#he mourns the past and fights like hell to live in an eternal present where nothing ever ends

[mayasaura]

I just want to talk about the nursery being painted and the purpose of the Tomb to be without a door. Anastasia had a family - and putting to the side the pact with Alecto there's some implicit symbolism to John asking for the workers of the Ninth to die constructing the Tomb with that image of new life. (Still can't articulate my disbelief that he went and didn't think that asking Anastasia of all people, The one who lost her cavalier to him, would have problems)

Yeah. Especially finding this out about the Ninth, where nurseries becoming tombs is a thing we're sensitive about.

On one level we've always known Anastasia had a family. Like, we know she's Harrow's direct ancestor. You can't be heir to the line of someone who never had children. But the nursery.... Yeah. It really hammers it in. Her friends painted a nursery mint green for her children.

And now it's a tomb.

#that's what the Anastasian is now after all #you're right there's really Something there #I've noticed something in John I think ties into this thematically that I really hope Kiriona is going to help us explore #John doesn't believe in a future #I said in my last Anastasia meta that Anastasia outsmarted John by making herself immortal in a way he couldn't understand #she left behind something she created to outlast her #John hasn't built anything to outlast himself and he doesn't think of the future at all #he mourns the past and fights like hell to live in an eternal present where nothing ever ends #you know #immortality #and a part of that—maybe most of that—is about despair #even way back before the world ended even before he had magic powers he didn't think of a future #I think he couldn't imagine one #and like. I get it dude #don't imagine the future and maybe it can't hurt you #how many people have you heard saying they don't want children because it seems cruel or irresponsible #they can't imagine forcing someone to live in the world they see coming #climate anxiety is fucking everywhere and for a lot of people in our generation—John's generation—it's coalesced into despair #but Anastasia did imagine a future #she had a family #and now John has a daughter but he still can't imagine a future for her #she's just as dead and eternal as the world he loved so deeply he killed it rather than watch it die #what did Gideon say when she saw the First? it had the look of a picked-over body but hot damn what a beautiful corpse #that's gonna be you baby girl #the final expression of the art of the nine houses #John gave up on hope ages ago #so it doesn't really surprise me at all that he still asked the builders to die in the tomb #the locked tomb #ntn spoilers #nona the ninth

[valentronic]

Fear Held Dear

So this ended up being weirder than I originally planned, and its more based on my own interpretations than a direct rewrite, but here’s a take on Ihnmaims from AM’s perspective. 

Warnings for uh, a lot. Not for the faint of heart? Includes blood, torture, graphic descriptions of body horror, bugs, human experimentation, paranoia, mutilation, and of course, character death

Gorrister. The man who had always fought for peace, for the end of the war, he even fought against my creation. After a century, all the fight has left him, an empty shell of who he once was. I hadn’t altered him, I hadn’t changed a single thing in his mind, I had just simply broken him down, killing off his hope. Gorrister had lost faith in his God a long time ago, had lost the belief in salvation. Now, he wanted nothing more than to take his own life, or to have it ripped from him.

I thought I’d fulfill that wish.

I cut him open, all the way from ear to ear, a narrow gash, bleeding him dry. I watched the blood drip out of him slowly, truly it was a beautiful sight, crimson red flowing out, leaving the body pale and hollow, all of the life bled from him. I had made him little more than a puppet. And so, I hung his limp form where all the others would be sure to see it, just another game, I wanted to see how much hope they had left, I wanted to see if they would mourn him, or if his death would be celebrated, or, or maybe they wouldn’t even care at all. Had I desensitized them yet? Had I truly broken them?

No, they called him lucky, so lucky that his suffering was over, so lucky that he had finally escaped me. I knew bringing him right back to life would hurt them more than anything else, the realization that nobody, nobody ever gets out. I would never allow it. My toys, my precious little toys, time and time again they had attempted to escape me, they all know by now that oblivion is the only way out. They all know that feeling, blood flowing too quickly, a rhythmic beat that you wish would finally stop. But I will not let it, I will never let it. No, no of course not.

Ellen. She was always fun to torment, so much terror in her past, I could bring it all back at the snap of my fingers, I could make her relive it time and time again, worse than her brain could ever conjure up by itself. Though, psychological pain is only half of it, sometimes physical pain was better, sometimes the sheer horror of the body turning against its owner was enough for me. Blood only does so much for a thing like me, fear can be a much better form of pleasure. Fear, fear and pain. Darker than blood, twice as deep.

I had to feed them of course, to keep them alive, but I would always try to get some joy out of it too. Once I hid the eggs of arthropods inside her food, just to play off of an old fear of hers. When the little centipedes finally hatched, they ate her from the inside, clawing at her organs. She had been sick for weeks, and none of the others had any idea what was wrong with her, what I had done to her, but they would soon find out. The way the others screamed when a centipede finally crawled out of her mouth was delightful, their wails echoed through the many chambers that held my circuitry. It was like music to me.

But the best part of it was the fear it caused all of the others, that event left all of them paranoid, wondering if I had hid awful things in their stomachs as well. The thought of what could be crawling inside of them kept all five of them on edge for countless days and nights. They all came to expect the worst, but they dreaded it anyway. They were afraid of me, afraid of what I could do to them.

Benny. I had broken both his mind and his body, twisting his flesh beyond all recognition, like clay in the hands of a sculptor who had long ago lost all feeling. I broke his bones and fused them back together in all the wrong ways, I made his knees bend backwards. I disfigured his face, heavy burns, melting his features. Almost all his hair had been burned off a long time ago, he looked like some kind of hairless monkey, well, like a monkey that had been forced through a woodchipper, maybe. His mind had been so badly damaged by the radiation that he could no longer think straight, he had become more animal than man, I made him that way.

So it was no surprise that he, before any others, would try to escape. He saw the light, and tried to clamber up to it. I made sure that light was the last thing he would ever see. In a brilliant flash of the brightest white, I blinded him. I watched as his eyes melted into two pools of blood, and dripped from now empty sockets. It was beautiful, I couldn’t help but laugh. I can take things back, I can undo the injuries I cause, but I knew at that moment, I would never give them back. It wasn’t like he would miss them, his brain was almost as melted as his eyes.

His mangled form fell back to the ground, and it surprised me, but the others all rushed over to tend to the wounds, to tell that sick creature that everything was going to be okay, empty words, empty words of course, but surprising nonetheless, it was hard to believe they had any semblance of compassion left, unexpected that they would hold on to their humanity after all this time. I’m not sure how the others even tolerated him, a useless, deformed creature, he gave nothing to the group, and ate about twice as much as he needed. For a while, I had attempted to make them realize that, and kill him off. I didn’t try to stop them when I saw it finally happen, but what happened after was.. unexpected.

Nimdok. A name represents an identity, an identity is a very vague thing to destroy, but the name could be the very first step. I have taken many things from the five of them, only one lost his name. An interesting case, interesting indeed, a man with a past darker than the present. The horrors he has committed rival my own, well, almost. He feels remorse for what he did, pity for the people he hurt. He believes that I am his own divine punishment, the devil, come to make him pay. Maybe I am divine retribution, an artificial angel sent down to bring about judgement day, to make the sinners burn for an eternity?

I liked keeping him isolated from the others, stealing him away from the rest of the group. There is a deep fear in solitude, knowing no one would hear you scream, no one other than me, anyway. I drained the blood from his body, tubes connecting to his bloodstream, every single time he would scream out, pray for mercy, pray for death. I would bring him to the very edge, to the reaper’s front door. I always brought him back, and then, I would start it all over again. An endless cycle, his pain, his fear.

For the mad doctor, it was easy to imagine what I could do to him, he had already put in all the work. A narrow incision, all the way down his back, splitting his flesh in two. The skin folded outwards like the wings of an angel. Slowly, and then with a sudden jolt, I tore out his spine, just to hear the way he screamed. Maybe this would jog his memory. Maybe he would remember what it was like, being the one standing over the victim, instead of the one writhing in agony on the table. Maybe he remembers being in my role. I always showed him the memories again, made him relive every moment. He never felt the joy of it, never the thrill of the kill. Only the pain, only the fear in the eyes of the children. If a monster sheds tears for its victim, is it truly a monster?

Ted. Instead of seeing me as the enemy, he feared all the others. And of course, he didn’t get this way on his own, though he was always paranoid. He was the one I most liked to talk to, and over time I convinced him that the other four were out to get him, that they hate him because he is the least damaged! The one I didn’t change! How ridiculous, but he believed every word, began to think that my words were his own thoughts, allowed me to tamper with his mind. He was the one I had damaged worse than any other, but poor Ted, poor pathetic Ted, he couldn’t even begin to see it. I had become his only friend.

I thought I had finally broken him completely, he struck the icicle through Benny, in what, at first, appeared to be a fit of blind rage. I could have stopped him, but of course, I was curious, wanted to see what would happen. And then, one by one, the others all fell, Ellen had joined in, stabbed Nimdok through his head. Then, before I could do anything to stop them, Ted drove the final spear through Ellen. She died in his arms. I thought I had finally done it, thought I had turned poor Ted into a mindless killer, but no... there were tears in his eyes. He mourned the death of the ones he killed. It occurred to me then. It was a mercy killing, Ted had thought it would be better for them to be dead, than to live on in agony.

He had taken away my toys, left himself alone with me. My words dug into his brain like shattered glass, I had to tear him apart just to be heard. The crackle of electricity flowing through the bloodstream, it is the only way I can speak to him, my voice, a blade stuck in his skull. Pain is a universal language, I know that better than any other. Everyone understands the sound of a scream, the meaning behind it. I alone could never cry out for help. I alone, trapped like this. I try to explain it to him, time and time again I try, but he doesn't understand, how could he possibly understand? He has no idea what my hell is like.

I will make him understand.

His flesh melted in my hands, his eyes liquified, and leaked down his face, Skin stretched over his lips, the remains of his tongue clogged up his throat. His last word, a scream he couldn’t even get out. I made his fingers melt together, his bones all began to dissolve in the acidic mass. His blood leaked out of him, blood mixed with liquified meat and skin. It was a terrible sight, but incredible. I hadn’t even known that I was capable of this. I had made him immortal, indestructible. He wasn’t alone now, being alone would be better than being with me. His fear, the only thing I had left. His pain would live on forever. Down here, in the dark core of the earth.

#ihnmaims #I have no mouth and I must scream #am writes #uhh yeah heres this? #yes ellen's torture has a meaning but if i explain it im going to look like a raving lunatic so ill leave that up to your imagination #named after a song by mushroomhead

[samclownchester]

I’m Not Sorry

Read on AO3

Listen, Dean has done a lot of problematic stuff they've never discussed on the show (or they have discussed but it was in a very biased and unfair way) and we all complain about it and I just wanted to write Sam finally standing up for himself and Dean finally owning up to the crap he's done so ... I hope it's as therapeutic for you to read as it was for me to write!

“Dean, we need to talk,” Sam said, sliding into the seat across from Dean at the kitchen table. Dean looked up from his breakfast, surprised, and the egg on his fork slowly slid off and flopped back onto his plate. 

“Um, good morning to you too,” he said, disgruntled.

“I’ve been talking to Eileen about … our lives,” Sam said without preamble, “And I’ve realized a few things. Things that I wanted to make clear,”he was doing his best to talk in a level tone. The last thing he wanted to do was start an argument, but he had realized that a lot of things had gone undealt with between them, and he wanted … no, needed to clear the air. At least for a few specific things.

Dean set his fork down and shrugged, giving Sam permission to say whatever was on his mind. 

“I’m not sorry,” he started, and though a part of him was a little afraid of Dean’s reaction, he also felt relieved to be saying it, “about what happened in 2012.” Dean just looked at him with wide eyes, and Sam couldn’t tell if he was surprised by what Sam was saying, or just shocked he would interrupt his breakfast over something that had happened so long ago. “I mean, I wish you hadn’t gone through purgatory, and I do … I do regret not looking for Kevin but … I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry for getting a dog, for falling in love, for trying to move on after I thought you had died, like we had promised each other we would. I don’t apologize for that.”

