#rp partner | castifell

[devoutpriest]

cas-ti-fell:

“ no. it is a system, a hierarchy. those once close to god know he has fled us, child. joshua, one of the few left, stayed in the garden of eden, believing in him. gods favored have changed, and among them, the eldest have grown tired and violent. we were given orders, once. some were interpreted diffe- rent than others. some took their garrisons and started ho- ly wars. others obeyed to the stark, bareness of it–some simply fled; job prayed and was met with silence, like you ; his eyes going blind from endless prayers of deliverance. he has left us with our troubles, our wars. he departed when he made you. humans. “ a gentle squeeze of asmegin, though castiel knows not his strength–the pulse of blood and veins startles him, so he relents, as soft as the giving ilk in heavens borders whom took flocks of babes under their wingspan–sisters, some brothers. humans were not strong of body, he must remember. “ your faith is STRONG, but withering. “ a BANG in the atmosphere, air ripples and tears, coagulating ions marking the protrusion of his physical form. from his ve- ssel’s back sprouts shadow-silhouette, reaching toward the heavens, massive and full. about his skull circles brimming light, unbroken. veins flare with his celestial grace, stars in his mouth, teeth, eyes. there is a vague hum, ringing, a BONE-vibrating shudder.

the angels even losing faith in god, violence and dissent in HEAVEN…it was a new concept that athelstan had difficulty wrapping his mind around.

“ how can it be, that EVEN the archangels would stop believing in him? how could he just abandon us?”

he winces, at the hardened touch on his shoulder, he feeling his heart beat faster, not wishing to offend the angel, this holy messenger of god, yet it hurt, he hoping his bones weren't broken. he feels his bones are shattered though, as the other lifts his hand in realisation, yet...

the blue pupils of athelstan’s eyes dilated, at witnessing the impossibly large shadowy wings which extended from the man’s back, 'it's badmr in fallinn haf...' (the wings are branches of the tree ; flower petals fluttering in unfurling ; falling in the sea), he whispers subconsciously in wonder, and of the distinct ringing reverberating in his bones.

his chest heaves with shocked wonderment at witnessing all this infallible proof. wincing, cringing at the sharp pain in his collarbone from the man's touch. this man—no, ANGEL-–was the closest connection he had to god now, and yet if it were true that god had not answered his cry for help, by sending down an angel from heaven…

“may i ask…" he pauses, trying to still his irregular heart- beat back to normal, and a tremor evident in his voice.

”…what is an angel of the lord doing here in kattegat?“

all that was here was himself, and pagans in which their beliefs and practices athelstan were sure would be viewed as abhorrent in the eyes of such a celestial being.

#rp partner | castifell #ic

[melodicwitchlight]

cas-ti-fell ☀️ castiel :

the curious prodding of a child has left him momentarily without response–though he figures, it’s only enough time before he deduces his presence as something more, or he’ll be forced to give truth anyhow. he has no desire to send the boy fleeing, as so many do when the shadow of his massive wingspan burns across the earth, though he doubts he harbors a weak will. in the pits of his gaze, through the hollowed halls and broken, shattered reflections of brothers he’ll never meet, he sees the boy, warm and curious through all his matted fur.

“ i suppose there is no use in hiding the truth from you. i am a celestial being. an… an angel. “ his brow scrunches in the slightest. “ humans are delicate, we are not. we learned early, ways to repair, as we’ve always been entrenched in some great war.. the battle of the serpent, and the great beasts… we have always been resourceful–some, more gifted than others.

when i lay my hand upon you, it will simply fade away. “ though it was only the basis of a long, sprawling list of capabilities, it was fundamental. those that destroyed must know how to restore.

he unfurls his hand, fingers bowing to expose the inward curve of jimmy’s cracked palm, bare and naked. “ i don’t mean to do you harm. “ only a child, and his sins are essential..

dean hears the angel? talk to him, as they are at a coffee shop ( jimmy’s diner ). the diner sign was red and glowing, indicating it was open. he had been recently reincarnated in a new vessel, startling when he looked in mirror & that was when he had pulled the sleeve of his shirt up.

he remembered sam had opened the door of motel room, pausing at seeing a teenager boy, thinking he a stranger. ‘ hello, are you okay, kid?’ and upon dean answering with, ‘ sammy, it’s me, dean ‘,

confusion and momentary silence.

and a near fight to the death where dean then sliced his own arm with a silver knife ( sam: ‘ you are a revenant or demon!! ‘) and holy water splashed in face. they had then hugged each other tightly.

he had been filled with fury at seeing his car hot pink sheen painted so by ruby ( the jet black aerosol can he got from the roadhouse helping a little ;; now a lighter pink — he saying and kissing his impala after crying tears salting his freckled cheeks ;; ‘ baby, I can’t stay mad at you. ‘).

he is eating a burger 🍔 ;; lettuce and chicken patty with mayonnaise drizzle ) and hot chocolate in mug.

the concept of angels was still quite an unusual thing for dean, ( reassurance of his mother saying angels were watching over him a warm reminder of her presence more than any divine belief ). even thought he had noted a peculiar divine intervention of a pole coming out of nowhere and spearing a criminal ( when he and sammy were investigating a case of people seeing angels ;; it had turned out to be a late priest’s ghost ).

since being pulled out from hell and seeing the shadowing wings 🪽 blackening the grey walls spray painted with demon sigils, his faith coalescing into something-ness from the black void of endless horror. he had started reading the holy bible more ( due to the real presence of castiel, an angel ).

he had read passages of isaiah ( of the sea speaking to him ) and a story with ephraim and israel on the run in the sandy dunes from god ; whom said they were too much like doves.

he pauses, and shakes his head in disagreement at the angel’s words that the pain will fade away. the splayed out hands of the angel burns and aches on his shoulder.

castiel sees, tilting his head to the side, remembering the strenuous task of pulling this man from the depths of hell ( he had seen the other slumped forward in the heavy chains ; bleeding from dying every day. ) he had cast white light and burned out onto demons’ faces, as he made his way to this broken righteous man.

squeezing his shoulder rather tightly, due to the shackled silver rusted chains that could not yield to human strength. the other, having being tortured for so long, sounds a brief yelp of pain within the rotting calmness of perdition. be gentle, castiel remembered, as humans were fragile beings.

