#THE LONG AWAITED PRODIGAL CHILD RETURNS

[xmalereader]

— Endless Pt. 1 —

Bruce Wayne x Endless! Male Reader

☆ — MASTERLIST — ☆

SUMMARY: The endless family is made up of 7 children, so why is their an 8th? Reader is the black sheep of the family with no purpose to fulfill the human realm. He spends his days locked away in the Dreaming where he stays under his brothers watch. It wasn’t until one of Dreams new nightmares escapes the realm and starts causing problems in the Waking, giving reader a chance to show that he can be helpful in his family by tracking down his brothers nightmare, not knowing what awaits him.

WARNINGS/CONTENT: Angst, slow burn, MDNI 18+, language, endless family, dream trying to be a good brother, mentions of abuse, black sheep, self esteem problems, mentions of death, family secrets, friends to lovers, post riddler chaos, mentions of new villains, foreshadowing, reader and Bruce balancing each other out, Gotham is shit, slight kissing, trauma mentioned, OC nightmare, non-canon works.

WC: 5k

TAGS: @circusdexxter @lordzachariah0-0 @apolo1808 @i-cant-sleep615 @kayden1 @boylicious143 @h-ib @kik1010 @toxic90sboy @multifandomsimp69 @moththesadmage @stalker0

NOTES: Finally! After a very long break I’m finally getting back into writing again! I will mainly be focusing on my series that I’ve been planning for quiet awhile and really want to focus on this Endless series that I’ve had in mind for months. I’ll try my best to update as much as possible since each chapter will be between 5k-8k words or longer in order to have fewer chapters, but other than that, here is the first part and thank you for being patient on my writing!

Blinding - Florence And The Machine

The Endless had 8 children, each with a purpose in life.

Destiny with the purpose of defining all that is, Death was destined to put the universe to rest, Dream with the creation of stories and imagination, Destruction with the power of not only destroying but of making and producing, Desire with the purpose of wanting and lust along with their twin Despair who is the personification of despair and hope, and Delirium who can create realities and manipulate the human mind.

They all had an important purpose.

All but one.

The eighth child was the youngest of them all, having been born eons later after Delirium resulting in the last sibling of the Endless family. His siblings figured that he would have a purpose just like them only to have none. The last sibling wasn’t special nor was he given a proper name that would fit his so called ‘purpose’ instead both Father Time and Mother Night left their last child in the hands of their other children.

He expected his brothers and sisters to help him find a purpose that brought balance to the human realm, but neither sibling was much help. The twins simply teased him, mocking his existence while the others grew to busy in their own duties to give him the attention he needs, a few of his other siblings were busy searching for the ‘Prodigal’ who had left his duty many years ago and was being searched in order to restore balance again.

The youngest Endless could only watch from the sidelines holding onto hope that he too, would have a purpose of his own.

As he was passed around from sibling to sibling he spent most of his time in their realms watching their work and staying in line from overstepping into their duties. He spent most of his time in Dreams realm feeling his heart warm in joy when he walked through his brothers creation. The creation of stories and imagination was a powerful thing for many humans something that his brother found joy in doing.

There were times that he spent his time in his brothers library, hidden behind many rows of books, watching from the corners as his brother speaks with Lucian and Marvin. No matter how long he spends in this dreaming he never had the chance to actually create a bond with his brother, growing afraid each time he approached him when returning a book or when trying to ask a simple question about his creations.

Delirium was technically the baby in the family before he came into the picture and Dream already struggled with creating a bond with his sister and he didn’t want to get in the way of their bond. He spent years without knowing his duty that he’s grown used to being an outsider from his siblings, spending his ‘family’ dinners alone in Dreams realm, trying to stay out of their business as much as possible.

Even if his sister, Death, tired to convince him to join them for dinner he’d refuse and continue on with his day. What was the purpose of him being there? He can’t stand their whispers of pity, so why even bother.

He felt like a burden to his own family, so instead of trying to fit in he’d slowly pushed himself out of the picture and allowing them to have the spotlight while he stood out the frame. There were times that wished to disappear like his brother, Destruction. He didn’t know much about him and the others didn’t talk about him, not because they hated him, but because of the pain it brought them when reminded of their brother leaving without a word, abandoning his duty and hiding from the world.

When wandering around Dreams library he had found a book hidden deep in the shelves that contained a photo of his brother, Destruction. He looked older than the others and with a rugged expression on his face, having facial hair on his face and perhaps a grumpy like exterior. He kept the image of his brother in mind before putting the book back where it belongs in order to keep his brother, Dream from knowing his findings.

“A nightmare has escaped.”

He was doing his usual routine, hiding in the library and nose buried in a book before his ears perk at the sound of the ravens worried tone when landing near Lucians desk and letting her know about the situation.

“Does Lord Morpheus know about this?” Lucian had asked while she looked through the new plans of the realm, showing very little interest towards the situation since she had no control over dreams and nightmares.

The raven, Matthew tilts his head to the side. “He does—“

“Then I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“It’s that new nightmare.” Said Matthew, voice laced with worry and concern.

His words causes Y/n to look up from his book, eyes widening when hearing Matthew. He knew what nightmare he was referring to and knew how messy the situation can turn out if a nightmare were to abandon its duties. Dream always kept an eye on his dreams and nightmares and had been making changes in his realm, more like improvements. He had been changing his nightmares into dreams and leaving him with time to make new nightmares for the dreamers, having created one that lurks on your deepest fears named Pitch.

Y/n never liked the nightmare when first meeting him, his tall structure and sharp yellow eyes always made him shiver and whenever he was alone the nightmare always found him.

���Pitch is nothing but problems.” Sighed Lucian while removing her glasses.

Matthew lets out a small sound of understanding. “He reminds me of the Corinthian in some way.”

The name was familiar to Y/n, having heard about him and the troubles he’s brought into Dreams realm the nightmare was so bad that Dream had to destroy his creation and store him away. His brother had claimed that he will restore the Corinthian again, one day when he deemed the time right.

Y/n doesn’t stay longer to listen to their conversation and closes his book, leaving it on the table and standing from where he sat. He doesn’t spare the librarian and raven a glance, having grown used to their silent glances when his presence is made known, leaving the library and making his way towards his brothers chambers where he finds him pacing around the room while reading a book in hand. He’s noticed the stack of books scattered on the floor with different names from many dreamers.

He can’t help but raise a brow at his brothers mess, but doesn’t point it out when approaching him.

“I suppose you are busy?”

Dream doesn’t look away from his book and keeps pacing. “I am always busy.” His voice echos back before stopping mid pace to look over to Y/n who stood a good distance from the other Endless. Dream looks at him up and down before asking. “Is there something you need?” He’d usually brush off anyone’s needs and focus on himself, but after his imprisonment of 100 years and spending more time around humans he’s grown to change.

Showing some compassion for once.

The younger endless stares at Dream and then down at the books that surround them both. He wants to jump in and help his brother with finding his missing nightmare to be able to do something for once. “I heard that Pitch left the realm.” He starts, noticing the slight frown appear on his brothers face which makes him bite the inside of his cheek in a nervous manner.

“I can help with finding him?” He finally asks.

Dream shuts his book which causes Y/n to flinch and avoid his brothers eyes, looking away nervously after asking. He would expect his brother to be upset for wanting to step in and provide assistance to his mistake when it was his duty to fix the problem and not Y/n’s.

But his brothers words surprise him. “I’d appreciate the help.”

Y/n’s eyebrows raise in surprise when he’s accepted to help, nodding slowly as he takes a few steps closer and a bit hesitant on what to do. “What are you looking for in these books?” He asks and bends down to pick one up, reading the name of the dreamer before flipping it open and skimming through the pages.

“Pitch lurks on fear. Since I no longer have my ruby, I am unable to find my nightmares and must doing things a bit differently.” Dream being to explain as he walks over to the other side of the room to toss the book he was currently reading on top of another pile. Y/n guessed that it’s the finished books he’s read. “If I wish to find Pitch I have to find out which dreamers are most likely to be targeted by him.”

Y/n looks back at the stack of books with wide eyes. “You’re trying to locate a dreamer who could possibly lure Pitch in?” He says in disbelief and turns back to Dream. “That could take hours or days, all dreamers have nightmares so Pitch could be going after anyone.” He sets the book down and steps back to stare at the different piles, reading off names and trying to figure out his brothers outrageous system of locating his missing nightmare.

Dream lets out a dry chuckle when hearing his little brothers worries and shakes his head. “Then,” he walks over to Y/n and hands him a book. “Lets get started.” The little Endless can only mentally groan as he takes the thick book in hand and watched Dream get back to his own reading.

The room falls into a comfortable silence as the two read for what felt like hours. The sound of flipping pages echoed in the throne room and the placement thud of the book beings piled up as the continued their reading. As much as he enjoyed spending time in his brothers library he was slowly growing tired of reading dreamers lives and how they spent their time in the dreaming realm when sleeping. Even though he doesn’t have a purpose he’s starting to realize that being a Dream lord wouldn’t be for him.

It wasn’t until he breaks out into a yawn that it gets the Dream lords attention, eyes glancing up from his book and towards his brother who was half asleep at this point. Dream sighs through his nose and closed his book, setting it aside from where he sat on the steps. “You're tired, get some sleep.”

Y/n snaps his head up and shakes his head at Dreams words. “I’m fine I can keep going.” He waves him off and tries to concentrate on the book o his lap, but Dream had quickly taken the book from him and closed it. “I can tell when someone doesn’t sleep.” His voice is low as he towers over Y/n who sits on the floor and sighs to himself, rubbing his eyes and nodding his head slowly. “Okay, I’ll get some sleep.” He mumbled in return as he stands from where he sat.

Even though he wanted to help Dream in finding Pitch he’d need to get some rest if he wishes to keep going. When letting Dream know that he will head off to his room and get some proper rest for the night he makes sure to sneak at least one book back to his bedroom in order to keep helping out of his brother sight and not get into any trouble.

He holds the book against his chest when leaving his throne room and down a different hall in his castle. He yawns again when reaching his own bedroom, its big and spacious when entering a few books are on the shelf and small little valuables are sitting near the balcony not having a lot since he spent most of his time in the Dreaming with his brother.

He tossed the book on his bed and falls face first into his pillow, moaning tiredly and closing his eyes for a few seconds, letting his body relax against the soft blankets and pillows. The silence wakes him back up, opening his eyes and glancing over to the book he had snuck into his room.

It was surprisingly thin and the binding is all black, getting his attention as he sits up and turns around to lie on his back. He grabs the book and holds it up, reading the name on the front cover.

“Bruce Wayne…” He whispers the name to himself and flips the cover open, starting at the beginning like every other book he’s read. He knows he’s suppose to be sleeping or else his brother will use his sand on him, but he can’t help but grow eager to continue helping his brother, to be able to do something for once as he reads the book in hand.