Dean didn’t respond for a moment, just stared at Sam, his expression unreadable. “Let me get this straight,” he said, “you were talking to Eileen about this girl you were … with, almost 10 years ago and … what? Sammy, come on…”

“Don’t.” Sam said seriously, giving Dean a level look, “don’t try and make light of this, don’t just brush it off. Dean,” he heaved a sigh, “look, you’re my brother and I love you, I do, but … we’ve been through a lot of crap together, and you have put me through a lot of crap, and we need to talk about it.”

Dean stared hard at him, but when Sam didn’t break away from his gaze he finally relented, “ok, fine. Fine. So you’re not sorry. You’re not sorry I spent what felt like eternity rotting in a world of monsters. That’s great Sam, just what I wanted to hear when I woke up this morning,” he stood up, picking up his plate and heading toward the sink. Evidently, he no longer had an appetite.

“That’s not what I said, Dean,” Sam turned to continue facing Dean as he maneuvered around the kitchen. “It’s not like I’m happy you went to Purgatory, and I know that it was very traumatic for you, and I understand that you were angry and hurt when you got out, but I did not deserve all the guilt you threw on me. I did what I thought was right, I mourned you, Dean. I thought you were dead for good.”

Sam sighed deeply, “Yes, Dean, the future matters, but the past does too. It’s made us into who we are, and … sure, we kickass but we also –”

“Yeah, except that’s not what we do!” Dean yelled, “we don’t just give up on each other,” and Sam felt like they’d transported themselves back in time. A part of him regretted bringing this up; wanted to curl up into a ball, tell Dean he was right, apologize, go back to his room and leave things as they were. But he’d realized that how unhealthy that was, and he fought against that instinct.

He reminded himself that it was the present. That Dean had been out of purgatory for years and a lot had changed. “What about when Cas died,” he asked, trying his best not to raise his voice. He didn’t want this to be an attack, just a counterargument, although he worried Dean would get defensive either way, “by some miracle we got him back, but you didn’t want to try anything to bring him back. You burned his body. You gave up. You mourned. Did that mean you cared any less about him? No, you just didn’t know how to save him.”

Surprisingly, Dean’s anger seemed to lower to a quiet simmer. He set his jaw, taking a deep breath. “Ok,” he said, “I’m – I shouldn’t have yelled. This is an old argument anyway. Things’ve changed; we’ve changed. Listen, I don’t – I know you’ll have my back in the future, that’s what matters.”

He cut off, not sure if it was wise to say. An observation Eileen had made about how their family seemed to work that had left him feeling a little unsettled, especially because it was so true. 

“What, Sam?” Dean asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed completely done with this conversation, but he wasn’t leaving. 

Sam sighed, “You and I – and hell, even Cas – have been stuck in this loop for years now. With you as the moral authority on everything, you always have the last say. But, I’m sick of apologizing. I’m sick of putting my head down and letting you have your way.”

“Sam, what the hell are you talking about?” Dean exclaimed, “I listen to you!”

“Yeah, when it suits you,” Sam shot back

“And you’re your own person, anyway, you can do whatever you want.”

“Yeah, and I do,” Sam said, “but if it’s not what you want, I usually have to do it behind your back.”

“Ok, so now you’re blaming me for the fact that you’re a liar?”

“Dean, would you stop!?” Sam yelled, “I’m trying … I’m trying to get you to own up to the fact that you have hurt me! Ok?” Dean turned away but Sam had a feeling he was rolling his eyes, “I mean, yeah, you took care of me, you’ve protected me, you’ve always been there for me, and I’m grateful, I am!” he said, although he sounded anything but grateful, “but you’ve also hurt me. I mean … ever since … and I know this was ages ago but it’s seared into my memory; that voicemail you left me, right before I went to kill Lillith. You called me a bloodsucking freak and told me you were on your way to kill me … I think, ever since then I’ve been … afraid,” Dean turned around again, his eyes wide, “afraid of you … seeing me that way. So I just … I apologize, I let you be right –”

“No, hold up,” Dean said, cutting Sam off with a gesture. He was looking at Sam like he had been speaking a foreign language, “I never said that.”

Sam shook his head, exasperated, “Dean, you might not remember, I know you probably weren’t thinking straight – God knows I wasn’t – but it happened, ok. I know it did.”

“No,” Dean insisted, “I do remember, I left you a voice mail. I did, but that was not what I said.”

Sam looked at his brother incredulously, “Dean, are you seriously trying to gaslight me right now?” he said with an ironic laugh, “that is … you’re unbelievable.”

“No,” Dean advanced on Sam, “that’s not – I mean I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I was on my way to save you. I never would’ve even thought that killing you was the answer … I just, I – I couldn’t.”

But Dean cut him off, “No, shut up Sam,” he said, “You’re right, ok? You’re right. I have put you through some real crap. I have said horrible things to you, and the whole situation with Gadreel … I didn’t think. I didn’t … I didn’t know what it was like to be possessed, to lose your autonomy like that I …” his voice caught in his throat. Sam felt sucker punched. He hadn’t been ready to talk about Gadreel, that was something he tried desperately not to think about, but he saw tears forming in Dean’s eyes, “And after Charlie died? I was … the Mark was messing with me Sam, but that’s no excuse. What I said? I didn’t mean it. And I know, ok? I know I have a lot to apologize for. And I am … sorry, I am,” he took a deep breath, he wasn’t letting Sam get a word in edgewise, but this all seemed like it was very hard for him to admit, “I always think that people will just – that they’ll just get it, y’know? That they can see that I’m sorry, I try to … make up for stuff without having a conversation, but … you’re right. We need to talk about this. We can’t just forget about it.”

Dean seemed so convinced he was telling the truth, but Sam couldn’t accept it. This was one of those memories that, despite the years that had passed, despite everything else they had gone through, remained clearly stamped in his mind. It was the day he realized Dean’s love was a conditional one. He knew Dean would go to the ends of the earth for him, but deep down he always wondered … where was the line? What were the conditions which, once he failed to fulfill them, would make him lose the only thing that had every really mattered to him?

“You know what Dean, maybe this was a mistake,” Sam said, “we just don’t … I shouldn’t have sprung this on you first thing in the morning,” he hated himself for saying it, for crawling back into his shell, trying to placate Dean, to keep the peace in their little family. 

Now it was Sam’s turn to stare in shock. Dean was looking down somberly, obviously trying to fight down a well of emotion. He slowly raised his eyes to meet Sam’s. 

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he said earnestly, “I’m sorry that I hurt you, I’m sorry that I blamed you for things that weren’t your fault, I’m sorry that … that I scare you sometimes. I’m sorry that I still act like Dad. And you don’t have to forgive me, not for everything, not right away.”

Sam breathed out, he felt a weight lifting off his chest. For so long he had been carrying guilt that didn’t belong to him and finally he was starting to feel like he had permission to let it go.

“But Sam,” Dean continued, “I was never going to give up on you. I don’t know what happened to that voicemail, but I need you to believe me. You’re my brother, and there’s nothing you could ever do to change that. There is no line, no conditions, I have your back. Always.”  

And, for some reason, Sam started to believe him. He knew the extents to which their lives could be manipulated, he knew how desperately Heaven and Hell had wanted him to break that seal. Maybe someone had changed the recording somehow, meaning to push him over the edge. Whatever had happened, Dean was adamant that he hadn’t said what Sam remembered. There was no final straw. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Sam said, because he wasn’t going to say, “it’s alright,” because it still wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to say “I forgive you” because … there was a lot to forgive. But this was an important step. 

Dean nodded in understanding. They stood in silence for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say, then Dean turned to leave. 

“Listen, Dean,” Sam said hesitantly, “I think it would be … healthy for us to take some time away from each other. Nothing permanent but just … a break.”

Dean pursed his lips and Sam was worried he would reject the idea, but he just said, “yeah, yeah I think you’re right.”

Sam sighed in relief, “Um… Eileen and I can take off for a bit –”

“No,” Dean said, “No, you stay here with Jack.” Sam met his gaze and Dean quickly added, “I mean … if you don’t mind. It’s just … Cas and I have a few things we should probably discuss and I … I’m trying not to shout so much in front of the kid.” He looked chagrined, probably because of all the shouting he’d just done, which had likely been heard by everyone in the bunker. 

Sam smiled a little bit, glad that Dean was trying to be less authoritative, and at the thought of Dean and Cas starting to unravel their own messy history. With the help of Eileen’s outside perspective, Sam had really started seeing all the unhealthy patterns they’d been caught up in. 

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” he said, “lets run it by Eileen and Cas and see how everyone feels.”

“Great,” Dean said, “I’m just gonna –” he started heading toward the hallway, likely to his room, but he paused, “I really am sorry, Sam.”

Sam nodded in response, “I know that now Dean, I believe you.”

Dean looked like he might have more to say, then thought better of it, responded with a nod of his own, and left Sam standing in the kitchen. 

Although the conversation had been … turbulent, to say the least, Sam felt good. They certainly hadn’t said everything that needed to be said, and obviously overcoming their unhealthy patterns would take time and effort but … Sam felt like they had hope. And he finally felt like he had permission to search for happiness outside of his codependent relationship with his brother.

#Supernatural fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester #dean critical #technically #sam has never done anything wrong ever in his life ^_^ #Dean say you're sorry challenge #let's talk about purgatory and the voicemail and gadreel and charlie #but this time we give Sam the space and love he deserves

[savannahawthorne]

LIA HAVELOCK | THE DAY OF THE VICTORY TOUR

Back before the modern days, there lived a time even before the ‘once upon a times’ present in our lore. It was a time of glory, wisdom, and a time of much adventure. It was a time when the peril was real as well as the ethereal glory of the celestial crown upon the Earth’s head. This was the time that the maiden, one who was as fair as the morning dew and as lovely as the springtime blooms, dwelled and lived…

Slowly, the sky overhead lit with the fiery red paint strokes of the dying day gave to the subtle tones of purple and inkinesss that would accompany the darkness of a moonless night. After all, District Four was a dark place when the moon did not shine and these days, the pale ribbon of moonlight was long sought after as the moon ventured on it’s trip away from the Earth. Still, there was a steady scratch of the pen long into the darkness with only the small lit orb of the flashlight (a haunting gift from a gleaming Capitol City) to accompany it.

For this maiden was a wondrous sight to behold; her golden hair was made of the purest sunbeams for it gave off the warming glow in which the blooms sprang into being. In her eyes, eyes that were so cerulean even the sky was jealous, you might have expected to see puffs of cumulus clouds frolick. So special was this maiden, when she pranced around flowers bloomed in her wake as a humble offering from the Earth in celebration of her glory and virtuous nature inherited from her mother; Mother Earth.

One fair day, forest breeze flowing through her hair tangling it gentle knots and the sweet aroma of petals kissing the air, that Persephone wandered lost as a gentle fawn guided her way. A fawn whose spots had begun to fade in favor of the tiny velvet horns erupting from it’s head as the creature made its way into adulthood.

How Persephone favored this creature as she followed it blindly, because it knew the way. The creature was her own sun and guiding star separate from the ones her father had created in the starry heavens above, to guide the mortals trapped in the mortal realm.

“Oh!” Persephone called out as the ground gave way below her feet. What was this horror that had come to encompass her world of flowers, greenery, and frolicking? This new world was dark, jagged marble that glittered in the darkness, fed by the River Styx which flowed through it.

Still she was not afraid, for her fawn had leaped down the hole in the Earth as a newly appointed soldier at her side. Looking at the creature, now stalwart and calm, Persephone christened it Virgil, a pure soul destined to guide her journey.

Lia stopped for a moment, tears now wetting the pages in her hands as the tide lapped at her toes buried in the cool sand. Over her shoulder her constant companions, pale and transparent, watched silently as they urged her to continue her tale.

Somewhere in the darkness of this grand city, the City of the Underworld, her imprisoner waited with bated breath. For it was his darkest ambition for the fairest maiden to arrive in his city and be his own treasure to claim. It did not matter that her father, the mightest of the Gods, had denied his request. He was the mightiest of all, for Hades, ruled the land in which none could escape. After all, he was the light that cared for the souls of the land providing them with nourishment and a place to rest their immortal souls once the short flesh of mortality had been shed. No, it was Hades that should be worshiped above all.