‘ it hasn’t faded away, ‘ the angel hears the human near whisper, whisper that was clear as water to his ears.

dean hadn’t told sam he remembered hell, saying he remembered nothing since that day vicious black dogs had clawed him to death ( the dogs were black and shapeless ;; yet razor sharp white teeth and claws ) ;

yet he did remember, and by the slight narrowing of the other’s blue eyes, he knew castiel hadn’t believed his story like sam ( as castiel was there with him when he told sam ).

‘ which serpent? jormangudar? ‘ he reading that in the bible.

#rp partner | castifell #dean winchester ic. #writing. #;ethan

[devoutpriest]

cas-ti-fell:

“ no. circumstance. divine intervention, never upon god’s behalf. ABSENT, he’s left his energy upon this world, and he breathes life into all of us, but he noted our destruction. our chaos, our WAR. he left us to our own devices, to resolve our sin. “ it is not HUMANS castiel refers to, but angels, but children with weeping limbs and ravaged pits wh- ere souls–GRACE–should be. anna was one such angel, she rebelled like lucifer, and she fell to earth, her grace ripped out ( she saying the pain was white hot ; worse than any poker burning ) but humans have caused their own pain, their OWN hate. castiel offers out a hand, splays hard bones on the man’s shoulder. light thrums on porous flesh, ingra- ined pads seated soft on the bone. human bones were intriguing to him, he could feel the softness of the skin, the sinew and muscled meat where blood and veins rushed within the river, and the stick structure of course ; life pouring through a matchbook house. it is supposed to be comfort, though he does not know how to muster it, stiff and odd as he is. a just man, a RIGHTEOUS man, suffering from the knowledge his creator has left him … an orphaned child, a floundering babe .. “ i am an angel of the lord. “

his brows furrow downwards, in confusion, at the stranger’s next words. part of what he was saying matched what athelstan was brought up to believe in, god breathing life in clay and humans, animals sprang alive in the garden, yet the rest betrayed such. he wanted to seek guidance from him.

“ you think it is not even the SLIGHTEST bit possible for the divine intervention to be the lord’s work, or carried out with his orders? ”

“i thought I felt his FAMILIAR holy presence guide me out of darkness, many a time, once. ”

he carries his bible everywhere, is surrounded by holy hymns, singing latin as one of his prayers. gregorian ; he sung too, of boulevard of broken dreams. haunting lilt of many voices in chorused unison ; my shadow's the only one that walks beside me, my shadow's the only thing that's beating, check my vital signs to know i'm still alive ( he thumps his chest as he walks slight unsteady in the train tracks, gravel crunching beneath his feet ) ah-ah-ah-ah, i walk alone. they sung, with fellow monks tapping their pens and banging softly on their desks to the beat. they liked singing during their pilgrimages, they walking on foot as cleansing simplicity.

upon feeling the man’s hand touch his shoulder, the trembling in both his bones and soul ebbs slightly. it is a brief comfort from a man, whom decided to spare even a FRACTION of concern for him.

“ …an angel of the lord? h-HOW?”

he studies the man more carefully, disbelief washing over his tone. he seemed human, of tangible flesh and blood, contradicting athelstan’s image of angels. no wings or halo seemed to adorn his back nor head, as far as athelstan could see.

#rp partner | castifell #ic

[devoutpriest]

cas-ti-fell:

“ you PRAY loudly. “ any being with it’s ear to the foliage would hear this one, angel or no. he had time-travelled to this village of kattegat. it emanates from him, like pollen in hay se- ason, the white snowflake glowing, and he, a righteous being, is choking on the noise. if he thinks it will make him HOLIER … but he IS softened to the worship, at least. love for an absent father, devotion … it is bittersweet, and child-like. he is in jimmy's vessel, whom was a holy man, although he would not recommend he place his hand in a boiling pot of water. “ if it is GOD you wish to hear you, he will not answer. “ a plain fact, though said without infliction, jimmy’s lashes heavy against the hard angles of his cheekbones.

athelstan is praying by the beach shore in kattegat, when he hears a new voice address him. he abruptly stops, head turning, to notice a man in a trench-coat. he is simply standing there, appearing out of thin air, or his footsteps were just quiet. as he hears the rushing waters, speaking tremulously in his praying. the man’s first words are true, he admits, but perhaps praying in a higher volume might make god answer him once more. doubt is already starting to form in his mind about god’s will, a wave of newfound loneliness settling within him. however he still—almost stubbornly—clings to his belief, not willing to completely let go just yet. his gospel was still lain in the floorboards, his cross lain in his wrist. “god has answered me before, before THIS.” before his fellow monks were slaughtered and sold, and god seeming to turn a blind eye to it. why would they slaughter the slaves, ragnar certainly had not killed him. they were ruthless brutes, these warriors. “how do you know that He won’t answer, for CERTAIN?”

#rp partner | castifell #ic