *participate* “in Christ.” We share in his baptism (Rom. 6.3), death (Gal. 2.20), and resurrection (Rom. 6.8). Psalm 34.8 says:
O taste and see that the LORD is good.
—
Walking through this life isn’t always easy, often challenging, and sometimes even downright dangerous. The question — especially when times are tough and the answers uncertain — is 'What can keep you going and bring you to your goal?' and the answer from God’s point of view is FAITH.
The manual called “Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth” (B.I.B.L.E.) says that “Without faith, it is impossible to please God. For he that comes to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.” (Hebrews 11:6) The currency of heaven is the application of faith, because in God’s economy no transactions can occur unless faith is involved. The larger the investment of faith, the bigger and better the return on your spiritual investment.
Your results will be directly proportional to the amount of F.A.I.T.H. you invest in it by F-orwarding A-ll I-ssues T-o H-eaven. When you do and place your trust in God, LISTEN carefully to what He is telling you to do, TRUST those instructions and then faithfully FOLLOW His direction and the result will always be successful! God is right 100% of the time, and will always lead you on the perfect faith path.
Regardless of the circumstance or how difficult what lies ahead, do not just “have” faith but PRACTICE Faith. Truly Forward All Issues To Him, place your path in His hands, keep walking towards the cross, and His steps will always guide you upward and onward.
God ONLY honors faith, and your sure reward is at the foot of the cross of Christ. Step out boldly in your faith going forward, and what you invest will manifest “According to your faith (then) it will be brought to you.”
God Bless Your Day, Jesus Loves You
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When most people hear the ringtone of their cellphones, it is amazing how fast they respond, but in seeing or hearing when God is 'calling', it is often a totally different story.
Despite how many times you ignore Him, God is calling you and will keep calling and asking, “Can you hear me NOW?” So as you read this, God is calling you again and asking you to hear Him, so would you give Him 30 seconds out of your busy day? Here’s an eternally important message that He wants to tell you..
“While you are here on earth you have a choice where your soul will go in eternity, and for you to accept my offer to completely forgive and not remember anything wrong or evil that you have done in your life. All I’m asking is for you to admit and confess that you were wrong, have sinned against me, yourself, and others, and simply accept my offer of salvation. Please listen to what I am saying and hear me now.”
Friend, life is short and if you have not answered and responded to His call yet, why not do so today before life ends when you will not have another chance to answer that call again.
God Bless Your Day Jesus Loves You
NotesOnLife.org
Perhaps you did not intend to do something wrong…but you did it anyway.
Sound familiar? Well, you are not alone becasue we all have!
The reason why is that as good as our thought intentions are, as today’s scripture verse says, being obedient doesn’t emanate from the Mind but from the Heart. When we listen with our heart, and not with our mind, the Holy Spirit can speak and you will be able to listen because our spirit is tied to the heart, not the mind.
So walk the good walk, not the 'will'! Obey God from your heart and you will never fail.
God Bless Your Day Jesus Loves You NotesOnLife.org
What determines how you make decisions? Is it based on what you see, how you feel, or what you think? If so, you might want to rethink that because this is not what the Word of God tells us how to live.
When most people hear the word 'obedience' they often bristle because it goes against our human nature of putting ourselves first because our natural tendency is to want to be in control of our own lives, but God has a better plan!
You see when we listen to God’s guidance, heed His direction and faithfully apply the instruction in His Word, we will always be both in His Perfect Will, and as Joshua 1:8 promises, “Prosper and succeed in all you do.”
Obedience to God and choosing His ways is not always easy, and the British author and lay theologian G.K. Cheserton put this well saying:
It’s not that the Christian faith has been tried and found difficult, but rather it’s been found Difficult and left untried.
So Christian, do not live your life by what you FEEL, but be obedient in FAITH and God will always safely and successfully direct your path.
God Bless Your Day Jesus Loves You NotesOnLife.org
If you ask most people to define 'success,' you’ll get a variety of answers.
For many it means wealth, for others having a Top Career Or Position, or perhaps being Famous and/or being Well Respected By Others. In this life, all of these have their place, but what is God’s Measure Of Success??
Today’s scripture gives us a strong clue, but if there is one thing that could guide us without a doubt, it would be this:
SUCCESS Is KNOWING the WILL of God And DOING IT
You see, God knows your best path for every aspect of your life. This includes your job or career, who you’ll marry, where you should live, or what things He wants you to do and accomplish. The Bible tells story after story of people that were obedient to God - and as a result - they successfully accomplished what He set them out to do.
So friend, if you are seeking to be successful in life, don’t just 'think' or develop your own plan on how you’ll succeed! Instead seek out God’s perfect and purposeful WILL, and when you understand and DO what He has directed you to do, then you will truly be 'Prosperous and Have Great Success.' (Joshua 1:8)
God Bless Your Day Jesus Loves You NotesOnLife.org
In the Bible the phrase (or a variation) of “FEAR GOD” appears close to a hundred times, but what exactly does that mean?
Well, an earthly example of that was in Navy bootcamp. As a scared 17-year-old there were always big men with stripes on their sleeves constantly yelling at us. We knew that we had better 'toe the line' and shape up because if not there would be consequences, and it was important for us to strictly obey every order we were given — as uncomfortable and often difficult as they were.
Life on earth is a lot like 'bootcamp.' The goal is to navigate this world and successfully graduate and not 'wash out,' and to do that means to LISTEN and OBEY all the commands and warnings given, because they ultimately are for our own good. Just as in bootcamp, then and only then could we graduate with honor as good sailors and become “Men in the United States Navy.”
Likewise, the “Fear of God ” means that we are to not only respect and listen to what God says, but to do all He says for OUR ULTIMATE BENEFIT. To rebel against this is the earthly equivalent of getting a 'Dishonorable Discharge' and being kicked out of the place to where you ultimately belong.
Friend, as today’s verse reminds us, it is a wise thing to Fear God, but foolish to go your own way. In the Navy, we had NAVPERS (Navy Personnel Regulations) but in this life We have BIBLE (Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth.) If you follow that manual carefully and fear the one who wrote it, you can never go wrong!
God Bless Your Day Jesus Loves You NotesOnLife.org
By Dr. Jeanne Sheffield Estrada
On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your faithfulness to God?
Unfortunately, some think that they can live life with one foot in the world and the other foot half way committed to God, but doing so is a slippery slope which always takes us BACKWARDS to trouble instead of FORWARD to Blessing.
Imagine your child treating you the way you treat God — giving lip service by pretending to be good, but sneaking around doing things you were taught not to do. Doing so dishonors God but grieves him!
You see, when we obey God, we demonstrate our love and faithfulness to Him. Jesus said, “If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.” (John 15:10–11).
Friend, playing games with God is never good because not only is He watching us, but because others are watching how we live. As the NEW TESTAMENT is a testament of the gospel to the world, our lives need to be a LIVING TESTAMENT that reflect God to others in how we talk, act, and live.
My dear friend, if you have been “playing games with God,” now is the time to live a much more obedient life — and with it will come peace and a deep satisfaction of being in your wealthy place. That is the game that God wants YOU to “WIN!”
God Bless Your Day Jesus Loves You
NotesOnLife.org