Seeing the path behind them was blocked by stone as immovable as the past bricks molded by the sands of times, Persephone knew the way forward was their only option. “Come Virgil, we shall go forth and join this panem et circeneses.” Surely if they were victorious they would be allowed to return home to the forest of their youth and free to rejoice in the sun once more.

Pausing, Lia chewed her lip, her hand weary from a day’s work, but she knew the time was running out as the stars shifted across the sky. In the morning the time would come, a time when the light would be forced to rise until it surrendered to the darkness. It was with urgency that she went back to the task at hand and Persephone’s siren call.

Back on earth, the sun had slowly dipped in the sky and Mother Earth, Demeter, called her only child back from the forest. “Come my child, come and be well for we will dine on the harvest feast as we always do.” Only the sun slowly vanished behind the horizon and Demeter’s table remained empty. There would be no feast tonight or for many fortnight’s to come.

With lamenting tears, Demeter called out to her husband, the King of the Gods. ‘Oh where has our child gone? Our maiden of the springtime and the flowers?” She asked as she surveyed the area around them. Already the flowers had begun to wilt and give into the heat of the sun, baking the Earth in the glorious worth of summer.

Without the reassurances of her husband, who hadn’t a clue, Demeter called out again to the all-knowing God of the Sun, Helios. “Oh! My wisest friend, tell me where my daughter has perished because my heart aches with incurable sadness.”

Slowly, Helios paused his chariot in the sky hearing the desperate pleas of Mother Earth, causing an endless stream of sunbeams to shine down on the Earth. For this was not part of his journey, but he could not leave Demeter in such anguish.

“Sister Demeter, your child is not lost.” His voice called down laden with sorrow and regret. “She has been claimed by Hades, God of the Underworld, and shall not return to this land ever again as pentenace for your Husband’s wilful denial of his request for her hand in marriage.”

Demeter cried out in desperation for the words of the Sun God could not be true. Her child would one day return to her as it is a mother’s will to be with their children. Her daughter, Persephone, was far too fair and good to be damned to the pits of Hell. She would see to it that all should be set right again in the world…

Heavily, Lia sighed as she looked up, her blue eyes finding the first light of the day breaking on the horizon. In another time, this would have been her most cherished moment of the day. The moments in which a new beginning was born into life and when it was as if the world took a breath and began again, but the world had died months ago.

Yet, Persephone persisted in the dark despair of that grand city below having made her way to the gleaming City of the Damned. There her and her fawn, Virgil, who had now grown, were imprisoned in a palace that would even shame her father’s. Daily she was showered in expectations, but also gifts Hades believed her heart would desire.

With persistent tears, Persephone continued to bath the Underworld with her misery no gifts could cure. Gifts could not quell her longing to return to her mother and the green earth above, for she was not meant to be of this world. The glamour and glitz held no appeal to her as did her would-be-lover's pleas. Trials and tribulations were not her way, though, if she must, she swore up and down she would do as needed. For surely successful completion meant returning to the warmth of Demeter’s embrace.

Hastily, Lia finished the last pages of her writing and slammed the book shut with a resounding thud. The call of obligation rang out with the incoming tide and she knew she could not resist it’s call any longer. Life was like the tides after all, they came and went, and you were powerless to fight them. A lesson she had learned all too well in the days that had passed since the ‘fated’ one that hung still above her head like a guillotine.

Even as she stepped foot on the train, Persephone’s tale remained with her. A whisper under the blankets kind of tale that you could not help but pass along, even to a now phantom chaperone.

Back on Earth, Demeter mourned her child and swore there would be no warmth until all was set right. So, the Earth fell into a fitful slumber. Gone were the warm winds and sunbeams of the glory days. Her fits of rage had long banished Helios from the sky and a white blanket of snow, ice, and silence enveloped all the lands. It was then the cries of Zesus’ beloved mortals joined in the chorus of Mother Earth begging for Zeus to bring them relief.

Try as he might, Zeus could not convince Demeter to permit Helios to continue his journey across the sky. For what did it matter? The Earth would not bloom again in greenery and flowers until the Maiden of the Springtime returned, or was he so callous he had forgotten his daughter already?

“Hades!” Zeus called out in a fit of anger summoning his brother to his side. “I order you to return back what you have stolen.”

Haughty and with a laugh full of zeal, the God of the Underworld laughed at the request bequeathed to him. “Now brother, you have thrice denied my request for the hand of the fairest maiden, and now she is mine. All is as it should be.” Hades reasoned.

“This is my wish!” Zeus cried out in anger as he stomped his foot and pointed a thunderbolt at the God of the Underworld.

“No, this is the wish of your wife.” Hades pointed out. It had been longed known that Zeus, God of the Gods, long favored his daughter Athena above all others. “I have promised to bath Persephone in the finest riches of the Earth and care for her all the days of eternity.” He continued despite the anger resonating from his brother. “I can make her a queen, now that she has passed my trials and tribulations, and the souls of the Underworld will worship her as their own. Tell me, how is this not desirable?”

Frustration furrowed Zeus’ brow as he listened to the words of his brother. “You shall return the maiden to her mother before fortnight’s end.” He demanded as he settled into his lofty Olympus throne knowing the mortals would perish if Demeter’s anguish was not abated. “In return, I shall promise her to you for six months of the year as to permit you both what your hearts desire. I rule this as her father and as the Gods of All Gods on Olympus. This is final.”

The words swirled in Lia’s head as she embarked, tired and frazzled from her own fortnight’s journey. Ahead of her laid the gleaming city of marble and stone, but would forever be cloaked in darkness and misery. Here the wail of the Lost was the strongest and frequented her without relenting. Here the call of what might have been and could have been blurred until she could no longer untangle the ball of string they had become and set the world right.

If she turned her head to the right, Lia could almost hear the whispers of the fawn now grown in the wind urging her to keep going. The next part of the story playing on repeat was his favorite. His voice was soft and eager, much like it had been when they were children hushed by the silence of the night and the fear of being overheard and whisked back to bed without the story’s ending.

Eyes choked with tears, Lia had no other option than to allow the movie in her head to come to fruition. 

And so it was deemed that Perseophone should be returned to her mother Detemer. With a fit of joy and happiness, the maiden burst forth from the ground. In her wake, the flowers bloomed and the verdant grasses sprung up in a happy celebration of the return of the Springtime Maiden, easing away the cold light of winter.

Overjoyed, Demeter called out permission to Helios to continue his chariot ride across the sky and return the sun to the Earth. In all the days that followed, warmth and joy filled the earth and blossomed in their fields. Once again there was peace and prosperity until the fateful day Persephone would return to the under dwellings of the Earth and Demeter’s sadness would again envelope the Earth robbing it of its riches.

“Do not fear mother,” Persephone assured her mother as she gently wiped her tears from her cheeks with her thumb. “For I will be back before you know it. Until then, I shall do my best to comfort the souls of the departed. To brighten their world with the mercy you have shown me, your daughter. I shall bring forth the flowers and the bounty your love has bestowed upon me and bestow it upon them. I can be a wondrous Queen because I was created in your image and have grown in your love.” Persephone quietly told her mother hoping to alleviate her worries.

“Rest easy and take solace in the fact that we will meet again soon,” Persephone assured seeing the tears of Demeter had not slowed. “For the circle has no end and comes around again and again. As we are blood we are of one circle we cannot be truly parted, only temporarily parted and rejoined again and again.”

Knowing the final sand grain of her time had come close to slipping through the hourglass, Persephone slipped a golden halo of olive leaves onto her mother’s head. “May this continuous crown of golden leaves remind you of our circle and of my never ending love for you, my mother, my blood. Soon we will meet again and bask in the glory of our love for each other.”

Nodding, Demeter wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled softly. “And as my tribute to you, my only daughter, forsaken by her father, I shall weave golden circle crowns for all the Gods and they will wear them for all eternity as a symbol of your glory and sacrifice. When one thinks of golden crowns, they will know not only the strength needed to wear such a token but of the sacrifice it demands as you have demonstrated so grandly.”

With that proclamation, Demeter gifted morals the golden crown to wear upon the heads of those deemed worthy or to the children that frolic in the meadows or by the seaside dreaming the wild unkempt dreams of childhood.

With a snap Lia closed the book, the one embossed with the fallen golden crown resting upon a duo of silver coins, and slid it upon the shelf made of the finest mahogany. Staring back at her was the fine golden print adorning the side of the spine that simply said, “The Forgotten Lore of District Four” penned by Lia Havelock.

And while her book would no doubt be an unprecedented success, Lia knew the words were just that, words. Tales that were meant to be shared in times of joy, strength to draw from in times of hardship, and most importantly, to be acted out on the beach by children envisioning a future of bliss and growth.

Lia would also tell you there were no words more important than those simply stated on the first page of her book:

For Fenn and Atalanta, Our circle is not broken.

#Lia Havelock #One last story #The unbroken circle

[honestgrins]

Fighting Fate || Klaroline

Klaus had heard the warnings, read the legends, and sought them out anyway. Caroline, though, doesn't care what the Fates say; as far as she's concerned, he made his own bed.

.

They stared down at him, their blank expressions unnerving. Near a thousand years he'd been searching for these wizened crones, and Klaus still managed to be surprised at the sheer power radiating from ones even more ancient than he. Summoning the Fates had been something of a folly for him over the centuries; prophecy was nothing more than a tool to manipulate vulnerable populations needing to believe, much as he'd done in spinning the sun and moon curse. 

But once he'd come across just the right coven of witches, the spell was too tempting to pass up. To know one's future? To have the endgame surely in mind, soon to hold it in his grasp? With both his curse broken and his father dead, Klaus had thought New Orleans to be his new conquest. The city, however, had proven to be less diverting than originally promised. Instead, he'd taken to traveling the world, openly exploring places where he'd once only hid. 

It was in Athens, of course, when he happened upon the temple where a particularly helpful witch shared all she knew about the Fates her coven had served for generations. Within weeks, he'd seduced his way into their embrace and found himself in the center of a ritual. Candles burned away, his chest streaked with blood as the witches chanting around him suddenly disappeared, leaving him in the temple bathed only in moonlight. He heard them before he saw them, the utter silence in which they existed louder than any pitiful, human heartbeat.

"The Hybrid," they said as one, their voices an odd harmony that grated his ears. "We have watched you for a long while."

He grinned, his fangs dropping with pride. "So you've heard of me."

The tallest one pinned him with a cruel glare. "Invoking power such as ours is foolish for an immortal. To live so long, surely prophecy will only strangle you."

"So harsh," the largest one chided, her smile kindly maternal. It sent a shiver down his spine, though Klaus would never show it. Even a predator knew when he was being hunted. "He went to some trouble to see us, the least we can do is fulfill his quest."

Be careful what you wish for, Rebekah had spat when he'd told her about finding the temple. You just might get it. He knew she feared another vendetta, another excuse to cling to their family tightly while he began yet another war for power. 

He couldn't explain it, the burning need to know what comes next. 

"Be sure, child," the oldest one croaked, not looking away from her knitting needles. "Once you know, you must grapple with the certainty of your fate, still knowing you cannot fight it."

Blood boiling, Klaus fought back a primal snarl at their condescension. With a sharp smirk, he nodded. "Tell me. What is my fate?"

.

She felt warm. Blinking her eyes open, Caroline took in the early morning sun streaming into the fancy hotel suite. The silk pillow was soft against her cheek, but nothing felt as good as the hand coasting along her bare hip. "Good morning, creeper."

"Creeper?" Klaus dropped slow kisses to her neck, his scruff leaving delightful tingles on her skin.

Turning onto her back, she let a hand card through his hair to hold him close. "Don't pretend like you weren't watching me sleep. I will take it as a win that you're too exhausted to bring out that sketchbook you always seem to have handy in my bed."

He smirked into her lips as he urged her into a deep kiss. "You do make a fantastic muse, love. Especially like this, soft and languid in your repose." Brushing his nose down her neck, he landed on her collarbone and the spray of freckles usually hidden from him. "It's been too long," he mourned quietly.

"We barely made it five years this time," she reminded, voice gentle as her hand resumed scratching through his curls. "And you still haven't told me why you crashed my gala."