He’s nodding off little by little and trying to concentrate on the words on the pages, shaking the sleep away and sighing as he adjusts his sleeping position and groans before flipping to the next page only to freeze, his eyes full of confusion as he sits up, fully awake as he stares down at blank pages. He’s never seen something like this in the books, finding half of the pages blank.

The mans life ends in nightmares, but the blank pages had to mean something. He quickly pulls the blankets back and slips out of bed, rushing out of his room and holding the book in hand as he heads back to his brothers throne room to ask him about the strange book.

“Dream—?”

“Aren’t you suppose to be sleeping?” Dream cuts in and slams his book shut, setting it aside onto a pile. The time that Y/n spent reading had resulted in the shift of books, having less around the throne room since his brother had finished reading a few on his own. Before Y/n can ask about the blank pages in the book his brother had approached him and takes his wrist in hand, dragging him back to his room.

“Wait—!”

“I’ve told you many times that you are to be asleep, unlike me you need the rest since your body isn’t adjusted to the dreaming realm quiet yet.” He began to explain, disregarding Y/n’s protests as he’s dragged back to his room. “But Dream—!?”

“Enough talk.” They make it back to his room where Dream shoves him back into bed and takes the book from his grip, setting it aside and ignoring the title of the book since he was focused on Y/n.

“But the book!” said Y/n as he reached out to grab it only for Dream to push him back into bed.

“You can tell me about it tomorrow, now you sleep.” He doesn’t give Y/n the chance to speak again as he uses his sand on his little brother, watching as he yawns and his eyes slowly flutter closed.

—

Y/n doesn’t dream.

He knows that his own brother does since its apart of him, but Y/n never had dreams or nightmares. He always wondered if it was because he wasn’t an Endless like his siblings with a purpose in the human realm. His siblings had dreams, but never spoke about them. Dream had their books with their dreams and nightmares written locked away from prying hands, he never read their books in order to keep the privacy and respect, never lurking in their dreams to see what they think of when sleeping. He made a rule to never do such thing, but Dream was surprised when his little brothers book wasn’t on the shelf.

He had given it time since he was still young, but after eons, nothing.

That’s why Y/n had woken up without feeling anything, falling asleep in darkness and waking up as if nothing ever happened. He’d stare at the ceiling of his room, quiet and still as he thinks about last nights discoveries. He turns to his left where his brother had left the book. He would have expected Dream to take it back instead of leaving it in his room.

He takes the book into his hands again and reads the name to himself once more. His fingers opening the book as he flips through the empty pages in hopes of finding new words only to find nothing, ending in the same way as last night.

“You can’t be dead.” He says to himself when closing the book, he’s seen how their story is written before death comes for them. It always ends with a dream before their story reaches an end, but Bruce’s didn’t have that and it made him question it.

He holds the book in hand when leaving his room, heading off to see his brother only to find the throne room empty when arriving. The books that were scattered around were gone, leaving the place empty and clean. He decides to check the library, perhaps he could find his brother there if the books were all cleaned up.

Only, he doesn’t find his brother there other than Lucian.

“Lucian, have you seen Dream?” He speaks up softly towards the librarian as she organized a few books and puts them in their designated space in the shelves. She looks up from her work and sighs. “Lord Morpheus had to attend a family dinner.” She responds back which makes Y/n’s heart race at the statement, forgetting that family dinners were every few years.

He was always invited but rarely went since he didn’t want to deal with the usual conversations.

“Found your purpose yet?”

“Still staying with Dream?”

“Why even have another endless when you can’t figure out why you are here.”

The past conversation makes him shudder, hating the feeling of being different.

Lucian can easily see the sadness hidden behind Y/n’s eyes as if showing that he’s fine when deep down inside he was hurting.

“I was curious about something,” He began to say, holding the book under his arm. “have you ever dealt with a dreamers dreams not showing in their books?”

Lucian raises a brow at his question. “Lack of dreams?”

Y/n shakes his head. “More like, disappearing from the human realm when they aren’t really dead?” He winced at his own question, unsure if he was making sense towards the librarian.

“Oh,” Lucian gives him a look of surprise. “Well, we once dealt with a boy who went missing in the dreaming. We couldn’t find him in his books and it looked like he had disappeared from the world.” She explains while shelving books. “Turns out that a nightmare was keeping him hidden, using their power and work to hide the boy from the real world. A way of escaping reality and hiding in the dreaming.”

Y/n takes in her words, glancing down at the book he had. Thinking that perhaps this Bruce is suffering from nightmares, making him easy bait for Pitch. He isn’t sure if he’s right or wrong, but he knows he should let his brother know since its an urgent matter due to pitch leaving his duties and causing a problem to his brother.

“Thank you, Lucian.” He leaves the book on the table and quickly leaves the library. He doesn’t usually attend family dinners, but perhaps this once he can make an appearance only to let Dream know about his discoveries and then leave. His siblings always took turns in hosting dinners, sharing each others realms for a short period of time together.

Last dinner took place in Deaths realm, today it’s Destiny’s.

In order to enter his brothers realm he’d have to ask permission, but since its a family dinner he doesn’t need to ask. He’s only been in Destiny’s realm a few times, liking his garden that he walked through in order to make it to the clear opening where a dining table is set and finds his siblings conversing amongst each other.

He always felt nervous around his other siblings. He’s known them for eons, but he didn’t really know them. He only saw them as his siblings who took care of him when he was a child, but as time went by and he continued to age things had changed between them.

“Look who decided to join us.”

Desires voice floats through the air as he looks over to his sibling, giving them a small nod of acknowledgment. “Desire.”

“Endless.” They said back.

Y/n mentally flinched at the name. He’s Endless, but Endless of what?

“That’s a surprise, you usually don’t come to these dinners.” They continued on, taunting him with a sly grin on their face. “Oh!” They gasp out. “Are you here to tell us that you’ve finally found a purpose or did you just come to ruin the dinner?” They and Despair laugh at their comment which leaves Y/n quiet.

“That’s enough.” Dream cuts in, stopping his siblings mocking. Desire clicks their tongue and rolls their eyes when their fun is ruined.

Dream looks over to Y/n. “Are you here to join us?”

He doesn’t know what to say, his mind feels fuzzy and can hear his heart racing in his ears. His eyes glancing over to the twins who murmured to each other, his eyes then shift over to Death who looks at him with eyes full of pity and concern—he hated that look. His brother Destiny didn’t even look at him and and Delirium was lost in her own world.

It wasn’t until his eyes land on the empty chair across from Dream. He’s confused at first, asking himself why they would have a chair for him. “Oh…”

There was 7 seats, one for each sibling.

The seventh wasn’t for him. It was for his missing brother, Destruction.

He’s now realized had he’s never had a seat amongst them.

“Y/n?”

Dreams voice pulls him out of his thoughts, looking back at his brother and noticed the small hint of concern in his voice.

“Is something wrong?”

Y/n gives his brother a fake smile. “It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t stay much longer and turns his back, leaving his brothers garden and heading back to the Dreaming where he belonged. Did he really belong to the dreaming? Dream was only being a kind brother and letting him stay in his realm until he’s found his purpose but its been eons and he still hasn’t figured out what kind of endless he is. Thinking about it makes him feel like a burden, having bothered his brother for years not asking himself if Dream has perhaps grown tired of having him around.

He found beauty in his brothers work always amazed by his creations and ideas that he can’t help but think that he’s a mistake wandering around his brothers creation.

“You are just Endless.”

Dream of the Endless.

Death of the Endless.

Desire of the Endless.

They all had a name, but him.

“How can I know who I am…” He whispers in the emptiness of his room, staring at the pile of books that he had left forgotten in his room only to remember last nights book.

“Bruce Wayne.”

He may not be someone who can lead him to Pitch, but he could be a start. He’s curious to know why his book ended in blank pages, waiting to be filled with words. Even if he was wrong at least it was an excuse for him to leave the realm to perhaps find himself something out in the Waking.

Y/n had seen the Waking and had very little interactions with mortals, but perhaps he’ll get the chance to know them at a better level. There isn’t much for him to take other than a notebook with notes regarding his brothers dreams and nightmares and his time here in the dreaming. His room never had anything valuable only a simple bed and a few books, nothing else.

He flips the book open and reads his last page.

“Gotham City.”

[drippingheart]

Eyes dark with judgement had been there. Sneers and rumours as frequent as night had been there. The playful pinches to his cheeks and hugs from his parents had stopped with the manifestation of his abilities. Judgement had been there — Humanity's weakness. When the evils of the planet had been pressing on the forefront of his mind, Getō Suguru had been a glorified lover of books and writing where imagination was the limit and controlled at the reader's discretion. Suguru may have been a strange kid, a freak of nature cursed by evil spirits, but if he received excellent marks, no one could deny him that.

Between studying and training his body, it was of no surprise he fit impeccably with the lifestyle of the jujutsu school, regardless of how demanding being a sorcerer truly was. All of Tokyo's international awe was within his grasp, but there was the pressing matter of being better to stay alive . . and there was the presence of his friend who, in just a short amount of time, became quite the fixture in his life. For all the darkness he lived with as a child, Suguru was charismatic and found no difficulty finding friends even when doing the most mundane of things such as grocery shopping.

Gojō Satoru @thehonoredwon was the flame to his moth or the moth to his flame. No, there was nothing outright harmful about their relationship despite its obsessive qualities. Satoru ,who never had a real friend before, was permanently attached to Suguru. Suguru, who felt like an outcast in his small town, found the other teenager's personality abrasive and endearing. If not moths or flames, two planets drawn to each other's orbits. Ieri Shoko had even approached Suguru, and Suguru alone, with implications of something more than platonic. It was a shock, truly. Was it so wrong to want to spend every day with a best friend?

Perhaps a little, but they had precious time ticking away, did they not? No offense was taken, and the onyx haired teenager continued to indulge, guilt free. It was their weekly if not daily routine in between missions; doing whatever if it meant spending time in each other's presence. Suguru had long stopped wasting his breath urging Satoru to study ( he was too damn smart for his own good; he didn't really need it ) and finished his own work. Every word read. Every point written with practiced handwriting.

You have ugly penmanship, Suguru, his mother once told him; Suguru had remedied that. By the time he was finished with two assignments, the teenager flexed his cramped fingers before running them through his loose hair, still damp from his shower. Bangs which he never bothered to alter since he was twelve was tucked behind his ear as his hues widened briefly. Home? That was a thing he didn't talk about often. Suguru started with a little hum then stretched his arms over his head as if doing everything but to tackle the subject.