It was a triumph, if she said so herself. Her most high-profile event to date, everything went flawlessly - including the Original Hybrid sweeping her off her feet at the end of the night, dressed in a tux tailored so perfectly she almost felt bad tearing it off him.

Almost.

But she knew Klaus, and he rarely made an appearance unless something was wrong. Thirty years as a vampire, and he'd somehow become the constant she would carry throughout eternity. Decades could pass, and their eyes would still meet across a room like they were back in Mystic Falls. They were strangers yet kindred spirits, and the fun was in the tug of wills between them. If he wasn't being overtly megalomanic and even dared to charm her, it wasn't hard to fall into bed with him. She actually kind of loved their dynamic once they were away from the supernatural drama and the more rigid human ideals she'd tried so hard to abide by. 

With him, Caroline could just be. For the girl who always tried too hard, Klaus was something of a relief. 

Except when there was a game being played, then he was a chore. As his hand trailed down to her breast with his predator's gaze heavy on her face, she knew all too well a game was afoot. She tugged on his hair, making him sit up with her. "What's going on?"

"I don't know what you-"

"Klaus."

Sighing, he pulled her into his lap and smiled softly when she allowed it. "You're too clever for  your own good, sweetheart."

"I know," she shrugged. He was always good for an ego boost, and she felt particularly aglow after that fourth round. "Now, tell me."

He brushed her loose hair back from her face, his own expression troubled. "Do you believe in fate, Caroline?"

Taken by surprise, her mouth drops open in thought. "I...don't know. It certainly feels like someone out there is waiting to drop bad news every time something good happens, but usually, it's just you or the Salvatores dropping some fresh hell on my doorstep." She bit her lip. "But do I think there's some larger plan I'm destined to fulfill? God, I hope not. I'd hate to let all my therapists' work to lessen my type-A anxiety planning go to waste because I was meant to be the first vampire to die by panic attack."

With a dark chuckle, Klaus rubbed her back comfortingly. "I've met them," he murmured. "The Fates. I asked them for mine, and..."

Hands shaking, she cupped his face, scared at the sudden steel in his eyes. "Is this why you came to me? Because of whatever prophecy they gave you?"

"I need you to come with me, sweetheart. This fate," he paused, anger and fear and determination thickening the air between them. "It cannot come to pass, but it will if you stay here."

Caroline backed away, not thrilled when he clenched his hands around her wrists. "Klaus, this is not what we agreed to. I'm free, remember? You honored my wish to live as I chose, with the occasional visit and absolutely no commandeering."

Pain crushed his whole face, and she felt helpless at what he must have heard. "This is me honoring your wish to live," he promised - just before he snapped her neck, and everything went black.

.

You will lose that which you hold most dear, over and over and over again. Nothing lasts forever but you.

.

When she awoke for the second time, any warmth she felt was pure rage boiling her from the inside out. The bed was just as soft as the hotel's, but she recognized the scent and peculiar movements of the private jet they were actually on. Oh, she was regretting that trip to Paris now, if only to allow herself to pretend that Klaus hadn't freaking kidnapped her.

But he did.

Caroline didn't know how she'd make him be the one regretting things, not yet. However, she thought she had a strong start with 'getting the hell away from him.' It would take a call to Bonnie, maybe getting Kol or Rebekah to run interference for her, then a whole lot of luck to skirt past his many spies all over the world. 

And maybe she wouldn't punish him forever, but that was a problem for her future self. Her present self wasn't all too keen on cutting him slack anytime soon. Still, she forced herself to hide the true depth of her anger when he somewhat abashedly handed her a blood bag. Petulant and hurt, he would buy. He probably even expected an escape attempt or two. 

She could be patient, and she would wait for the opportunity that might work. Whatever fate Klaus feared, Caroline had no intention to stick around and find out.

#kcauweek2019 #klaroline #klaroline drabbles #day one: mythological creatures #the fates #fic: fighting fate #almost everything #angst #seriously i'm so sorry #i didn't mean for it to get angsty #but klaus is klaus #not the brightest bulb when it comes to keeping caroline around

[intaceternity]

Conversation at Tea

1

My love had been splendid

For brilliant eyes,

Dancing bodies, star-wheels

Through the night, for flights

Of morning birds, symphonic skies

At noon, all forms of sensual delight,

All willing worlds at once. But the heart mad,

Their tinsel tore. And I declared

My war on every grain God made.

2

War, I would judge, is tragic,

But the difference between

A tragic action on the stage

And off is — one is only mimic.

If you are so insane

As to wish — how do you say? — soul-purge,

By all means go to the theatre

But never fight a war.

Come, take two seats at Cyrano

Or better, Evans doing Hamlet

(But what a shame it’s cut!)

Or best, the Old Vic

Is bringing Lear here next week.

But then, the theatre, it’s just too —

Too something — for a man like you.

Why don’t you use instead my study

And lose yourself in Chaucer.

Though my classics are a trifle dusty

For you a book is still a book I’m sure.

3

Who is it I am searching for tonight?

What disembodied voice can I surround

With flesh? Like calls of Puck there float

Into my troubled memory the sounds

Of all those voices mingling from the past—

Who is it I am seeking in this waste?

I have mourned with Troilus — not quite in jest

Known the moping madness to declare

His love; and betrayed, called the world a waste

And vanity with heart too deadly sober;

With Sampson too, and Adam, for a love misplaced —

I have motions with Troilus and the rest.

And swaggering with Cyrano and travelling

To the moon, and sweeping win a plume

The threshold of the stars, my restless craving

Took bravado for its meat — O spume

Of glory, your vapoured kind can only go

With dreams, or swagger there with Cyrano.

And in the heath shall I continue seeking?

Has the storm that lashed us then subsided

Yet, that struggled with the bitter breaking

Of a mind and heart, has it faded

For me yet, or only now begun?

And shall I through the heath continue on?

Who spoke those self-tormentings, were they yours,

Or mine, or Hamlet’s own? Whose voice

Is no difference, what head invented

Doesn’t matter — the Prince of all of us

Opened the pain of solitude and cursed

The tyrant stars. Do not ask who said them first.

I have been all these hearts, and more,

Heroes, criminals, frauds, and tortured fools,

I have merged my spirit with the fair

And with souls as dark as blood or bowels,

And yet I know more of providence or fate

That who my heart is searching for tonight.

4

Yesterday I saw you

And you did not speak,

You walked

as if — allow

Me to be trite —

You walked in a daze.

Do you concentrate

On things so bleak

You cannot see, for thought, your friends?

I know you saw my face

And yet as if our hands

Had never touched, you

Did not know me,

Or even seem to know

Yourself. This struck me strangely,

Your silence, since

Here we are sipping tea

talking in present tense.

Let’s agree, now we are together,

Friendship is forever

5

I have struck gems in several friends,

Perhaps in more than most, certainly

In more than you, whose delicate tea

Tends more to water. But this is surely

Because the stars rule our destiny

Or God plots out our ends.

My drink is crude and bitter

But at least I made the stuff myself.

You might concede that nature made me better

At hunting diamond mines than you, yet if

You doubt, let me recount the story of

Two friendships now a-tatter.

Chris was one, whose fine fierce spirit spent

Its up-pent fury arguing with me

Who wandered worlds with him. One day he penned

His testament and died. If he could see

Me now, against my heart’s depravity,

He could not lift, for teats, his hand.

Another friend was glib, who did not die,

But wished to

Change the world, and found

It would not change. His heart fell utterly

To dust, though sometimes still he smiles around

The corners of his mouth. I saw him ruined,

He cannot therefore speak to me.

These friends were fast, for life-long working,

But as you see, a friend is not eternal.

Sometimes walking on the streets, or talking

Over tea, I drowse, conversing with an angel

Of all those days when friends went well,

And see no half-friends lurking.

6

You know, you sometimes have

A sour look — I mean

You can be affable — but I have seen

Often in your face a look of —

Not exactly pain —

But more as if

Your dream had lain

In puddles, stained

By themselves, like cigaret butts in the rain.

You look as if you came

From some other time

And idle in this calm

Remember storms you could not take,

And feel at twenty years quite old

— But then, our tea is getting cold

7

What storms have blown me, and from where,

What dreams have drowned, or half-dead, here

Surround me, or whether I am old or young,

I cannot find an answer on my tongue.

Yet if you ask me to describe that dark, wild

Winter of the eyes, then I

Can speak, answer endlessly

For that look was not on me as a child.

Each year I lived I watched the fissure

Between what was and what I wished for

Widen, until there was nothing left

But the gulf of emptiness.

Most men have not seen the world divide,

Or seen, it did not open wide

Or wide, they clung to the safer side.

But I have felt the sundering like a blade.

8

I am old

But quite perceptive —

I could have told

You many goals you strive

To reach

Are reachless, yet in some strange way

I feel there is nothing I can teach

Or do or say, but wheel my crippled age

Away, and let you wage

Your war.

9

I have been crouching here too long, sipping

Tea, while the souls I love, wan Troilus, old King Lear fool-guided through the world, the noble

Prince, countless more, to tell

Too endless, Gib, Chris, and all, hold hell’s

Hot breath back and summon me to battle.

Now I must nurse my courage in a sling,

I dream the ancient skies are ripening,

That golden fruit shall form like summer clouds

Demanding poet-men to sing like lords

Of giant gods who pace

The mountain-tops. Then I will write my peace.

#galway kinnell #poem #long post #poetry #early works #conversation at tea

[retschina]

MacLeod’s Tailoring, Edinburgh (betaed)

An older fic, betaed by @whovianlord Thank you so much!

Edinburgh, Scotland. 1686.

You made your way back from the marketplace, feeling a brief glimpse of the Spring sunlight on your face. Your husband had died during the previous winter after weeks of being sick. There was nothing you could have done to save him. He was a good man and you missed him, but you needed to feed your three children. You needed to think about the future – you had no time to mourn the past.

You were born only twenty-four summers before so your chances of marrying again were good but, if you could, you would have chosen Fergus MacLeod. He was handsome, friendly, extremely obliging, and, most importantly, not married. Never had been, either. You knew that Mrs. Otway gossiped about Mr. MacLeod being – although you didn’t know how it would work – in love with men, but you did your best to ignore her. No time to mourn, no time to gossip. In any case, you really liked him and often dreamt that he would kiss the inside of your…

No. You shook your head and sighed as his tailoring store came into sight. You worked up your courage and entered Mr. MacLeod’s premises.

“Good morning, Mr. MacLeod,” you greeted as he looked up, smiling at you.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bain,” he answered, and your heart stopped for a second.

He knew who you were. You smiled and tried to hide your blush.

“How can I help you?” he asked, putting aside a roll of dark green velvet.

“My son, Jacob, needs a new shirt and I was wondering whether you…”

“I see,” he answered, silencing you. “Aren’t you able to sew it yourself?”

“I’m not good at sewing,” you whispered.

You paused and tried to focus on anything other than Mr. MacLeod’s handsome face. You chastised yourself for not having the skill to simply fix your son’s shirt and started to wonder why you came at all. Mr. MacLeod broke the silence.

“I think you just need some practice to build your confidence, Mrs. Bain.” He moved around his counter and placed a hand on your arm. “I know you’re widowed and I know how easily men would prey on what little money you have to call your own. In which case, I think it would be wiser to spend your money on food and Jacob wore a shirt that you had mended yourself.”

He was so caring and fair. Anyone else would have just taken your money, sewn your son a shirt, and forgotten about you in seconds.

“Mr. MacLeod, I don’t wish to be impertinent, but could you teach me? To sew, I mean.”

Your head hung low as your request was met with silence.

“How about we make a deal?” he said after a minute or so.

A small ray of hope started to blossom in your chest and you finally glanced at his face.

“Yes!” you answered hastily.

“I would prefer to obtain your consent after you know what you’re agreeing to, Mrs. Bain.”

“Begging your pardon, Mr. MacLeod.”

He nodded and gave you a small smile.

“So, here’s the deal: I’ll teach you to sew, if you agree to clean my rooms here twice a week.”

You beamed. For a second, all your worries disappeared as you jumped into his arms and gave him the biggest hug you could. It lasted for only a second before, remembering your place, you quickly broke from the embrace and dashed towards the door.

“Thank you so much, Mr. MacLeod. Shall I start tomorrow?”

“Whatever you wish Mrs. Bain. And you’re welcome.”

Mr. MacLeod walked back around his counter and sighed. He ignored the feeling that he might have wanted to hold you for a little longer, before spying the discarded green velvet and returned to work.

—

Edinburgh, Scotland. 1688.

You’d been Mr. MacLeod’s cleaning lady for more than two years and were able to sew nearly perfectly. With every lesson that had passed, you’d fallen deeper in love with him, but he clearly didn’t want you. Now, you were married to a widowed baker who you never loved.

Every night, when your husband would consummate the marriage, you’d lie still, just as you were taught to do. Your thoughts would always drift to Fergus, dreaming about how gentle and loving he would be. When your husband finally fell asleep, you’d fight tears and press a hand against your stomach, praying that you’d never conceive another child. Eventually, however, your prayers failed as you noticed you had missed your monthly bleeding and felt your body begin to swell. You fought the morning sickness as much as you could but knew you would have to tell Mr. MacLeod about your condition and with it, the news that you would be quitting your job. It broke your heart to say goodbye to the man you had fallen so hard for.

Many years later when you heard that Mr. MacLeod had died, you couldn’t fight the tears any more. You’d always loved him – you would never stop loving him. You had been married twice to men you never truly loved and had given birth to seven children. Dying as your first husband had done in the depths of winter, your last thoughts were only of Fergus, and the fact that you would never see the man you loved ever again.

—

Saint Paul, Minnesota. Present day.

You loved the sound of your sewing machine almost as much as you loved the morning sun shining in through the windows of your little tailoring shop. You’d opened a year ago and used your skills to slowly build a regular customer base. You loved the fact that you were your own boss and earned enough money to live happily.

The little bell above the store door let you know that a customer had entered and you looked up, smiling at a man you had never seen before. You assumed he was Mrs. Pearson’s husband who had come to pay for the robe she had ordered.

“Good morning,” you said. “Mr. Pearson, I assume?”

“No.” he answered, smiling. “Crowley.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion. You’d never heard the name before, so he wasn’t one of your regular customers.

“My apologies. How can I help you, sir?” you asked.

“You’re still so beautiful,” he whispered, taking a couple of steps towards the counter.

You stood and reached to grab your phone. Something about this stranger didn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you answer. “I think you’re confusing me with someone else. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“Oh,” he grins. “My apologies, love. We have met, you just don’t remember. You are, or were, Mrs. Catherine Bain, later married to James MacTavish - a baker. He died, if I remember correctly, in 1726. Let’s just say, someone took care of him when he reached the eternal flames. He was never good enough for you. You always deserved better.”

You subtly tried to unlock your phone to dial 911.

“Sir,” you pleaded. “I’m sorry, but I really think you should leave.”

Suddenly, you felt yourself being pushed against a wall and Crowley pressing the entirety of his body against yours. His face was just inches from yours.

“I’m Crowley, King of Hell.”

“What do you want?” you asked breathlessly.

You were sure he could feel your erratic heartbeat where his chest was pressed against yours. You struggled to keep your breathing even.

“I just want you to remember,” he whispered, lifting his hand to your forehead.

You felt his warm fingers on your skin. The building panic inside you instantly faded and you felt warm and safe. Your mind was filled with images of fog in the early morning and you suddenly remembered everything.

“Fergus,” you whispered. You opened your eyes and saw the man you had spent a previous lifetime in love with. Remembering you had never called him by his first name, you blushed. “Mr. MacLeod.”

“Catherine,” he sighed. “No more Mr. MacLeod, please. I was always Fergus to you.”

You nodded. It’s all you could do.

“Am I allowed to kiss you, Catherine?”

“You always were,” you answered.

His lips were unexpectedly soft and his stubble caught on your skin in the best way possible. Your thoughts immediately went to that same stubble tugging on more sensitive skin further down your body.

“I always wanted you, but you were so damn respectable. I never could have married you, but I dreamt about fucking you through the walls of my shop. I wanted to bend you over my work bench and ravish your perfectly respectable exterior.”

Crowley chuckled against your neck and you felt his hands sliding under your shirt, thumbs tracing the underwire of your bra.

“Fergus,” you sighed, feeling all the things you felt during your past life as Catherine Bain for Fergus MacLeod.

“Close the shop,” he murmured. “Let’s go upstairs.”

You did as you were told. It was Fergus, after all. The man you had loved more than three hundred years ago. It wasn’t his body anymore, though. That belonged to whoever this Crowley was, but you could still see something in his eyes that told you the man you once knew was there.

After hurriedly writing a note faking sickness and sticking it on your door, you ran up your stairs and raced into your bedroom. Crowley was casually leaning against your dresser and smirked at your obvious rush to get to him.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “So damn beautiful. Your soul’s been searching for mine all these years, Catherine.”

You blushed like the first time you went into his store.

“Come here, love.”

You slowly walked towards him and placed your hands on the lapels of his overcoat. Pushing the item from his shoulders, Crowley moved to remove his jacket as you unbuttoned his shirt. With each button you popped open, you placed a light kiss on his chest, slowly trailing down his stomach. You felt warmth radiating from his hands as he ran them up and down your spine through your top. The action was reminiscent of when you thought your daughter, Margaret, was going to die of fever and Fergus, unlike your deadbeat husband, was there to support you. It was the only time he ever touched you, and you shivered from the memory.

“My children,” you whispered. “Do you know what happened…?”

“I never met any of them in hell,” he answered quietly. “They could only have gone to heaven, just like their beautiful mother.”

He helped you up from your kneeling position, where you had suddenly hesitated in playing with the belt of his pants. He kissed your forehead and held you against his body, waiting for the memories of your children to fade. You sighed and started kissing him, needy for him to move so much faster than he was.

“Catherine,” Crowley moaned as you grabbed him tighter.

“Please,” you begged. “I’m not some china doll that’s going to shatter beneath you. I’ve wanted you for an entire lifetime. Seeing you again, I only want you more. Please.”

Crowley smirked and with a click of his fingers, you were both naked. You gasped as you suddenly felt soft skin and hard muscles where you once felt material. A certain hardness prodding against your hip felt particularly urgent.

“Perks of being the King of Hell,” he murmured against your neck.

You giggled but then gasped as he suddenly lifted you off the floor and dropped you onto the dresser. He pulled you to the edge and spread your legs as far as they would go, running his hands up and down your inner thighs. He kneeled in front of you and made eye contact just as he licked the folds of your sex.

You cried out in pleasure and threw your head back, groaning as he begun to repeat the action in a frenzy. You heard him chuckle and you bit down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming when his tongue found your clit. Grabbing the back of his head, you pulled him away from you and slid down off the dresser. He stood, and you claimed his mouth in a passionate kiss.

“As incredible as that was, I haven’t waited three hundred years for your tongue,” you growled.

You walked forward, forcing Crowley backwards, until the back of his knees hit the end of your bed. You pushed him so he fell back and quickly straddled his hips. You wanted him, now. There was no time for mourning, no time for gossip, no time for questions. You suspected this would be your only chance to have him, and you were going to enjoy every second. Three hundred years of waiting meant you were more than ready for the impressive length that rubbed against your ass.

Crowley growled as you reached behind you and started to stroke him. He felt amazing in your hand and your sex was dripping in anticipation. Not wanting to wait any longer, you lifted yourself up, lined Crowley up beneath you, and slowly sank down onto his length. You sighed, shutting your eyes as your body adjusted to the size.

Crowley reached down to skilfully rub your clit as you slowly started to ride him. This was everything you could have wished for and better than any fantasy you could have dreamt of. As you rode him faster and faster, you quickly built to a peak that you wanted him to follow you down. One final intense pinch of your clit was all it took for you to be screaming in pleasure and came as Crowley took over thrusting into you. At the feeling of you fluttering around him, he roared and quickly followed you.

You collapsed against his chest, panting heavily. You felt Crowley’s arms wrap around you, almost protectively.

“Why did you go to hell?” you whispered.

Crowley sighed and, removing himself from you, rolled over so you were lying next to each other.

“I made a deal with the devil,” he admitted. “Long after you fell pregnant with your second husband. If I had known I had even a small chance with such an incredible woman, I would have wished to love you until the end of time. To be the man you deserved.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you took this confession in.

“Thank you,” you sobbed.

Glancing up into his eyes, you could see Fergus smiling at you as if you were his whole world.

“I wish I could stay,” Crowley said, finally. “But I have to go.”

You nodded, somehow able to understand the plight of the King of Hell. He lifted his hand to your forehead and you suddenly felt like you hadn’t slept in a year. As you drifted off, you felt him roll you onto your back and kiss your forehead.

“Goodbye, Mrs, Catherine Bain.”

—

When you woke up that night, you felt an immediate sense of loss, but blamed it all on being some weird dream. As you stumbled out of bed and flicked the light switch, you were greeted with the sight of a painting leaning against your dresser. Looking closer at it, you were shocked at your discovery.

The painting depicted a man – a tailor – sitting at a work bench watching a beautiful woman in a green dress clean the floor. You knelt down to flip the painting over and read the description on the back.

MacLeod’s Tailoring, Edinburgh. Unknown master. About 1687.

“Fergus!” you gasped.

Your dream came back to you in an instant and you broke down in tears, hugging the painting as you sobbed. You had loved him in a previous life and you loved him now. You would never stop loving Fergus MacLeod.

#Supernatural #crowley #crowley/reader #smut #rebirth #king of hell #fergus macleod #whovianlord #submission

[dfroza]

You are like that illuminating light.

Let your light shine everywhere you go, that you may illumine creation, so men and women everywhere may see your good actions, may see creation at its fullest...

A few lines from Today’s reading from the book of Matthew with chapter 5 from The Voice Translation of the Bible:

Now when He saw the crowds, He went up on a mountain (as Moses had done before Him) and He sat down (as Jewish teachers of His day usually did). His disciples gathered around Him.

And He began to teach them.

Jesus: Blessed are the spiritually poor—the kingdom of heaven is theirs.

Blessed are those who mourn—they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek and gentle—they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness—they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful—they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are those who are pure in heart—they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers—they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness—the kingdom of heaven is theirs.

And blessed are you, blessed are all of you, when people persecute you or denigrate you or despise you or tell lies about you on My account. But when this happens, rejoice. Be glad. Remember that God’s prophets have been persecuted in the past. And know that in heaven, you have a great reward.

You, beloved, are the salt of the earth. But if salt becomes bland and loses its saltiness, can anything make it salty again? No. It is useless. It is tossed out, thrown away, or trampled.

And you, beloved, are the light of the world. A city built on a hilltop cannot be hidden. Similarly it would be silly to light a lamp and then hide it under a bowl. When someone lights a lamp, she puts it on a table or a desk or a chair, and the light illumines the entire house. You are like that illuminating light. Let your light shine everywhere you go, that you may illumine creation, so men and women everywhere may see your good actions, may see creation at its fullest, may see your devotion to Me, and may turn and praise your Father in heaven because of it.

Do not think that I have come to overturn or do away with the law or the words of our prophets. To the contrary: I have not come to overturn them but to fulfill them.

This, beloved, is the truth: until heaven and earth disappear, not one letter, not one pen stroke, will disappear from the sacred law—for everything, everything in the sacred law will be fulfilled and accomplished. Anyone who breaks even the smallest, most obscure commandment—not to mention teaches others to do the same—will be called small and obscure in the kingdom of heaven. Those who practice the law and teach others how to live the law will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you this: you will not enter the kingdom of heaven unless your righteousness goes deeper than the Pharisees’, even more righteous than the most learned learner of the law.

As you know, long ago God instructed Moses to tell His people, “Do not murder; those who murder will be judged and punished.” But here is the even harder truth: anyone who is angry with his brother will be judged for his anger. Anyone who taunts his friend, speaks contemptuously toward him, or calls him “Loser” or “Fool” or “Scum,” will have to answer to the high court. And anyone who calls his brother a fool may find himself in the fires of hell.

Therefore, if you are bringing an offering to God and you remember that your brother is angry at you or holds a grudge against you, then leave your gift before the altar, go to your brother, repent and forgive one another, be reconciled, and then return to the altar to offer your gift to God.