── ❛ Are you? ❜

Two notebooks and one soft covered book were shut, stacked nicely, and set aside. He twirled his onyx hair around his finger like he was curling it up to put in a bun only to let it fall. Where did his hair tie go? He continued to twirl his hair in a damp bun and releasing it, several times over. Finally, sugilite eyes focused on Satoru's slumped over body as he spoke. He didn't want to make assumptions, but he could only imagine the luxurious amenities and grandiose spread of spring time foots which awaited the prodigal son at his home.

── ❛ I'll just stay here; I don't want to miss the festivals. And . . I don't have any plans of returning home. ❜

Not ever again.

[bbrrambo]

good girl.

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Hotaru Imube AGE & BIRTH DATE. Unknown & 3000+ GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Rift OCCUPATION. Card Dealer FACE CLAIM. Sen Mitsuji

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, violence, animal death, infant death, torture ) The night Hotaru was born the grounds of the Imube clan were blanketed in fireflies, the long dark night punctuated an arduous labor that brought the screaming infant son of the clan leader into the world. Named for the omen that marked Hotarus’ auspicious birth, from an early age he was placed upon a pedestal - the prodigal son of a warmonger that could do no wrong. Despite countless attempts his mother failed to deliver another child which only elevated his own position within the clan, the heir and future son of the proud family. Superstition surrounded Hotaru, as did the whispers of servants who watched as from a young boy he seemed to delight in suffering. He’d pull the wings off of flies and watch them jump around uselessly, raise shards of broken glass over ant mounds and incinerate hordes of the creatures. These urges were only encouraged by his father, while his mother tried to temper Hotaru’s cruelty with games and strategy instead. She introduced him to Go and for hours at a time she would have him sit with her and they would play, if only for Hotaru to be rescued by his father who prioritized real-world military strategy over that which was found over a wooden board.

He learned to fight under their weapons’ master, a man well-versed in a variety of martial arts who was responsible for training clan’s generals and eventual military heads. At sixteen Hotaru had already seen combat, a bloody state of affairs that suited him. On the battlefield Hotaru was merciless, cruel, and unrelenting. While he never produced an heir, though this never bothered him there were some that whispered of his potential infertility. Whispers Hotaru was quick to silence.

It was at the same time that Hotaru’s mother managed to successfully give birth to not one, but two children. Though it took her life in the process. Twins born under a full moon, one boy and one girl. They were the Imube clan’s newfound promise, should anything ever happen to Hotaru there was a backup child, another boy to take his place. And a girl who would undoubtedly come to bare many more children for the family. While his father was advanced in years, he suffered from a thirst for violence that was never quite sated. The loss of Hotaru’s mother took a toll of its own and for months the man’s health slowly deteriorated, bringing down the power of the clan with it. At night Hotaru would watch over the children, they had servants, but the boy liked to watch them as they sleep their frail frames as they took such tiny breaths it was almost as if they weren’t even breathing at all.

The future stretched before him and Hotaru could see the path that lay before him clearly, these children were young and strong. They would grow as he had, and even after Hotaru inherited his father’s position as the head of the clan, these twins would potentially threaten his position and birthright. Though he despised them and in secret, conspired to dispatch them, Hotaru could never bring himself to do it. He cared little for his father, but he had genuinely loved his mother - and now these children were all that remained of them. His father however, blamed the children for his wife’s death - their birth had come under a bad sign and he took this as an omen that they would someday bring the clan to ruin. Hotaru found his father by the river one night, the children already below the water and while he could do nothing to save them he gutted the man where he stood. Whispers followed that the cruel young lord was responsible for the children’s death, a lie that Hotaru did nothing to discourage. If his enemies believed him capable of such a cruel act, then no one would ever dare to oppose him. In private, however, he mourned his brother and sister; in a locket around his neck were twin locks of their hair, spirited from them before their pyre.

From that day forward the young lord was leader of the Imube clan, with no one to threaten or oppose him. Hotaru had an uncle, but shortly after inheriting his position Hotaru a story emerged about the man conspiring against him. For months Hotaru tortured the life from his body and let his screams echo across the grounds - this was a statement - a warning. And it was effective.

Only mortal, death came for Hotaru eventually. Though it was when he was very old. Cruelty made his enemies cower, but fear alone was not enough to keep those beneath him from conspiring against him forever. Sickness took his frail body, and soon a knife across the throat sent Hotaru Imube hurtling towards the Underworld where the Great Lord Enma awaited Hotaru’s damnable soul. It was here that Hotaru’s potential and ability was truly appreciated, the fires of hell coursed through his veins and Enma transformed the once handsome lord into a demon, a monster, an Oni. Hotaru had been so evil in life that he was a fitting torturer of Hell, he would take the worst of humanity and draw their punishments out for what would feel like eternity. Then, Hotaru would piece them together once more and begin again.

Centuries passed in this fashion before Enma sent Hotaru back to the mortal world, his form no longer recognizable to the man he had been before - he was a giant with blue skin, horns and a gruesome third eye that protruded from his forehead. A great, iron club was Hotaru’s weapon as he descended upon men and women who were deserving of an Oni’s wrath. He dragged them down and into the Underworld where he would then torture them, or toss them into the innumerable army of Hell to be devoured by the hordes of like-creatures. Thousands of years continued as the name Hotaru seemingly fell away, that was the name of the man who had been dragged into Enma’s realm, only the Oni remained. As the world expanded so too did the Oni’s reach, more and more he’d appear in lands and regions that the yokai had no business in until one case brought him to a village that was soon to be engulfed in flames. It was here that the Oni hunted a creature that evaded Enma’s clutches, and it was here that he bore witness to a phoenix as they burst into flames for the first time. The sight was an interesting one, Hotaru could admit as much, but not as interesting as the hopelessly lost soul of the man who crawled out of the flames. The Oni returned to the Underworld and put little thought towards the sight again until the sundering of the veil broke free some of the long imprisoned denizens of Hell. Enma himself tasked Hotaru, along with a few others, with the retrieval of the creatures that had broken free. Once more his mission would take him far from his homeland, all the way to Greece.

It was on Delos that Hotaru had tracked down a yokai who had wiggled free of its cage,  when he brought it down into the Underworld he was intercepted by three sisters along the way. They were hideous and fearsome, not at all unlike himself. Serpents coiled for their hair as great bat-like wings unfurled behind them. Their voices sent terror down his spine, even him, an Oni of Enma’s realm knew of their power - these were the Erinyes. Furies and gatekeepers of Tartarus and Hotaru was trespassing in their domain. They told him he deserved punishment for his awful crimes, and for setting foot in Greece they could do just that. Or, he could help them as he was helping Enma and they would reward him instead. Hotaru would be given absolution, freedom, and the autonomy to move about the world with a human visage once more. For thousands of years he had been Enma’s soldier, but Hotaru was never given a choice in the matter. A fiend though he was.... he sought an end as well. Finality. Peace. Hotaru agreed and the furie’s washed his sins clean - despite Enma’s wishes he was sent forth to Corinth Bay.

PERSONALITY

+ protective, open-minded, amicable - disloyal, cruel, aloof

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. He/Him.

[too-many-baes]

Tequila, Bones and Bruises

Pairing: fem!reader x Sam Winchester

Warnings(s): alcohol, injury, mentions of death, fluff, slight angst?

Word Count: 4.6K

Request: “Hey - just saw your requests are open. I know in general Dean gets a lot of love in the fandom but I'm a total Sam girl! Can you do one where reader is a hunter that the boys have known since they were young because John took care of her (aka left her with dean) when her dad was away or something like that... anyway she and Sam have always liked each other but after Jess he's too scared to do anything about it. Maybe Dean helps or something or she totally kicks ass... idk you choose. I trust you” – by Anon

A/N: Thank you anon for your Sam request! I am also a total Sam girl, have been from day dot so I'm glad you gave me the chance to show the tallest Winchester some well earned love 💝 This is probably not what you envisioned at all, ya girl went off on a bit of a tangent... 🤷🏼‍♀️

Masterlist in bio and requests are open

*gif credit [@ aborddelimpala]*

                                                          *******

“Here's to another successful hunt!” You exclaim, placing down a tray full of tequila shots for you and your awaiting companions.

“No no, c'mon Y/N we have another hunt lined up for tomorrow. We should get an early night.” Sam's complaints fall on deaf ears as you defiantly place a shot with a lime wedge balancing upon it in his hand.  You’d expected the protest from the more responsible brother, your rebuttal at the ready.

“Sam we just took down a changeling, the very thing that nearly took John Winchester off the board. If the fact the prodigal children”, the way you referred to the three of you caused an amused snort from Dean, you shooting him a pointed look as you continue, “could do it with all their limbs still intact isn't worth celebrating then I don't know what is.”

“To the prodigal children!” Dean yells, holding his shot glass high in way of a toast. You happily clink his glass repeating his cheers, both of you shooting your drinks in unison. You screw up your face at the unpleasant yet familiar taste, holding the wedge to your lips to relieve the burning sensation from your mouth. Dean places his glass down, refusing to take the reprieve the sour lime would provide. You roll your eyes at his false bravado, turning your expectant gaze to Sam, flicking your eyes from the still full shot in his hand back to his face.

“I'm not doing it”, he states with confidence, placing the glass back on the table.

“C'mon Sam, you really gonna make me and Dean celebrate alone?” You ask, putting on the best puppy dog pout you could. On anyone else you're sure the gesture would have fallen flat, with Sam though you can see his resolve weaken with the relaxing of his shoulders as he puffs out a breath. “Live a little Sammy", you chirp, a testing lilt to your voice.

“Yea, live a little Sammy!” Dean's last encouragement was the straw that broke the camel’s back, Sam shaking his head at himself before throwing the burning liquid down his throat to the sound of you and Dean's cheers.

“Right,” you start as you drum your hands against the table, leaning over slightly to address Dean sitting across from you, “what's the old man gotta say about this one?” You ask, cueing Dean to pull John's old journal (the bible as you liked to call it) from his bag, flipping through the pages to find a similar case.

“Sorry, whose old man is he Y/N?”  Sam asks, you poking his side for his teasing.

Your own dad was barely in the picture when you were a child. How incompetent the Winchesters deemed their father to be speaks volumes about your dad, as he felt he was better off leaving you with John when he went on his benders, which was frequently enough that you barely saw him.

Ever since you’ve referred to John as your old man, often claiming he was the closest thing to a father that you had. This was completely false of course, that role was taken by Dean. As begrudging as he had been initially about having another kid to watch over he warmed to you quickly, as you did to him. Although he treated you like a sister in truth he was the best father figure you've ever had. Not that you'd ever admit that sappy sentiment to him.

The story was entirely different with Sam. While Dean was like a father and big brother wrapped into one gruff, smooth talking parcel, Sam was your first crush before you even understood what a crush felt like. You took an instant shine to the youngest Winchester, him reciprocating. The amount of nights Dean had to yell at you for gossiping into the night were countless, and as you grew up you figured it would just be natural for you to get together. You were certain he felt for you exactly what you did for him.