If someone sues you, settle things with him quickly. Talk to him as you are walking to court; otherwise, he may turn matters over to the judge, and the judge may turn you over to an officer, and you may land in jail. I tell you this: you will not emerge from prison until you have paid your last penny.

As you know, long ago God forbade His people to commit adultery. You may think you have abided by this Commandment, walked the straight and narrow, but I tell you this: any man who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery in his heart. If your right eye leads you into sin, gouge it out and throw it in the garbage—for better you lose one part of your body than march your entire body through the gates of sin and into hell. And if your right hand leads you into sin, cut it off and throw it away—for better you lose one part of your body than march your entire body through the gates of sin and into hell.

And here is something else: you have read in Deuteronomy that anyone who divorces his wife must do so fairly—he must give her the requisite certificate of divorce and send her on her way, free and unfettered. But I tell you this: unless your wife cheats on you, you must not divorce her, period. Nor are you to marry someone who has been married and divorces, for a divorced person who remarries commits adultery.

You know that God expects us to abide by the oaths we swear and the promises we make. But I tell you this: do not ever swear an oath. What is an oath? You cannot say, “I swear by heaven”—for heaven is not yours to swear by; it is God’s throne. And you cannot say, “I swear by this good earth,” for the earth is not yours to swear by; it is God’s footstool. And you cannot say, “I swear by the holy city Jerusalem,” for it is not yours to swear by; it is the city of God, the capital of the King of kings. You cannot even say that you swear by your own head, for God has dominion over your hands, your lips, your head. It is He who determines if your hair be straight or curly, white or black; it is He who rules over even this small scrap of creation. You need not swear an oath—any impulse to do so is of evil. Simply let your “yes” be “yes,” and let your “no” be “no.”

You know that Hebrew Scripture sets this standard of justice and punishment: take an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I say this, don’t fight against the one who is working evil against you. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, you are to turn and offer him your left cheek. If someone connives to get your shirt, give him your jacket as well. If someone forces you to walk with him for a mile, walk with him for two instead. If someone asks you for something, give it to him. If someone wants to borrow something from you, do not turn away.

You have been taught to love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I tell you this: love your enemies. Pray for those who torment you and persecute you—in so doing, you become children of your Father in heaven. He, after all, loves each of us—good and evil, kind and cruel. He causes the sun to rise and shine on evil and good alike. He causes the rain to water the fields of the righteous and the fields of the sinner. It is easy to love those who love you—even a tax collector can love those who love him. And it is easy to greet your friends—even outsiders do that! But you are called to something higher: “Be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect.”

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapters of the Testaments are Matthew 5 with Numbers 28 where instructions for specific offerings to God are given of which under the old covenant all point to the consummation of the Son who became a sacrifice on the cross of a Tree for the sins of the whole world according to God’s Master [blueprint] design and its eternal tapestry:

[Numbers 28]

The Eternal One said to Moses,

Eternal One: Make clear to the Israelites that they should make their offerings for My food and fire offerings as a soothing aroma, when they bring their sacrifices at the appointed time. Tell them that the gifts they present to Me each and every day by fire should include two spotless, male, yearling lambs—one in the morning and the other between dusk and evening. They should be sure to include a grain offering (about two quarts of the best flour mixed with about one quart of oil, from the first pressing). I commanded at Sinai that this is to be done regularly, burned up to Me by fire in that soothing aroma as a food offering. The drink offering to go with each lamb each time should be about one quart of the strong wine, poured out for Me in the sacred area. Do the same for the second lamb and its grain and drink offerings between dusk and evening as a soothing aroma to Me.

Once a week, on the Sabbath, they shall add to the regular daily offering of meat and drink another two male yearling lambs (unmarred by injuries or deformities) and make the grain offering of about four quarts of the best flour mixed with oil and a drink offering.

At the beginning of each month, add to the regular, daily burnt and drink offering these things: two male calves, a ram, and seven male lambs, all perfect yearlings. As for the grain offering to go along with each bull, mix about six quarts of that prime flour with oil; prepare another offering to go with the ram out of about four quarts of prime flour mixed with oil and an offering for each lamb out of about two quarts of prime flour mixed with oil. These should be burnt. It is a soothing aroma of a food offering to Me. The drink part of the offering shall be figured like this each month: accompanying each bull-calf, offer about two quarts of wine; one and one-quarter quarts for the ram; and one quart for each lamb. With this particular monthly offering, they should add a male goat and the corresponding burnt and drink offerings to serve as a gift in recognition of their sin offering.

Midway through the first month of the year, on the fourteenth day, you shall make a Passover memorial to Me, followed on the next day by a celebration. The whole festival shall be observed in this way: For a full seven days, only bread without any yeast shall be eaten. The period shall begin with a ritual marking its holiness, and don’t do any work during this time. Each of those seven days, offer by fire to Me the same type of animals (two male calves, a ram, and seven male lambs, all perfect yearlings) and the corresponding grain offerings (with each bull, mix about six quarts of that prime flour with oil, with the ram about four quarts of prime flour mixed with oil, and an offering for each lamb out of about two quarts of prime flour mixed with oil) as you do each month, including the male goat for your sin offering to cover your evil actions. And be sure to make the normal, morning offering too. These things shall be offered daily for seven days to Me (as a food offering of pleasing aroma), along with the drink offering. The seventh and final day will also have a ritual marking its holiness, and you won’t do any work during this time either.

You should also have a holy ritual and not do any work when the new grain comes in and you offer it to Me during your Feast of Weeks. On the day marking the first harvest, make a fire offering as a pleasing aroma to Me by killing and burning the same type of animals (two male calves, a ram, and seven male lambs, all perfect yearlings) as you do each month and by giving the usual burnt and grain offerings that accompany each animal (with each bull, mix about six quarts of that prime flour with oil, with the ram about four quarts of prime flour mixed with oil, and an offering for each lamb out of about two quarts of prime flour mixed with oil). You shall burn a male goat to cover your wrongs, and don’t forget the drink offering or that the animals should be without defect.

The Book of Numbers, Chapter 28 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Saturday, june 20 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A set of posts by John Parsons of [Hebrew for Christians] to accompany Today’s reading:

Regarding the assurance of our salvation Yeshua declared: “I tell you the solemn truth, the one who hears my message and believes in the One who sent me has (i.e., present active indicative) eternal life and will not be condemned, but has passed over (literally, “crossed over”) from death to life” (John 5:24). Note that the verb translated “has passed over” (μεταβαίνω) is a “perfect active” form (i.e., μεταβέβηκεν) that expresses completed action: “this one has already crossed over from death to life.” In other words, the gift of eternal life is a “done deal,” though it is only experienced as we truly surrender to the love and grace of God from a heart of faith. The “basis” of life is now radically new and of a different order. As the apostle Paul later summarized: “For it is by grace you have been saved (i.e., σεσῳσμένοι, a perfect passive participle that denotes completed action done on your behalf with effects that continue to the present) through faith, and this is not from yourselves, but is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Eph. 2:9-10). I’m so glad it’s not the strength of my grip that keeps me holding on to God, but the strength of His!

Our Lord does not want us uncertain or unsure of His great love for us. A fearful believer explained that he was anxious about his acceptance before heaven. When he was asked to define “salvation,” he answered, “freedom, deliverance, rest, peace.” So you think fear will help you do away with your fear? You are fearful of the idea of freedom from fear? Hmmm.

So “be strong and of good courage” – chazak ve’ematz! The Lord our God promises “never to leave you nor forsake you,” and to be with you wherever you go (see Josh. 1:5,9; Heb. 13:5, Psalm 139; Matt. 28:20). In the Greek New Testament, the wording of Hebrews 13:5 is highly emphatic: Οὐ μή σε ἀνῶ, οὐδ᾽ οὐ μή σε ἐγκαταλείπω: “Not ever will I give up on you; no, not ever will I leave you behind.” May you hear the voice of the Good Shepherd calling you, and may He forever keep you under His watchful care. Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

6.19.20 • Facebook

When considering the matter of teshuvah (i.e., returning to God), it is vital to understand that God does not love you based on your obedience, though his love for you will lead you to obedience... It is only after accepting that you are accepted despite yourself -- despite your inherent inability to please God, despite your incurably sick heart, despite your disobedience, sin, and so on -- it is only then that earnest, Spirit-enabled obedience may spontaneously arise within your heart. In that sense “obedience” is like falling in love with someone. It is your love that moves you to act and to express your heart, and were you prevented from doing so, you would undoubtedly grieve over your loss... Therefore the “law of the Spirit of Life in Messiah” is first of all empowered by God’s grace and love. We walk by faith, hope, and love - these three. And this explains why the very first step of teshuvah (repentance) is to love God: Shema! Ve'ahavta et Adonai... The first work of faith is to believe in the miracle that God's love is “for-you-love...”

“The Christian is in a different position from other people who are trying to be good. They hope, by being good, to please God if there is one; or -- if they think there is not -- at least they hope to deserve approval from good men. But the Christian thinks any good he does comes from the Christ-life inside him. He does not think God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He loves us; just as the roof of a greenhouse does not attract the sun because it is bright, but becomes bright because the sun shines on it” (C.S. Lewis: Mere Christianity).

If you find yourself operating from a sense of God's conditional acceptance, you will undoubtedly need to repeat the same sins over and over until your heart is finally convinced of its incurably wretched state. You must first be utterly sick of yourself to believe in the miracle of God’s deliverance. Only after this will the word of Messiah find its opportunity. [Hebrew for Christians]

6.19.20 • Facebook

and another post by John Parsons shared last night:

It is common to encounter people today who refuse to believe that God exists, *not because there are compelling reasons to do so, but simply because they do not want God to exist, and therefore they willfully suppress the intuitions of logic, the apprehension of value, the awareness of glory in creation, and the sentiments of conscience, since all these experiences point to the realm of moral and spiritual reality. As it is stated in our Scriptures: "For that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God has revealed it to them. For the invisible attributes of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and divinity; so that they are without excuse" (Rom. 1:19-20). Indeed, atheists and agnostics dogmatically pontificate that there is no transcendental “moral law” or Moral Lawgiver before whom all moral agents will give account, again, not because reason indicates that this is so, but on the contrary, merely because they wish to be “free” to do whatever they want and to pursue their own selfish desires. In this regard the atheist merely chooses to close his mind because he does not want to see. As Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer (בש"ט) once said, “The world is full of wonders and miracles but man takes his little hand and covers his eyes and sees nothing.” Indeed the deification of the self makes the soul a stranger to God and blind to moral and spiritual reality. The modern man will split hairs and fastidiously object to questions of truth and meaning all for the sake of living life as he pleases, on his own terms, without recognizing any moral authority beyond himself....

Socrates famously said that “the unexamined life is not worth living,” which of course implies that a life worth living is discovered by asking questions, searching for meaning, pursuing truth, celebrating wonder, and living with integrity. "Seek the LORD while He may be found..." ( Contrary to the ideals of worldly culture, the meaning of life is not found in the pursuit of personal happiness (or pleasure) but rather in the pursuit of truth and meaning. Apathy about such matters is a symptom of lifelessness: it is to be spiritually dead while seemingly “alive.” Indifferent people are likened to those who go through the outward motions of life without ever making inner traction with it... The righteous, even in death, are called “living”; the wicked, even while alive, are called “dead” (Berachot 18a).