It was a teary few months when Sam up and left for college without so much as a goodbye. You understood he was angry. He and his fathers relationship had been tumultuous at best but you thought he would have spared you a thought before he ran off into the night. The teary process had started all over again when you and Dean had gone to fetch him only to find he'd shacked up with some pretty sorority girl while there.

Nevertheless you were there to comfort him when the unimaginable happened and Jess had suffered the same fate as his mum, and you were there again when John was taken from them too. No matter how you felt you could always set your own feelings aside, if Sam needed you you'd been there.

Now years on you’d hoped in vain that he might be ready, that maybe all those signals and stolen looks would finally come to something. You had hoped this time round would be different, that time apart had made him fonder and he'd set aside whatever had been holding him back before. Evidently, had been wrong. The lingering looks and playful flirting continued just like before but nothing more. This caused you to doubt every little thing. Maybe he was just joking around and you couldn't see that through your ever hopeful eyes?

After some searching you figure out the creature you'd be hunting tomorrow should be a poltergeist, and after some moaning from you about work time being over Dean sets the book back into it's place so he can mainline tequila with you.

Dean and you end up a few shots ahead of Sam, the fact he'd done as many as he had shocking the both of you. It didn't take Dean long in his half inebriated state to locate the old juke box, lining up one classic rock song after the other. You create a make shift dance floor by pushing some tables aside despite the less than pleased looks from the bartender.

Dean dances, shredding fake guitar solos and singing along much too loudly as you jump around enthusiastically, looking like you were auditioning for an instrument-less band.

Sam sits and watches from the table, grinning at your antics as he is totally unable to stop himself from laughing to himself every time you pull a face or throw up a rock on sign with your hands.

“Alright Sammy, it's your turn to give the lady a dance", he all but yells as he makes his way to sit at your table as you remain hopping about to Metallica.

With a laugh Sam refuses, “No I'm happy with the view from here.”

“Y/N!” Dean yells. Sam shoots him a bug eyed stare, shaking his head at his elder brother. Your head snaps around at the calling of your name, “Sammy here would rather have you dance all by yourself than give you a dance.” He exclaims childishly, you pouting once more as you try to remain standing on the spot, crossing your legs in an effort to stay balanced.

“That is VERY ungentlemanly”, you huff out, the boys laughing at your choice of words.

“Ya hear that", Dean speaks this time at a volume only Sam could hear, “ you wouldn't wanna be ungentlemanly, would ya?” He asks with a quirk of an eyebrow and tilt of his head.

“I know what you're doing Dean", Sam states, his eyes travelling to where you sway alone, completely unaware of the conversation happening just feet away from you. Dean gives a shrug in response.

“So go do it then.” Dean’s firm statement is met with a hesitant shake of the head.

“I can't Dean, what happened with Jess-”

“Sam,” Dean’s stern voice stops Sam before he can finish his self doubting sentence, “What happened with Jess sucked, but you can’t let that hold you back. That girl,” he gestures with his thumb towards your still dancing form, “ain’t gonna be around forever.”

Sam sits a moment before speaking, “That's what I'm afraid of.”

Your hands slamming on the table snaps Deans jaw shut, now unable to refute Sam any further.

“I have danced by myself too long boys. Sam,” you say, dramatically pointing at him with a straight arm, “if you dance with me I'll let you pick the song.” He laughs a hearty laugh but remains seated, prompting you to continue, returning to leaning on the edge of the table. “One time offer Sam, going once, going twice...” You trail off, standing straight and holding your palm face up for him which with an amused roll of the eyes he accepts. You pull him up leaning your whole body into the action, causing him to lightly collide with your much smaller stature, grabbing you gently in case you should fall. You steady yourself just fine despite the giddy, non-alcohol fuelled rush Sam's hands gave you, firmly grasping one of his hands and yanking him to the juke box.

“Okay Sam, pick away.” He doesn't initially begin to pick so you continue, “Look, I'll even cover my eyes so you don't get all shy about it.” For the umpteenth time that night you make Sam laugh, following your request by flicking through the options until he smirks with his selection.

“Alright, are you ready?” Sam asks while simultaneously pulling your hands away from your eyes and pulling you into the centre of the small space. After some silence the first notes of Way Down by Elvis Presley play, putting a beaming smile on your face.

“Elvis!?” You question in shock, knowing Sam could hardly call himself a fan.

“What can I say, I'm a people pleaser”, he answers as he starts to sway your still joined hands to the fast beat of the music.

You danced like idiots the whole song, Sam spinning you around until you were so dizzy you were sure you'd fall, reaching out and gripping his biceps for stability. He grabs you lightly by the waist before speaking, “Are you okay?” He can't keep the laugh from his sentence, knowing he helped cause your loss of balance. Little did he know he hands on you caused the dizziness just as much as the dancing. You raise your head, looking up at those beautiful eyes, the ones you've been pining after since primary school. You nod, lacking the control of yourself to make the move with any kind of conviction, instead remaining a willing hostage to his gaze.

As your eyes stay locked as the juke box whirs and clicks signifying a change in song.  What plays makes your eyes widen in embarrassment, She Loves You by The Beatles. You reluctantly snap your eyes away from one Winchester to the other, who happens to be standing at the jukebox with a shit-eating grin planted on his face. Your cheeks redden like a fire has been lit under your skin. Risking one last look at Sam whose eyes also rest on Dean, you break away and march to the table. Snatching your jacket as well as Dean’s, you clutch yours in hand while you haphazardly toss his so it collides with his chest.

“We're leaving", you state matter-of-factly, shrugging your jacket on and turning to face the boys with hands on hips.

“Y/N-” Sam’s soft tone of voice makes you click your tongue in irritation. You didn't want him to feel sorry for you, avoiding his what you assumed was a pitying gaze as you spin on your heel making your way to the door.

“I'll meet you at the car", you throw over your shoulder, exiting the bar as The Beatles taunting song chases you out.

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.

***

You get into the drivers side door of the impala, an absolute rarity for you. You toss a bottle of water at each Winchester, keeping one for yourself. You forcefully put a burger in Dean's lap, causing an elongated grumble.

“Get with it sunshine", you state without a trace of sympathy, turning the key to start up the car. You drive to the abandoned house, Dean muttering the whole time about not getting too comfortable in the drivers seat. You arrive at the run down, partly boarding up home, rolling to a stop in front of its rickety porch.

“Okay”, you begin, twisting your body around so you have both Sam and Dean in your view, “from what we know this is one nasty poltergeist. It's killed two people already, but there could have been more earlier that we don't know about.” You pause your speech to click your fingers in front of Dean's face after seeing he was spaced out. You look at Sam who is grimacing at the volume you're speaking at. Your eyes roll of their own volition at the hungover men. You were hungover too but they wouldn't be catching you carrying on like that.

“We figured out the bones are probably in the basement-”

“Did we?” You ignore Dean's question in favour of continuing.

“-so since Dean needs bablysitting”, you smack his arm in irritation, “he and I will distract it while you salt and burn the bones.” Sam nods at his being addressed.

The plan now confirmed you all exit the car, you being the first on the porch and at the door after grabbing the necessary equipment from the boot. With the men now present you jiggle the doorknob to find it locked. You instruct the men to stand back and after they oblige you raise your leg and send a forceful kick at it. The wood flings open, dramatically slamming into the wall behind it.

“Damn” you hear Sam mutter, causing a smirk to flicker on your lips as you walk into the run down house. With a brief nod and wishes of luck Sam begins searching for an entrance into the basement, you leading the way into the living room.

You begin to yell and taunt, throwing out profanities and insults to draw the beings attention to you, away from Sam.

Sure enough what furniture remains in the room begins to rumble, a few scattered pieces of wood floating into the air.

“Oh is that all you got?” You goad further against Dean's warnings.

Suddenly pieces of wood fly at you and Dean, intent on getting lodged in your skin. You yank Dean to the side as a broken table launches itself at him, shattering against the wall where he had been standing seconds earlier.

“Move!” You decide that drawing the spirit up higher into the house would help distract it from what's happening below, so you push Dean in the direction of the staircase.

As you ascend frames on the wall fly off at you, making you duck and raise your arms over your head.

Room after room objects are flung at you by an invisible force, Dean at one point being flung across the room like a rag doll.

Just as you're sure the toilet is going to be freed from it's plumbing all of the movement halts. You shoot Dean a smile which he reciprocates, both of you thinking Sam had burnt the bones.

A cry sounding through the house makes your smile fall, realising you had falsely assumed Sam successful.

“Y/N wait!” You ignore Dean's plead as you barrel down the staircase and into the basement.

You find Sam crouched in a dirty corner, a woman in a torn white nightgown and scraggly hair standing over him.

“Hey!” The creature whips around to you just as you unholster your gun and fire a salt round through it, the poltergeist disappearing from the impact. You rush to Sam’s side to assess the damage, finding a large cut running down one side of his face no doubt caused by a collision with the wall. You can find no other immediate injury so you set about finishing what Sam started.

The bones laying only a few feet away were already doused with gas and covered in salt, needing only flames to banish this being from the world. You produce your own lighter from your pocket, opening the Zippo and bringing the little orange flame to life with a flick of your thumb.

“Y/N watch out!” You spin around at Dean's voice in the room, coming face to face with the twisted woman from earlier. With a wicked grin you fly from your crouched position and into a neglected set of drawers. Your side hits its edge, knocking the wind out of your lungs as you promptly fall to the ground.

“Y/N!” You look up at Sam who had let out the frightened cry then to Dean who now had the poltergeist fast approaching him . You clench your teeth, letting out determined huffs as you manage to drag yourself across the ground. Just as the woman is about to set herself upon Dean you drop your lighter atop the bones. Her agonising screeches fill the room as she dissolves to ashes in a burst of light. You let yourself fall onto your back, taking in a deep breath as you stare at the ceiling.

None of you speak as you all take in breaths of relief at the case being over. That is, until Dean breaks the silence.

“Holy shit.”

***

Back at the motel Dean has gone out to get dinner and drinks for you all, you opting to stay and clean up the injured younger brother.

The gash running down his face would luckily be fine without stitches but it would need disinfecting and dressed. You pour the rubbing alcohol you had made Dean buy onto a cotton ball, raising your hand to his face.

“Do I need to tell you this is gonna sting?” He smirks at your teasing question.

“I think we're past that now.” He lets out an involuntary hiss at the alcohol touching his open skin, you grimacing at his discomfort.

As you continue to clean his cut and make sure there are no stray splinters hiding in it you become uncomfortably aware of your proximity. He sits at the edge of the bed and you'd pulled up a stray chair, resting between his legs as you work. A blush rises to your cheeks you know you can do nothing to hide, hoping instead he's polite enough not to mention it.