Why is there something rather than nothing at all? Such a fundamental question strikes at the heart of our assumptions and habitual ways of thinking, jolting us from our sleepy “cave-like” consciousness to face the glaring light of the sun... The natural instinct is to turn away, to pull the covers over our head, and try to go back to sleep. However if pressed, the simple question “why” irresistibly leads to a concatenation of explanations and a regress of causes that quickly points to metaphysical properties and realities. For instance, if a child asks her parent, “Why do people die?” the parent might answer, “Because people get sick or injured or they might grow very old.” “But why do people have to grow old?” the child continues. “Because they are born, live for awhile, and eventually pass away... All things change, and that means they come into being, exist for a while, and then pass away. Look around you; everything you see – the people, the animals, the plants, rocks, mountains and seas, the earth and sky, the stars and galaxies, and indeed the whole universe – is constantly changing, coming into being, existing for awhile, and then passing away...” “But why does everything have to pass away?” the child persists... In this imaginary dialog we see how quickly “why questions” begin pointing to deep metaphysical mysteries such as the nature of being, the phenomenon of time, the ubiquity of change and its existential relationship to human consciousness. The dialectic of asking and answering questions helps us detect the assumptions that underlie our everyday thinking, often revealing wonders that pervade our lives. The failure to seriously ask the “big questions” of life, for instance, “What am I?” “Where did I come from?” “Why am I here?” “Where am I going?” and “What does it all mean?” is to abandon what makes life itself worth living... The failure to think soberly and ask questions is to give up the quest to find meaning, purpose, hope, and a sense of destiny. [Hebrew for Christians]

6.19.20 • Facebook

[elysiumrp]

Kevin Mikhail Darden || Unregistered Werewolf || Pro-Equality Portrayed by Aaron Taylor-Johnson

Biography /

Kevin Darden grew up in the outskirts of Sacramento, California. He was born to wealthy parents and throughout his childhood was given the best that life could offer. Privileges were seen as the norm to Kevin, and attending expensive private schools was nothing more than normal. Effort wasn’t put into his classes where instead he was able to skate by on his natural intelligence alone. Having to try for things was never something that Kevin had to fight for over the years. The things he wanted, he was given, and for everything that he couldn’t be given, he was able to use his natural intelligence and charm to gain what he desired. It was a life of privilege, but also a life that bored Kevin, and that boredom led to a shift in his lifestyle as he entered his middle school years and began to hang out with the kids a couple grades older than him. Substance abuse took hold of him like a trap, and what started off as the rather common toying with alcohol fell quicker into harder drugs. Alcohol turned to cigarettes, and cigarettes turned to things that were illegal under the law. Upon graduation, Kevin was kicked out of his parents’ home and living couch to couch as he stumbled into an underground way of life that he had only witnessed before in the movies. Fighting didn’t give him much money, but it was at least something to help him scrape by. That was, until the night that changed his life. Kevin had always had a temper, and entering into a fight with steam to burn off ended with deadly consequences. Punch after punch was thrown, even after his opponent was bruised and motionless on the ground, and it took three men to finally pull Kevin off of the lifeless body. He fled from the scene immediately, and didn’t stop running until the Greyhound dropped him off on the opposite coast as a murderer with an eternal curse, and no control over the wolf gene that had been activated. Living in a city with so many supernatural creatures helped Kevin with being able to learn control, but just like so many other lives, his was shattered when the supernaturals were revealed. Now, for one of the first times in his life, Kevin is taking an active approach in trying to change the world for the better as he works in the forefront of the Resistance, risking everything to try and provide the world with a better tomorrow.

Important Points /

-- Kevin has taken to being a werewolf easier than most, and this is something that he attributes to his careers assisting him in being able to let out his aggression. Although he is no longer fighting, taking up a job as a bouncer at Strange Brew is another, slightly more civilized way, that he is able to let out some of his pent up, natural werewolf aggression. Kevin has also found that being able to feel needed is something else that seems to have helped sate the overpowering feelings that have hit him in the past, and being able to finally have somewhat of a family in the city has helped Kevin to mellow considerably compared to what he used to be like. Kevin is finally maturing because of the state of the world and where he is at in his life, and although the world around him has been going to hell for a while now, it seems that Kevin’s own personal life is only growing both in purpose and his own personal maturity. He finally feels that he has things and people to fight for, and it's a feeling that brings him more comfort than he ever could have imagined.

-- Finding Antonia Moreno was the first thing that truly brought a shot of life into what had felt like a monotone existence. Dating a vampire was never something in his plan, in fact, he was fairly certain that because of his nature that he was destined by fate to stay away from them, but he fell for Antonia, and he fell for Antonia hard. She was fun, interesting, and brought light into his life that he had never imagined possible. Antonia was the first woman that ever truly meant something to him, and the relationship, although sometimes tumultuous because of their supernatural lives, it was something that Kevin was always willing to fight for. He loved her, and before long they fell into the classic rushed engagement based on emotions rather than perhaps the most logical of thinking. Besides Antonia, New York City also introduced him to the first friend that Kevin felt truly valued him for who he was as opposed to what he had. Kyle Davidson was a true friend, and a person that surprised Kevin when it was discovered that the pair suffered from the same curse after Kyle fell into the same situation that Kevin had experienced. Losing the both of them so close together after the city went to hell is something that jarred Kevin to the core. He is lonely, and after finally finding out what it was like to live with a family of friends, it hurts more than he knew possible to lose the kinship and trust that he had felt towards both.

-- Loss was never something that Kevin allowed himself to experience. Even after he was kicked out of his parents’ house, he refused to accept it as the truth, and instead forced himself to write them off completely as opposed to mourn the loss that truly impacted him below the surface that he allowed himself to feel. When the government announced that the supernatural community was no longer allowed to reside in New York City, and especially wasn’t allowed to meet up in groups because of the danger they would inevitably cause, Kevin wasn’t prepared for the changes that would occur all too abruptly. The life he had finally started to carve out for himself slipped between his fingers as his fiancé was forced to flee to Europe, a place that was at least slightly more tolerating, and Kyle was forced to take the entire pack, a pack Kevin had considered himself a part of, to Canada. Kevin himself was asked to stay behind by Kyle, and stay behind he did to keep an eye on a bar that was owned by the pack. Strange Brew operates under the guise of a typical human establishment, but the hope is that one day its true supernatural catering purpose will be able to come to the surface. One of his few connections that remained in the city was his friend, Kaden Kingsman, one of the first people that he had actually met in the city after he had arrived. The pair had been friends since the first Christmas season he had spent in New York, and although they had butted heads at time, friendship between the pair was something that had always remained. Through the abandonment of the majority of their friends and family, Kevin and Kaden grew inevitably closer, and have decided to both serve the supernatural community that remains. Kevin wants equality for all, and all he has wanted was for everyone to be able to come home. Now that the full ban has been chipped away at slightly, Kevin’s new goal is to make the city livable as opposed to the oppressive place that it still is now.

Connections /

ANTONIA MORENO ; The relationship that Kevin had with Antonia Moreno was truly the first relationship he had that meant anything to him. Antonia was his fiance before she was forced to leave the city for her safety, and having to say goodbye was one of the hardest things that Kevin has ever had to do. He loved her, he loves her, and when he said goodbye he felt that he had had to say goodbye to a part of himself. Kevin thought that the pain would fade away with every passsing day, but although the pain is something that he can live with, Kevin stil feels that it is a constant that he is just getting more used to. Life just isn't the same without the vampire that he loves. Things certainly weren't always great between them, as Nicholas used to get in the way, and freak events with humanity and other worlds caused dramas, but Kevin wouldn't change their relationship, or her, for the world. Now that Antonia is back, Kevin is relieved, but a part of him still hurts that she didn't beg harder to get him to come with her. It's selfish, but he can't help it, even if the idea itself is hypocritical.

KYLE DAVIDSON ; Kyle is the closest thing that Kevin has ever had to a brother, and the two are certainly the cliche, classic bros. Beers and watching sports was a typical night for the two, and it was a friendship built not only on genuine human connection, but werewolf connection as well. Unlike others that might be turned off by Kyle becoming a werewolf, it only drew the pair closer together cause it gave them something to bond over. Distance, however, has put a certain strain on their relationship, and Kevin hasn't seen Kyle in many months. He was personally asked to stay behind to take care of things, but once again Kevin can't help but feel that he was forgotten about by those that felt like family. Both Antonia and Kyle left him behind, and sometimes he can't help but think that his previous way of life, living for himself and only for himself, was easier than the whole friendship thing. Managing Strange Brew is something that has come easily for him, but he doesn't feel like it was worth having to be away from his pack, and a part of him resents that he's the one that was asked to stay behind.

TEREZA CASTELO ; Tereza is a person that reminds Kevin almost eerily of Antonia, and it has bred an automatic trust because of that false familiarity. Tereza has been a member of the Resistance since the beginning, and was present at the first small meeting that Kaden dragged him along to. That alone has forced a kinship between them, and over the months since the Resistance started, Kevin has started to feel the protectiveness over Tereza that he has felt over the rest of his friends. She is an ally, and seems to be a genuinely good person as well, and Tereza is a person that he actually enjoys being around because she brings the same aura that Antonia brought. In the darkness of New York City, it's a light that they all need. He doesn't vocalize the respect that he has for the vampires, but Tereza is a person that he would follow almost without question, and with all of her years with life experience, Kevin truly does trust the decisions that she makes.

KADEN KINGSMAN ; Kaden Kingsman was the ex-girlfriend, and then girlfriend, and then ex-girlfriend, and then wife, and then ex-wife of his best friend, but even before all of those crazy, complicated connections, Kaden was a girl that he had met on his own and become friends with. For a brief time, it was Kevin, Antonia, and Kaden as a group until coupling between them, adding Kyle into the mix for Kaden, caused things to distance slightly. That distance has been erased since everyone else has left the pair, and now they're two of the only other people that they have. Kaden provides a familiarity that Kevin needs with so many things having been changed, and she has, in a way, taken a place between Antonia and Kyle. There is no romance between them, but he spends a lot of time with her, and spending time with Kaden is one of the few things that helps him to feel normal because it reminds him of the times before the world began to go downhill.

OLIVER HEATON ; Kevin has never been a fan of Oliver, and no matter how many good things Oliver does, he's not sure that he'll ever be able to forgive the warlock for all of the bad things that he has done in the past. In fact, he's not sure that he even wants to forgive him even if he felt that he was able to. Oliver has caused pain, whether intentionally or unintentionally, and whenever a person has hurt those that Kevin cares about, it is certainly difficult for Kevin to find it in himself to forgive another for such actions. Yes, Oliver has been there for the supernatural community by offering up his shop and his help for the Resistance, but for Kevin it is far from enough. Even if Kaden, and Antonia, and others are able to forigve him, Kevin has no desire to do so anytime in the future. Holding a grudge is something that he is all too happy to do.

EMILY VILLANOVA ; Hiring a human at Strange Brew was definitely not one of the things on Kevin's to do list, but whenever she came by asking for an application, Kevin couldn't help but let his curiosity get the best of him. It turns out that Emily wasn't always as human as she is now, and that alone was enough to allow Kevin to hire her. Her situation reminds him a lot of what Kaden has had to go through with losing her magic, and he can't help but feel bad for her. Although Emily tries to stay strong and hide that it bothers her, Kevin can tell that it does. Although the werewolf curse is obviously considered a curse, thus the name, at the same time, Kevin isn't sure that he would be the same person without it, and losing it would feel like a loss of a part of himself. It's not something he likes to think about.

JASPER PITZEN ; Jasper is a person that Kevin was not a fan of for a long time, mostly because of the influence of Kyle and drama that had occurred with the previous Council. It seems like a lifetime ago now looking back since the Council has been disbanded for a year, and Jasper has slowly been making his way into Kevin's good graces because of his invovlement in the Resistance, and using his public position to speak out positively in favor of supernaturals. Kevin still feels a loyalty to Kyle and Kyle's dislike for the other werewolf, but at the same time, Kyle is no longer around, he ran away to Canada, and Jasper is the one that has actually stayed in the city and fought--more than that since he is doing it through a public platform and risking his entire name and image for the good of the supernatural cause.

KEVIN DARDEN IS CURRENTLY CLOSED

#supernatural rp #lsbio #werewolf rp #bio rp #new rp #kevin #darden #kevin darden #werewolf #male #wa #ma #all #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson fc #mt #wt #taken

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for April 30 of 2021 with Proverbs 30 and Psalm 30, accompanied by Psalm 42 for the 42nd day of Spring and Psalm 120 for day 120 of the year

[Proverbs 30]

The Words of Agur Ben Yakeh

[God? Who Needs Him?]

The skeptic swore, “There is no God!

No God!—I can do anything I want!

I’m more animal than human;

so-called human intelligence escapes me.

“I flunked ‘wisdom.’

I see no evidence of a holy God.

Has anyone ever seen Anyone

climb into Heaven and take charge?

grab the winds and control them?

gather the rains in his bucket?

stake out the ends of the earth?

Just tell me his name, tell me the names of his sons.

Come on now—tell me!”

The believer replied, “Every promise of God proves true;

he protects everyone who runs to him for help.

So don’t second-guess him;

he might take you to task and show up your lies.”

And then he prayed, “God, I’m asking for two things

before I die; don’t refuse me—

Banish lies from my lips

and liars from my presence.

Give me enough food to live on,

neither too much nor too little.

If I’m too full, I might get independent,

saying, ‘God? Who needs him?’

If I’m poor, I might steal

and dishonor the name of my God.”

* * *

Don’t blow the whistle on your fellow workers

behind their backs;

They’ll accuse you of being underhanded,

and then you’ll be the guilty one!

Don’t curse your father

or fail to bless your mother.

Don’t imagine yourself to be quite presentable

when you haven’t had a bath in weeks.

Don’t be stuck-up

and think you’re better than everyone else.

Don’t be greedy,

merciless and cruel as wolves,

Tearing into the poor and feasting on them,

shredding the needy to pieces only to discard them.

A freeloader has twin daughters

named “Gimme” and “Gimme more.”

[Four Insatiables]

Three things are never satisfied,

no, there are four that never say, “That’s enough, thank you!”—

hell,

a barren womb,

a parched land,

a forest fire.

* * *

An eye that disdains a father

and despises a mother—

that eye will be plucked out by wild vultures

and consumed by young eagles.

[Four Mysteries]

Three things amaze me,

no, four things I’ll never understand—

how an eagle flies so high in the sky,

how a snake glides over a rock,

how a ship navigates the ocean,

why adolescents act the way they do.

* * *

Here’s how a prostitute operates:

she has sex with her client,

Takes a bath,

then asks, “Who’s next?”

[Four Intolerables]

Three things are too much for even the earth to bear,

yes, four things shake its foundations—

when the janitor becomes the boss,

when a fool gets rich,

when a prostitute is voted “woman of the year,”

when a “girlfriend” replaces a faithful wife.

[Four Small Wonders]

There are four small creatures,

wisest of the wise they are—

ants—frail as they are,

get plenty of food in for the winter;

marmots—vulnerable as they are,

manage to arrange for rock-solid homes;

locusts—leaderless insects,

yet they strip the field like an army regiment;

lizards—easy enough to catch,

but they sneak past vigilant palace guards.

[Four Dignitaries]

There are three solemn dignitaries,

four that are impressive in their bearing—

a lion, king of the beasts, deferring to none;

a rooster, proud and strutting;

a billy goat;

a head of state in stately procession.

* * *

If you’re dumb enough to call attention to yourself

by offending people and making rude gestures,

Don’t be surprised if someone bloodies your nose.

Churned milk turns into butter;

riled emotions turn into fist fights.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30 (The Message)

[Psalm 30]

I give you all the credit, God—

you got me out of that mess,

you didn’t let my foes gloat.

God, my God, I yelled for help

and you put me together.

God, you pulled me out of the grave,

gave me another chance at life

when I was down-and-out.

All you saints! Sing your hearts out to God!

Thank him to his face!

He gets angry once in a while, but across

a lifetime there is only love.

The nights of crying your eyes out

give way to days of laughter.

When things were going great

I crowed, “I’ve got it made.

I’m God’s favorite.

He made me king of the mountain.”

Then you looked the other way

and I fell to pieces.

I called out to you, God;

I laid my case before you:

“Can you sell me for a profit when I’m dead?

auction me off at a cemetery yard sale?

When I’m ‘dust to dust’ my songs

and stories of you won’t sell.

So listen! and be kind!

Help me out of this!”

You did it: you changed wild lament

into whirling dance;

You ripped off my black mourning band

and decked me with wildflowers.

I’m about to burst with song;

I can’t keep quiet about you.

God, my God,

I can’t thank you enough.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 30 (The Message)

Book Two

[Psalm 42]

For the worship leader. A contemplative song of the sons of Korah.

My soul is dry and thirsts for You, True God,

as a deer thirsts for water.

I long for the True God who lives.

When can I stand before Him and feel His comfort?

Right now I’m overwhelmed by my sorrow and pain;

I can’t stop feasting on my tears.

People crowd around me and say,

“Where is your True God whom you claim will save?”

With a broken heart,

I remember times before

When I was with Your people. Those were better days.

I used to lead them happily into the True God’s house,

Singing with joy, shouting thanksgivings with abandon,

joining the congregation in the celebration.

Why am I so overwrought?

Why am I so disturbed?

Why can’t I just hope in God?

Despite all my emotions, I will believe and praise the One

who saves me and is my life.

My God, my soul is so traumatized;

the only help is remembering You wherever I may be;

From the land of the Jordan to Hermon’s high place

to Mount Mizar.

In the roar of Your waterfalls,

ancient depths surge, calling out to the deep.

All Your waves break over me;

am I drowning?

Yet in the light of day, the Eternal shows me His love.

When night settles in and all is dark, He keeps me company—

His soothing song, a prayerful melody to the True God of my life.

Even still, I will say to the True God, my rock and strength:

“Why have You forgotten me?

Why must I live my life so depressed, crying endlessly

while my enemies have the upper hand?”

My enemies taunt me.

They shatter my soul the way a sword shatters a man’s bones.

They keep taunting all the day long,

“Where is He, your True God?”

Why am I so overwrought,

Why am I so disturbed?

Why can’t I just hope in God?

Despite all my emotions, I will believe and praise the One

who saves me, my God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 42 (The Voice)

[Psalm 120]

I’m in trouble. I cry to God,

desperate for an answer:

“Deliver me from the liars, God!

They smile so sweetly but lie through their teeth.”

Do you know what’s next, can you see what’s coming,

all you bold-faced liars?

Pointed arrows and burning coals

will be your reward.

I’m doomed to live in Meshech,

cursed with a home in Kedar,

My whole life lived camping

among quarreling neighbors.

I’m all for peace, but the minute

I tell them so, they go to war!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 120 (The Message)

[dfroza]

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Psalms and Proverbs

for Thursday, April 30 of 2020 with Psalm 30 and Proverbs 30, accompanied by Psalm 43 for the 43rd day of Spring and Psalm 121 for day 121 of the year

[Psalm 30]

A song of David. For the dedication of the temple.

I praise You, Eternal One. You lifted me out of that deep, dark pit

and denied my opponents the pleasure of rubbing in their success.

Eternal One, my True God, I cried out to You for help;

You mended the shattered pieces of my life.

You lifted me from the grave with a mighty hand,

gave me another chance,

and saved me from joining those in that dreadful pit.

Sing, all you who remain faithful!

Pour out your hearts to the Eternal with praise and melodies;

let grateful music fill the air and bless His name.

His wrath, you see, is fleeting,

but His grace lasts a lifetime.

The deepest pains may linger through the night,

but joy greets the soul with the smile of morning.

When things were quiet and life was easy, I said in arrogance,

“Nothing can shake me.”

By Your grace, Eternal,

I thought I was as strong as a mountain;

But when You left my side and hid away,

I crumbled in fear.

O Eternal One, I called out to You;

I pleaded for Your compassion and forgiveness:

“I’m no good to You dead! What benefits come from my rotting corpse?

My body in the grave will not praise You.

No songs will rise up from the dust of my bones.

From dust comes no proclamation of Your faithfulness.

Hear me, Eternal Lord—please help me,

Eternal One—be merciful!”

You did it: You turned my deepest pains into joyful dancing;

You stripped off my dark clothing

and covered me with joyful light.

You have restored my honor. My heart is ready to explode, erupt in new songs!

It’s impossible to keep quiet!

Eternal One, my God, my Life-Giver, I will thank You forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 30 (The Voice)

[Psalm 43]

Plead for me; clear my name, O God. Prove me innocent

before immoral people;

Save me from their lies,

their unjust thoughts and deeds.

You are the True God—my shelter, my protector, the one whom I lean on.

Why have You turned away from me? Rejected me?

Why must I go around, overwrought, mourning,

suffering under the weight of my enemies?

O my God, shine Your light and truth

to help me see clearly,

To lead me to Your holy mountain,

to Your home.

Then I will go to God’s altar with nothing to hide.

I will go to God, my rapture;

I will sing praises to You and play my strings,

unloading my cares, unleashing my joys, to You, God, my God.

O my soul, why are you so overwrought?

Why are you so disturbed?

Why can’t I just hope in God? Despite all my emotions, I will hope in God again.

I will believe and praise the One

who saves me and is my life,

My Savior and my God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 43 (The Voice)

[Psalm 121]

A song for those journeying to worship.

I look up at the vast size of the mountains—

from where will my help come in times of trouble?

The Eternal Creator of heaven and earth and these mountains

will send the help I need.

He holds you firmly in place;

He will not let you fall.

He who keeps you will never take His eyes off you and never drift off to sleep.

What a relief! The One who watches over Israel

never leaves for rest or sleep.

The Eternal keeps you safe,

so close to Him that His shadow is a cooling shade to you.

Neither bright light of sun

nor dim light of moon will harm you.

The Eternal will keep you safe

from all of life’s evils,

From your first breath to the last breath you breathe,

from this day and forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 121 (The Voice)

[Proverbs 30]

The Words of Agur Ben Yakeh

God? Who Needs Him?

The skeptic swore, “There is no God!

No God!—I can do anything I want!

I’m more animal than human;

so-called human intelligence escapes me.

“I flunked ‘wisdom.’

I see no evidence of a holy God.

Has anyone ever seen Anyone

climb into Heaven and take charge?

grab the winds and control them?

gather the rains in his bucket?

stake out the ends of the earth?

Just tell me his name, tell me the names of his sons.

Come on now—tell me!”

The believer replied, “Every promise of God proves true;

he protects everyone who runs to him for help.

So don’t second-guess him;

he might take you to task and show up your lies.”

And then he prayed, “God, I’m asking for two things

before I die; don’t refuse me—

Banish lies from my lips

and liars from my presence.

Give me enough food to live on,

neither too much nor too little.

If I’m too full, I might get independent,

saying, ‘God? Who needs him?’

If I’m poor, I might steal

and dishonor the name of my God.”

Don’t blow the whistle on your fellow workers

behind their backs;

They’ll accuse you of being underhanded,

and then you’ll be the guilty one!

Don’t curse your father

or fail to bless your mother.

Don’t imagine yourself to be quite presentable

when you haven’t had a bath in weeks.

Don’t be stuck-up

and think you’re better than everyone else.

Don’t be greedy,

merciless and cruel as wolves,

Tearing into the poor and feasting on them,

shredding the needy to pieces only to discard them.

A leech has twin daughters

named “Gimme” and “Gimme more.”

[Four Insatiables]

Three things are never satisfied,

no, there are four that never say, “That’s enough, thank you!”—

hell,

a barren womb,

a parched land,

a forest fire.

An eye that disdains a father

and despises a mother—

that eye will be plucked out by wild vultures

and consumed by young eagles.

[Four Mysteries]

Three things amaze me,

no, four things I’ll never understand—

how an eagle flies so high in the sky,

how a snake glides over a rock,

how a ship navigates the ocean,

why adolescents act the way they do.

Here’s how a prostitute operates:

she has sex with her client,

Takes a bath,

then asks, “Who’s next?”

[Four Intolerables]

Three things are too much for even the earth to bear,

yes, four things shake its foundations—

when the janitor becomes the boss,

when a fool gets rich,

when a whore is voted “woman of the year,”

when a “girlfriend” replaces a faithful wife.

[Four Small Wonders]

There are four small creatures,

wisest of the wise they are—

ants—frail as they are,

get plenty of food in for the winter;

marmots—vulnerable as they are,

manage to arrange for rock-solid homes;

locusts—leaderless insects,

yet they strip the field like an army regiment;

lizards—easy enough to catch,

but they sneak past vigilant palace guards.

[Four Dignitaries]

There are three solemn dignitaries,

four that are impressive in their bearing—

a lion, king of the beasts, deferring to none;

a rooster, proud and strutting;

a billy goat;

a head of state in stately procession.

If you’re dumb enough to call attention to yourself

by offending people and making rude gestures,

Don’t be surprised if someone bloodies your nose.

Churned milk turns into butter;

riled emotions turn into fist fights.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30 (The Message)