This isn't the first or last time you've been in a position like this with Sam, but after the bar you felt nervous and unsure of yourself. Sure, you both knew how you felt, but being called out for it even as a joke put tension between you. It's like now what had been largely ignored and overlooked was sitting out in front of you, waiting to be acknowledged. You can see his eyes examining your face as you work, only making the tight feeling in your stomach worse.

You release the breath you were holding tightly within your lungs as you pull away from him, tossing the bloodied cotton into the bin by the bed. You give him a tight lipped smile and  somewhat awkwardly tap his shoulder a few times before standing from the chair. As you do you involuntarily flinch and stiffen, your side singing out in pain now the adrenaline had worn off. You straighten up slowly and attempt to walk to the bathroom, but one of Sam's strong arms reaches out in front of you as you turn away. He lightly takes a hold of your hip, turning you back around to your prior standing position and lightly placing his other hand on your other hip. The already fast beat of your heart increases at the motion, that dizzy feeling from the bar taking hold of your head yet again.

“You’re hurt.” His voice is hardly above a whisper as he looks up at your face from his still seated position. You shrug your shoulders lightly, trying to appear as unperturbed as possible.

“I’ll be fine.” Your nerves betray the collected front you put on, your voice coming out low and scratchy as the words got caught on their way out of your throat.

“Can I see?” He keeps his voice quiet and soft, the imploring look on his face making you lightly nod at him before breaking eye contact as your cheeks light up. Slowly he removes one of his hands from your hip, trailing it across your stomach en route to your injured side. Keeping his eyes on your face he delicately thumbs the hem of your loose shirt before inching the fabric up painstakingly slow until he uncovers the already darkening patches of purple and yellow scattered across your ribs. Holding your shirt in place with one hand he uses the other to ghost his fingers over the area, his touch so feather light that if you hadn't been looking you wouldn't have known he was even touching you.

Your breaths are shallow now, short and desperate as you try to balance your spinning head and erratic heart.

“That'll take a while to heal”, he finally says in conclusion, releasing your shirt for it to fall back in place as he looks up at your face.

“Sam?” He doesn't break the eye contact, a silent signal for you to continue. With the confusion in your heart and head you had no idea what you were about to say until the words passed your lips. “What are we doing?” He knows exactly what you mean, no trace of confusion crosses his face. Yet he does not answer, unsure of what to say.

“It feels like we've been doing this ‘will they, won't they' dance for years.” The words could have come out confident however your breathy delivery of them steals any conviction the statement could have possessed. “Sometimes it feels like I'm going crazy, picking up on things that aren't there”, you say as you nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt, giving your eyes something to look at rather than his face as you make your confession.

You can feel his eyes have not once left your face since the start of your conversation. From the edge of your vision you can see a sombre smile on his face as he delicately places his hand over both of your much smaller ones, effectively stilling your nervous occupation.

“You're not going crazy Y/N,” you raise your eyes to meet his expectant ones, your hands still held by his, “it's all there.” This is as close to confessing your unspoken feelings the both of you have ever gotten in your long history, leaving you stranded in unchartered territory. You detach your hands from his and take hold of his forearms, him taking the opportunity to once again place his hands on your hips.

“So what are we doing about it?” Neither of you follow up your question with an answer, too far lost in each other’s gaze to speak. Eventually your stare elicits his response, his eyebrow twitching upwards before he speaks.

“I hadn't planned on doing anything about it.” This time it is him that breaks the eye contact, looking off at the ground as he continues. “I've been afraid. I didn't want you to end up like Jess, or worse.” You take his face in between your hands, guiding his eyes back to you.

“You should know by know I can take care of myself.”

“I do. Hell, you saved me and Dean's asses today.” You both smile at his statement, you letting out a breathy, short laugh.

“So what's stopping us now?” You whisper, flitting your gaze between his eyes and lips.

“Nothing.” He firmly pulls you closer, a shiver running down your spine as you lean in.

He finds your lips with his, your fingers going around the back of his neck and grasping at his hair. You’re surprised your already struggling head and heart haven't given up on you yet as his lips delicately glide against yours, the sensation far better than anything you've conjured in a daydream. You sink into the feeling, enjoying the buzz that's spread over your body and the heat radiating off of him.

In a swift movement he shifts his knees between your legs, pulling you down onto his lap so that you’re straddling him. The kiss becomes more desperate as you both press yourselves tightly against each other, hoping to eliminate any space between you. His hands press into you, travelling from your hips and hungrily up your sides.

With that motion the desperate kiss stops as Sam's hand had a little too forcefully slid over your bruised side, causing you to flinch away and let out a hiss.

“Oh my god I'm sorry, are you alright?” He instantly retracts his hands so he can place them on your face, eyes nervous as they scan yours. You can't help but giggle at his overly worried tone. The passionate haze that had saturated you now slowly ebbs away, leaving behind a contented fog. You nod along with your giggles to ease his worry.

“I'm fine.” He lets out a breathy laugh to accompany yours, moving his hands down to your neck and pulling until your forehead touches his.

You stay like that a while, breathing in each other’s air as you enjoy the embrace that you've both been yearning for in silence.

Your tranquillity is shattered with Dean's arrival as he enters the room, loudly struggling with the takeaways and beer. He stops in his tracks when he notices your position. Both you and Sam were too relaxed to leap into action, sitting there like deer in the headlights.

“A-ha!” He throws his head back at his exclamation as he uses his foot to shut the door. You reluctantly separate from Sam, sitting on the bed beside him instead.

“I knew that sappy song would do the trick”, he boasts as he places the items on the small dining table. You reach across the bed, plucking a pillow from the head and promptly throwing it at the cocky Winchester, hitting him in the chest.

“If you think that had anything to do with you you're deluded as well as idiotic”, you bite.

“Yeah right. If I hadn't done that you guys would still be staring at each other every time the others ones back was turned.”

“Dean!” Sam yells in frustration with his brother, Dean raising his hands in surrender.

“Alright. I gotta get a couple more things from the car, that should give you two enough time to get your panties out of a twist.” Your groans in irritation follow Dean out the door, leaving just you and Sam behind once more.

“We are not letting him have any of the credit", you utter, your eyes still fixed on the door. Sam chuckles beside you, linking your fingers and bringing them up to his face where he places a quick kiss on the back of your hand. You smile at his action, him mirroring your gesture.

“Damn right we're not.”

With that you separate, Sam going to help Dean bring stuff in while you decide to go and be the first to indulge in a nice, hot shower.

From the bathroom you can hear Dean's continual bragging of his skills as a matchmaker. You scoff to yourself with a roll of your eyes, knowing he's completely wrong.

Credit needs to go where credit is due. While it may have taken a lot longer than you'd like, you and Sam are finally together, making you the happiest you can ever recall being.

The credit for that belongs solely to the two of you.

                                                     *********

Taglist

@musiclovinchic93​ @hobby27​

[jellybeanforest-a-go-go]

Chapter 4 (of 4): The Prodigal Son Returns

Chapter Summary: Steve’s brother, Douglass, returns to find a strange occupant on his family’s lands. The man insists he enter their abode where his brother awaits their long-anticipated reunion, but there’s something about the dark stranger that sets Douglass’s teeth on edge.

Fic Summary: In 14th century Scotland, Steve is a child with an imaginary friend that lives in a nearby river, the site of many drownings and horrific discoveries. His Nan claims it to be the work of a kelpie. Steve doesn’t believe her of course. Kelpies are a myth, old wives tales to keep children from playing near swiftly-moving streams and young women from entertaining the company of handsome strangers. However, as he grows, Steve realizes that the young man in the water may not be quite as imaginary nor as innocuous as he once believed.

For the Cap-IronMan Bingo 2019 Round 2 – AU: Fairy Tale Creatures.

[myaekingheart]

45. The Youngest ANBU

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3

index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               Itachi Uchiha walked down the halls of the ANBU headquarters, fresh gear in hand. He was barely a teenager and yet already an elite shinobi. When word reached the women’s locker room, Rei froze in her spot. This couldn’t be a good idea.

               “Kakashi, I’m not biased” Rei insisted later that night. The copy ninja cocked a brow in suspicion. It was hard to believe she wasn’t prejudiced against the Uchiha when she was responding like this. Little did he know of the plan she and Obito had created right before his death, their friendly exchanges in hopes of helping each other get what they wanted. That was surefire proof she truly had nothing against the sharingan-bearing clan. She just didn’t trust the majority of them.

               “Itachi is a skilled shinobi” Kakashi replied. “Besides, he already knows what we’ve been doing.” The prospect made Rei queasy. The years of secret surveillance, thanks to strained relations with the government, and Itachi wasn’t even protesting. It didn’t make any sense.  

               There was just something about this kid that made Rei nauseous. Every time she looked at him, it was as if she could sense impending doom from his shadows. He had an air about him that was far too professional and poised for a child, something off-kilter and bizarre. So long as she was able to keep as much distance from him as possible, however, she knew she could at least tolerate his presence.

               Rei bit her bottom lip hard as she entered the hokage’s office, preparing for her next assignment. She hadn’t been in the ANBU for very long, and she was still trying to learn the ropes of the protocol here. Lord Third ushered her inside and smiled at her warmly. He explained the details of her next mission, capturing a rogue ninja rumored to be wandering around the outskirts of the village. It was when he announced her teammates that her stomach dropped. “You will be working with Tenshi and Itachi.” Fuck.

               Of course her shitty luck would pair her with the most conceited kunoichi in the village, and the kid that made her break out in cold sweats. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and prayed that this would be quick and painless.

               The three of them hid out in the brush as they awaited signs of their criminal. He had been last seen somewhere northwest of the village’s border; it was doubtful he would’ve gone far since. As they waited, Tenshi glanced over to Itachi and a warm smile touched her lips beneath her mask. “So, how do you like the black ops so far?” she asked him.

               Rei rolled her eyes and clenched her teeth. Now was not the time for small talk. And where did Tenshi get off being so friendly all of a sudden, anyway?

               “It’s not bad” Itachi whispered. “The people seem really welcoming.”

               Tenshi placed a gentle hand on the boy’s back. “I’m glad. If you need anything, you can always come to me, too!” she assured.

               Itachi smiled gratefully, and even behind his mask it was evident that he was still just a child. “Thank you.”

               After a few hours of no luck, Rei sighed and retreated to the upper branches of a nearby tree. “I’m going to try and get a better look, see if I can catch anything suspicious further out” she said. As she took to her perch, however, she spent ample time watching her comrades below her.

               Itachi’s stomach growled, and he winced. Tenshi, however, only laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with being hungry, you know” she said. “If you want to eat, then by all means.”

               He felt weird about doing this on duty but removed his mask and fished around his pouch for a snack anyway. Tenshi watched him with a strange sense of fascination, the likes of which Itachi was almost startled at. When she noticed his paranoia, however, she simply smiled at him and replied, “You know, you really are one cute kid.”

               Rei cocked a brow as she watched the interaction unfold. She had a bad feeling about this. Something felt off. She slowly turned around to find the enemy ninja staring mere inches away from her face.

               Itachi was quick and accurate, as expected of an Uchiha. He immobilized the enemy almost instantaneously, but did not kill him. They needed to squeeze out whatever information he had retained first. As they dragged him back to the village, on Rei’s back of course (“You’re the pack mule!” Tenshi gleamed), the redhead watched as the brunette and the young boy walked ahead of her.

               “You’re so impressive, Itachi” Tenshi gushed. “I bet it’s those sharingan of yours, huh?”

               “I guess” Itachi replied. It was clear he wasn’t entirely interested in what she had to say. He was most likely just being polite. Rei seethed.

               “Your eyes are incredible” Tenshi added, then rested her hand upon Itachi’s head as if she was as familiar with him as family. Itachi glanced back over his shoulder at Rei, a sense of apology and helplessness crossing his face.

               “Maybe we should stop for a minute” he then said. Tenshi recoiled and blinked, then glanced back at Rei and scoured.

               “If it’s her you’re worried about, she can handle herself. It’s just deadweight, anyway” she said flippantly. But Itachi wouldn’t hear of it. Rei had to be only two inches taller than young Itachi himself, and it was clear she was getting tired. Even she would willingly admit that brute force was not her strong suit, either. “Well, you two can sit around doing whatever, I’m going to go and be productive in the meantime” Tenshi replied, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. She kicked the enemy in the stomach on her way out for good luck.

               “Where is she going?” Itachi asked.

               Rei shook her head. “No clue. Tenshi just does whatever she damn well pleases.” There was a long, awkward stretch of silence then, and for a split second Rei had almost wished Tenshi hadn’t left. She was already bad enough with kids, let alone an Uchiha boy.

               He sat there patient and quiet for a few minutes before he asked, “How long have you been in the ANBU?”

               The redhead blinked a few times, having not expected the question. “A couple months, maybe. Why?”

               “Just curious” he replied. He hesitated for a moment, then added, “I just heard some of the men talking about you in the locker room.”

               Rei’s heart leapt into her throat. She coughed into the crook of her elbow, trying to regain composure. “I-I’m sorry, they…what?”

               Itachi nodded. “They were saying something about you getting captured on a recent mission, and how Tenshi said something about you being a psychopath.”

               Oh great, Rei thought to herself. Just what she needed. The bruntte bimbo spreading rumors about her. Better to spread rumors than your legs, I guess, she thought to herself. “Well…I’m sorry you had to hear that” Rei muttered. She felt small and uncomfortable now, embarrassed. She didn’t want to have this conversation.

               The young boy shook his head. “I don’t think what they said was true” he replied. Now Rei was really intrigued. She turned to look at him out of the corner of her eye, skeptical. He simply fed her a reassuring smile, added, “At least there were some who defended you. That guy, Tenzo, and his friend Kakashi. You know them, don’t you?”

               Rei’s cheeks burned. Kakashi. She nodded slowly. Kakashi defended her behind her back. She wasn’t sure if Itachi was lying or not, but she didn’t want to think about that right now. The idea alone was enough to fill her with hope.

               She truly didn’t hate the Uchiha. Or at least she didn’t particularly want to. When Kakashi returned from the battle of Kannabi bridge with Obito’s eye, she refused to believe he had killed his friend for the sharingan. Kakashi wasn’t that kind of person. Or at least she didn’t think he was. The whole village had opinions, however. She distinctly remembered her father, newspaper sprawled out in front of him, muttering curses toward the Uchiha clan. That they never knew when to quit, that they were power-hungry and ought to be exterminated. Well, Rei thought to herself later, I suppose he got his wish.

               She had only worked alongside Itachi a few more times before he had disappeared from the village. The Uchiha grounds were boarded up and blocked off. Only Itachi’s brother, Sasuke, survived the massacre. A chill ran down Rei’s spine any time she got anywhere near the site of the slaughter. That young boy, that prodigal boy, had actually begun to grow on her. She supposed that was really her mistake, though. She stared at the gates for perhaps a moment too long, then ran off back home with a queasiness in her stomach. I guess that’s what I get for trusting an Uchiha.

[heartcndsoul]

Danielle ‘Nelly’ Mckinnon Intro Undercut

Third Eldest Mckinnon Child.

Hufflepuff: Head Girl, Prefect, Chaser 

Patronus : Snow Owl 

Registered Animagi 

Occupation: Curse Breaker 

Nelly is the second Mckinnon Hufflepuff, and the third daughter of the Mckinnons family.  Born into a well known and trusted pureblood family, wouldn’t have been Nelly’s choice.  She hated the spotlight, her parents even said as a child Nelly never needed anything from anyone.  She hated asking for help and when she was sick, it took a whole lot of convincing to get her to slow down and rest.

Born Danielle, a second choice after their father had picked out Daniel convinced they were having a boy.  She hates being referred to as Dani, Danny, or Elle.  She’ll not respond unless you are her father, and if you insist she’ll downright ignore you.  It was Marlene her youngest sister that gave her the nickname she now uses and insists on going by.  If addressed by a stranger, she’ll go by Ms. Mckinnon, Nelly or Curse-Breaker.  Do not use her full name or her above mentioned banned nicknames.  

Nelly’s formative years were centered around keeping her head down and avoiding being noticed and luckily with her younger siblings it wasn’t hard.  Felix was their long awaited prodigal son, Maxine was Maxine, Marlene could win a prize just by breathing, and Darrell kept everyone on their toes.  No one noticed Nelly just moving through the motions as if she had her own invisibility cloak.  

Nelly tutored her younger siblings, and when she went off to Hogwarts she tutored other students.  Joined various clubs only to boost their membership and eventually was offered up to be a Prefect which she excelled at and was an easy choice for Head Girl in her final year at Hogwarts.  The only major position Nelly ever accepted, she even turned down the opportunity to be the seeker for Hufflepuff but chose to be a Chaser..

Nelly knew her strengths was always in building others up, then being the leader herself.  If it wasn’t for Pormona Sprout insisting on her being Head girl she probably would have turned it down herself.  

Nelly found comfort in the library, studying and practicing spells when she was allowed.  She showed a natural talent for it all and was placed on a fast track program.  Here is where she began learning and later mastering the Patronus charm and became an Animagi registering shortly after.  By her fifth year, she often hung around the Owlery, spreading her wings and flying.  

Her knowledge and loved for lore and mystery made her begin studying curses, and got an itch to explore.  To just go out and be and do some good as well.  It was like the perfect job for her, she got to see the world and come home for the holidays.  After her final year at Hogwarts she became a formal Curse-breaker, determined to make a name for herself without it being tied to the Mckinnon name.  Her time abroad became cut short when the tensions from the wizarding war began to spread and become more main stream.

Hearing news of her family being labeled as blood traitors, she flew hope post haste and returned to the Mckinnon family home.  Her instincts to protect those she loved out weighing her wanderlust and her parents protests to keep her out of the country.  She hoped the knowledge she had gained studying old vaults, and charms to enforce the protection around the Mckinnon home.  At most all she did was delay the inevitable approach of the dark lord.  

When he came Felix fell first, Nelly’s instinct was to pull the others to safety but she wasn’t fast enough to protect Darrell who fell next.  Followed by Eliza, Nelly wanted to ensure at least some of her family escaped and tried to buy them more time sealing three rooms and standing her ground determined to die with a wand in her hand.  Her fight began in her owl form, clawing and swaying before being tossed aside.  Shifting back, she put up one hell of a fight but she was no match for the Dark Lord and crumbled down dead.  Her blue eyes staring at her older sister as the world faded to black, the last sound she heard was the sound of Siobhan voice.

The next thing Nelly knew, she was waking up in America.  

[fireandgloryrpg]

Name: Murdoch “Murdo” Naoise Fitzgerald

Age: 25 years old

Faceclaim: Joe Anderson

Heritage: Son of Liber, Legacy of Venus

Affiliation: Citizen of New Rome

Status: Retired (previously played by Nate)

Headcanons:

During his time in the outside world, Murdoch has become popular among the hobos, prostitutes and criminals. Delivering inflamed monologues at parks and streets, he soon gained a steady following. Maybe it was the party trick that finally did it - turning all that water into wine may not have been his brightest idea, but when word got around, people were soon calling him the Irish Jesus. Murdoch would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention (“well, I AM son of a god, maybe not THAT god, so it’s not exactly a lie–”), but there was only so much he could do for those new age lepers, besides inspiring them to rise up and fight for themselves.

Though Murdoch has faced and escaped many monsters during the ten long years he spent in the outside world, some of the toughest ones weren’t mythological beasts. There were monsters, he learned, that lived inside a needle, and there were monsters that lived inside a bottle. Addiction was a harder beast to slay than most monsters. There is a dark side to Liber and his celebration of debauchery, and now Murdoch is very careful in indulging freely in some of life’s pleasures. Freedom, he’s learned, can be both intoxicating and dangerous.

Biography:

!! tw: drug use, addiction mention, needles !!

Every family has a black sheep. That one relative mothers use as a cautionary tale - do you want to end up like your cousin? That one person no one talks about until one drunk uncle lets the name slip after too many drinks in a family’s gathering, and then there’s an uncomfortable silence, followed by quiet sneer. Everyone knows that one guy that has been burned off the family tree, the unfortunate son among well behaved siblings, the stain in an otherwise pure heritage of proud romans.  

To the Fitzgeralds, that’s Murdoch.

They always knew he was wild - restless like a caged bird, bearing his father’s free spirit like a family heirloom. Murdoch could never sit straight, could never just be quiet. He was the boy that talked too much, the boy that wouldn’t listen. Years later, they’d ask themselves if they could have known, as people often do when faced with tragedy. Did something in the mischievous smile of that little boy in the family portraits give away what he’d one day become? Some blamed nature - born into a strong military family, Liber’s love of freedom and lack of discipline was frowned upon, and no severe training could bend Murdoch to their ways. Some, however, blamed nurture - at the peak of her military career and well into the path to become the new Praetor, Oleana Fitzgerald had no time for children. The same day her son was born, she was back in her cohort, spear and shield in hand. Murdoch was left to be raised by his grandparents - and that sting of rejection was the first spark to what would one day become a fire.

Oleana wasn’t around much as Murdoch grew up - first, she was too busy with her military career. Then, she was undone by an accident during War Games. Confined to a wheelchair, she left New Rome for Ireland and upon her return, once again pregnant, they had already become strangers to each other. At six years old, Murdoch was wild; a hurricane shaped like a child, prone to wandering too far and getting himself - and his pack of friends - in big trouble. The birth of a sibling did nothing to calm his temper, as rejection stung deeper - Oleana clung to the new baby like a lifeline, and her first son, unruly and loud, could never quite fit her idea of a warrior.

But time is relentless and the years turned Murdoch into a fine young man, divided between the free spirit inherited from his father, and the wish for his mother’s affection. Following her footsteps, he joined the first cohort, but her eyes were always on Murdoch’s brother, intent in making the perfect soldier out of him. Murdoch grew angry - and that teenage anger was the perfect fuel for the rebellion that was his godly inheritance by birthright. More interested in politics and parties than swords and the battlefield, he soon became a dissident voice against New Rome’s outdated system - and the corruption brewing underneath it by the hands of the Cult. Nothing but a mild embarrassment, the Fitzgeralds thought; every family has that one kid - it was just a phase.

That was, until the fires started.

At first they were small and contained - an experiment for what was to come. Then, they got bigger - more than casual vandalism, they were a message. There were four confirmed criminal fires in key government buildings, after work hours, before Murdoch was finally arrested, at age sixteen. None had casualties, but for the course of six months, New Rome was turned upside down by the son of Liber.

Awaiting his trial, Murdoch suffered in prison - the true fear of a son of Freedom. A couple of days before he was to face the jury, however, someone unlocked his cell, and anxious to be free, Murdoch ran. It was only when the prison alarms were blaring and the tower of fire was burning in the distance that he knew he’d made a grave mistake. Years to come, people would say that there hadn’t been a fire like that since the likes of Nero roamed Italy. The body count had been of twelve - five of them demigods. Realizing he had been caught in the setup, Murdoch ran to an old friend for help, and managed to flee the city. It was with a heavy heart, hiding in the shadow of New Rome’s gates that he realized he could never come back - that whoever was responsible for that fire counted on him taking the fall.

But never is a long time.

Suddenly, with the entire world at his feet, he wished for the safety of Rome instead of freedom. But it was too late for that - Murdoch left with nothing but his smoked clothes, and learned to say goodbye to everything he knew that night: his grandparents, who deserved better; his little brother, who still had so much to learn; his cousins, his friends; and his mother, who would finally see him, but not in the way he wanted.

A life in the outside world, however, is not easy on a lonely demigod.

For nearly ten years, Murdoch survived on his own - sleeping in park benches or under cardboard boxes, stealing this or that, and making himself familiar with needles. Sometimes, he’d almost believe New Rome had been nothing but a dream - a drunk man’s delirium, some madness boiling inside his veins. But then, the monsters would come, and Murdoch would remember that it had to be real: hallucinations don’t draw real blood. Over the years, as his smell got stronger, the monsters would become relentless, following him wherever he went, so he never stayed anywhere for long. Friends with whores and addicts, gamblers and criminals, he found a captive audience - and that’s when the son of Liber felt more liberated, standing on a soapbox at the park, delivering his monologues to an eager crowd, hungry for change.

Some of them, eager to believe, started following him around the country. But there was only so much Murdoch could do for them. And when the monsters came, no one was safe. Finally, tired of running in a life that got increasingly dangerous every year, the prodigal son decided to return to New Rome, and face whatever sentence was waiting for him. He’d seen too much, lost too much, and his weary heart was calling him back home.

There were too many monsters outside, but Murdoch found the worst of them wore human skin.

[noxilicious-ish]

RECALIBRATION (CH. 5)

Haven’t updated this in longer than I could admit and come out of it with my pride intact.

Btw, if anyone’s interested: I’ll put up an ask or something for doodle/ headcanon requests or questions related to my Harry Holmes project. Check it out later!

Previous chapter: http://noxilicious-ish.tumblr.com/post/154338266696/recalibration-ch-4

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Past Sherlock/Lily, canon pairings

Word count: 2,879

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my pitiful, depraved mind. Please don’t sue me.

CHAPTER FIVE – IN WHICH PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL SAVES THE DAY

Scrutinising turquoise eyes locked unblinkingly onto ever-changing blue-green-gray? ones. All the while, larger and far more inexperienced emerald eyes than either of the other pairs were watching each in part alternatingly, worriedly, much like following a tennis match. Harry was witness to a Mexican standoff the conclusion of which he was uncertain of – and indeed, one he dreaded.

“It’s Professor, actually,” Minerva broke the ice, sipping her tea calmly.

“Professor McGonagall, then,” Sherlock acknowledged with a nod. “Professor of… Transfiguration, I believe? The art of changing the form and appearance of an animate or inanimate object.”

It was all Minerva could do to keep her rather beautifully-shaped teacup safely within her fingers’ clutch. Her eyes widened minutely, although she managed to recompose herself. Her lips remained in a tight, unnerved line.

“You are correct, Mr Holmes, however much that may seem like an impossibility. May I ask how you came upon such knowledge, seeing as you are most obviously not Magic, nor are you a Squib?” she inquired slowly. Mr Potter could have told the strange man about his… special boarding school, but the Ministry was supervising what was imparted by witches and wizards upon Muggles very carefully. And the man’s custody of the child was unofficial and dubious at best.

Sherlock smiled distantly. “During our… acquaintance, Lily bestowed me with her absolute trust, and revealed much of her education and overall childhood, as well as the fundamentals of Wizarding society. She was exceedingly impressive in her skill of avoiding certain trigger terms that might alert the Ministry.”

Harry perked up at the mention of his famous mother, while Minerva paled. Lily had broken the Statute of Secrecy… for a Muggle? She had been a very intelligent girl for all the years the old teacher had known her, so she was undoubtedly aware of all the consequences of such a felony. To have nonetheless committed it for someone’s sake…

The detective scanned her for a few seconds, his smile falling to reveal serious determination. He placed his cup in its saucer, then on the table near his armchair. “Professor McGonagall,” he started, interlacing his pale, bony digits. “You have obviously come here out of concern for you pupil’s safety and wellbeing. You may rest assured that he is in good hands, or at least much better than he used to be.”

The last he muttered angrily and Minerva found herself agreeing. However…

“That is not all you wish to inform me of,” she stated rather than asked.

“No,” Sherlock acquiesced. “Being a Muggle, there is little influence I can manage in the Wizarding society at the moment. I am in need of your help in a particular matter, seeing as you are the most equipped to handle it.”

She raised both eyebrows at this. What a strange fellow. “Indeed? And what is this matter you speak of?”

“I am afraid Albus Dumbledore has committed a grave mistake. You are the only one who can convince him of this, being one of his most trusted allies.”

“And why would I believe you, if that is the case? You seem aware of the fact that Albus’ word holds considerable weight with me.”

At this, he looked her dead in the eye. “Because I am Harry’s biological father.”

Then he stood statue-still, his posture expressing no-nonsense as he awaited her reply. Truly, Sherlock was more than a little nervous about this whole affair. Harry’s happiness and health was at stake whether this stern aging lady chose to aid him or not, and he was definitely not playing around with those. He loved games, but not when they involved his prodigal son.

What a laugh John would have to hear him even think that there could ever be a time he would not simply adore a little game of wills.

Harry shifted almost imperceptibly, trying his best not to break the thick silence that had fallen over the three of them. This was an adults’ exchange, and he was both glad and overwhelmed that he was allowed to spectate. He was also – though he’d never, ever say it within the Professor’s hearing range – a little amused to see said woman for the first time in his life shocked into speechlessness. She was more humane than most authoritarian teachers, but still strict enough to intimidate.

Meanwhile, Minerva was gaping. If the previous unexpected comment had startled her, this was more than enough to stun even her. And yet, she could not entirely deny the fact that what her conscious was desperate to object to, her subconscious was increasingly resigned about.

“How…” she managed to stutter out eventually. “When…”

The other adult mercifully waited for her to regain her bearings. “Are you certain of this?” she finally asked firmly.

She was met with a sardonic smile. “I have valid reasons to believe it is more than possible.”

Minerva conceded with an odd grimace. Harry blushed scarlet and fought valiantly not to fidget. No sane teenager, regardless of the tangled history of their parents and not-parents and any curiosity relating to it, could ever be comfortable with a discussion of their own conception.

“But James…” the Professor muttered, frowning in turmoil. “Why would Lily ever do such a thing? How could she?”

The detective was quiet for a few long moments, staring into the distance. “It was before she married him. I do not know…” he abruptly trailed off, greatly troubled by some long-past memory.

The old Scotswoman studied his absent expression, then she sighed and looked at Harry. “I suppose the resemblance is uncanny,” she joked softly.

Sobering, she continued, “If what you say is true, Mr Holmes, and it does seem so, then you have yet to tell me what the Headmaster’s fault is in this.”

The moment Sherlock’s eyes flicked back to hers, a horrible feeling had already settled in Minerva’s heart. “Though Lily did return to James, in the event of both their deaths, do you not wonder whether she would have rather wrote down the name of the actual father of her child, instead of that of her dreaded sister’s as said child’s caretaker?”

The Transfiguration Professor shook. “Albus… claimed that all of Harry’s potential guardians were either deceased or imprisoned. There was simply no one but… them.”

Sherlock’s fingers clenched tightly over the armrests and he leaned over slightly. “And if that were true, would there not still be his birth certificate to prove the existence of another potential guardian?” he argued tightly, spitting out the last words with unmistakable biterness. “I am not exactly parent material, but anyone would have sufficed, ANYONE but that biped swine and his equally primitive wife.”

He sat back slowly, reigning in his fury after that slight slip-up. As he watched the teacher raise a shaking hand to her mouth, he knew she was remembering Harry’s living conditions for the past twelve years. Given her ability to shapeshift, she was most likely the one tasked with keeping an eye on the child now and then, and must have borne witness to what was taking place in that abominable household.

“Lily’s Last Will and Testament is missing from the Ministry’s public records,” he concluded.

Minerva frowned, trying her best to think logically despite the amalgam of emotions. “Once a deceased witch’s or wizard’s Will has been read, it is magically written into the records. This applies to any and all testaments, and is not undoable.”

Sherlock looked at her pointedly. “Who was the known executor of Lily’s Will?”

Her eyes shot back to his and her features tightened.

…

Ever since finding out about magic, Harry’s life has been in a constant tornado of events, positive as well as less than positive. While he would never regret that moment on his eleventh birthday when Hagrid stomped on that isolated little hut’s door, there have been times when he had needed a breather, the confusion of endless adventures having overwhelmed him to nearly his breaking point.

During his two years at Hogwarts, he had found that refuge in his two best friends’ unwavering loyalty even in the face of certain danger. Still, even a precocious trouble-magnet like himself found himself occasionally seeking the steady wisdom of an adult.

He had never imagined that visiting Headmaster Albus Dumbledore’s office would ever create anything but a feeling of safety and respectful wariness.

Witnessing the elderly wizard’s calm, expectant visage the moment they entered the office was what dropped the burden of crushing disappointment and betrayal onto his shoulders.

Mr Holmes’ perceptive eyes flickered over to him, before he felt the slightest brush of an uncertain hand over his shoulder. If Harry had not been so troubled, he would’ve gave the man a weak, but nonetheless grateful smile for his efforts.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore nodded to his long-time friend and fellow colleague, who merely thinned her lips back. The Headmaster looked at Harry next. “Mr Potter.”

Harry did not answer. He rather chose slight disrespect over opening his mouth and blurting whatever crossed his mind in a fit of rage and desperation.

“Mr Sherlock Holmes. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Said detective’s expression remained blank, though his manner spoke the world about his impression of the wizard. “Mr Dumbledore,” he returned. “I wish I could say the same, but the circumstances dictate otherwise.”

Dumbledore made a movement with his wand, conjuring three comfy-looking armchairs and gestured towards them in invitation. Once everyone was seated, the old wizard turned to gaze out the window.

“You know why we’re here today,” the Muggle stated, unsurprised.

“You are here because twelve years ago I made a choice for the greater good, regardless of my own wishes,” was the answer he received.

“Greater good…?” Minerva parroted incredulously, her tone rising with each syllable. “For whom, precisely? In all the years I have known you, Albus, I swear…”

The wizard turned to face her, his expression resigned, knowing he deserved her ire, but adamantly in support of his motivation despite it. “No boy should have to live their entire life in the center of attention, not when such a tragedy is the foundation of his fame. Living far away from the magical world for so long was the best option.”

“And you couldn’t have trusted me to shield my own damn son from your bloody magical population? You honestly thought it was better to leave him with a bunch of savages that locked him up in a bloody cupboard? For ten years, you just watched and let them do their number while he cleaned, cooked, scrubbed, while he was being yelled at and pushed around, while he was belittled and treated as less-than-human, through all of that, you did nothing! You rant and rave about how undercivilised and dull Muggles are,” and he spat out the word mockingly, “and then you just throw one of your own into the lion’s den. And you’re still better.”

Harry stared with wide eyes at the detective all throughout his tirade, not expecting the sudden avalanche of words at all, and certainly not at this intensity, even though it was called for. The rant resumed a lot of Harry’s own frustrations over the years and he was a bit glad there was someone brave – or stupid – enough to point them out so bluntly to a form of authority that could have taken measures and didn’t.

Mr Holmes stared angrily at the old wizard, anxious to hear what the man had to say in his defense in the face of this.

“Can you truly claim that you would have been a good caretaker for Harry at the time, twelve years ago?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the suffocating silence that followed Dumbledore’s solemn question. If the detective had been angry before, now he was positively boiling, his bright eyes now icy cold with fury and loathing, but also a conflicted, unreadable emotion.

“That justifies nothing. I deserved to know!” he growled through clenched teeth, obviously as an attempt not to roar and scream and rage at the man.

With that, Mr Holmes leaned back in his seat from his near perch on the edge of the chair, though he remained tense, spine ramrod straight, limbs coiled like springs. Harry stared at his hands, unnerved by the showdown but occasionally sneaking glances at everyone in turn, to try and anticipate whatever their next movement would be. For now, though they had come to a standstill.

Professor McGonagall was surreptitiously watching the detective, most likely looking out in case he suddenly jumped out of his seat and throttled the old wizard, though by her crisp, angry and disillusioned visage, she was more than a little tempted to do it herself.

The one to break the pattern was the Headmaster, as usual, when he rose from his seat slowly, for the first time in Harry’s life actually showing the consequences of his old age. He disappeared from their view for a few seconds, then returned with a few yellowed papers in his hand.

“When James and Lily Potter were declared officially deceased and their wills were read, I ensured that most of Lily’s will would be followed to the letter, except for a few select points.”

What was most likely the will, he spread out over his desk. It was obvious that should any of those present be unsatisfied with his credibility, he was willing to read out the entire will for their sake. But after the whole circus, none of them were up for a formal ceremony at this point.

“ ‘To William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I leave a letter to be handed by my Executor.’ ”

Dumbledore handed an envelope to the detective, who accepted it after a brief moment’s hesitation. The man held it gingerly, almost reverently, but seemed firm to suppress the instinct to open it at once, instead opting to see the rest of their meeting carried out.

“ ‘To my son, Harold William Holmes-Evans, I leave the residue of my estate, including a letter to be handed by my Executor upon his eleventh birthday.’ ”

The other envelope was given to Harry. “As James had already left most of his estate to you as well, I had Lily’s savings deposited into the same vault as his,” the old wizard explained carefully, before returning to the last point to be mentioned:

“ ‘I appoint William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the biological father of Harold William Holmes-Evans, to be the guardian of my son until he reaches 18 years of age.’ ”

He concluded by rolling the manuscript closed, and sliding another piece of paper over the desk towards his guests.

On it, written in old, faded but mostly well-preserved ink, the letters spelled out clearly: BIRTH CERTIFICATE.

Harry stared dazedly as he read what was apparently his real name. Harold William Holmes-Evans. And wasn’t that a mouthful.

Well, at least Mr Holmes won’t be complaining about Harry’s name anymore.

Oh yeah, Mr Holmes’ name was there too.

“Your first name’s William?” Harry blurted.

The man pinned him with a deeply unimpressed look. That was the most relevant line of inquiry on his mind to him? “Unless you’d like me to call you Will Junior…” the words even left a sour taste in his mouth, they were so idiotic.

“I’m good,” the boy interrupted hurriedly. If Harold was too serious, he had absolutely nothing in common with the name William.

He supposed he’d learn to live with it, considering his mother had chosen his name.

Also, his real name was as sentimental as his fake one, apparently.

Most of all, now I know for sure that he’s my father and legal guardian, Harry thought, feeling more than a little relieved and excited by the prospect.

See you never, Dursleys!

Harry’s train of thought was interrupted by sudden movement from the corner of his eye, as Mr Holmes stood to pick up the birth certificate. Professor McGonagall was standing as well, by now.

The detective and the old wizard were now having some sort of silent exchange.

“Was it worth it?”                                                                                                                                                                    

Both of them turned to look at Harry in slight surprise. “The choice you made… was it worth it?” he clarified tentatively.

Dumbledore’s usually twinkling eyes had lost most of their brightness and they actually looked sad as he answered, “I don’t know.”

Harry bit his lip. Albus Dumbledore was a good man. He’d always felt that in his gut, even though the old wizard tended to be more than a little vague. Looking at it objectively, one might suppose that the Headmaster was in a position to take the hard decisions no one else could, for the sake of the wizarding world or whatever.

The boy supposed one day he’d be able to forgive that, not just acknowledge it.

For now, though, he desperately wanted to go home and maybe cry about it for a bit – not that he’d ever admit it aloud. He had his pride, after all. He grabbed Mr Holmes lightly by the sleeve, trying to convey this silently.

The man clearly got the message, because he nodded meaningfully towards the Transfiguration professor, who turned to lead them back out of the office. They left without another word to the Headmaster.

To be continued…

So that’s it for now. I’m not even gonna promise anything anymore, hopefully I’ll be writing and updating sometime soon, but considering I have my Cambridge examination sometime soon...

Again, if you want to see more Harry and Daddy Holmes fluff or have any requests related to them, check out my blog and click the request button there.

See you next time!

[hellstate--rp-blog]

↪ b a s i c s ;

N A M E: Rhiannon Cooper Nankova A G E: 25 P L A C E   O F   O R I G I N: Berkley, California G R O U P: None F C: Nina Dobrev

❝ There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable. ❞

↪ p e r s o n a l i t y ;

P O S I T I V E   T R A I T S: solicitous ; resolute N E G A T I V E   T R A I T S: insecure ; capricious

↪ b i o g r a p h y ;

L I F E   B E F O R E   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

“Rhiannon rings like bell through the night and wouldn’t you love to love her?”

Rhiannon Cooper Nankova was born to Ivan and Pamela Nankov on September 12th, 1991. Both professors at UC Berkeley ( Ivan in glaciology and Pamela in anthropology ), the two had waited longer than many of their peers to have a daughter and were in their early forties when she was born. Both having been active in the counterculture movement of the 1970s, they didn’t give Rhiannon the strict homes they’d been raised in. Named for the Fleetwood Mac song with the cool edge of Alice Cooper ( Ivan was by no means traditional, and did not even blink when Pamela rebuked the idea of adding a patronymic name for their daughter ), Rhiannon found herself the odd girl out in many settings. Her parents were older, hippie professors from UC Berkeley, her father from a country no one her age had even heard of and their parents often assumed was Russian instead of Bulgarian. Instead of allowing herself to feel as though she didn’t belong, Rhiannon made it clear early on that she didn’t need friends to find her own happiness, which could be made in public gardens with her dog Bogart, or in the simplicity of a good book, curled up in the hammock that hung off her back porch.

The bright-eyed child with a halo of chestnut locks grew into a charming, delightful girl. With a gregarious personality and a strong sense of self, she cruised through life well-liked and happy. After finishing high school, Rhiannon opted to live an ‘artist’s life’ ( as her mother so often called it ) in a loft in downtown Berkeley while working part-time at a trendy restaurant and helping her mother with her research. With her parents’ support, she spent little time forcing herself to create and though their connections got her gallery shows from time to time, she didn’t actively pursue a career–her dreams mercurial. With her passion distributed across so many different interests and genres, nothing she did seemed to ‘belong’ together and after several years of forcing herself to make something cohesive, Rhiannon accepted that she was never going to make it big in the art world. 

Frustrated and unsure of her future, but tired of working a dead-end waitressing job–even if the tips were enough to accommodate her lifestyle–Rhiannon started to take advantage of the free tuition at Berkeley. A couple terms in and she still didn’t know what she wanted. Rhiannon enjoyed the classes and learning, the environment and the social aspects, but wondered if it wasn’t a waste of her time. Nothing seemed to grab onto her and insist that it was meant for her and she for it.

When her mother took sabbatical to travel with her father to Antarctica, planning to stay for a year to write an ethnography on the scientists’ lives during the harsh winters after being inspired by a thousand and one stories Ivan brought back from his research trips, Rhiannon was eager to tag along. The experience was the most unique thing she could think of doing and she was eager for the adventure it promised; a stark contract when held up against her cool summer days off lounging on the balcony of her loft apartment.

The expedition went off without a hitch, aside from some terrifying weather on the plane ride in. Rhiannon felt EXHILARATED. The cold air stung her eyes, the silence deafening to her ears, but the harsh wintry landscape was unlike anything she’d ever seen. The first couple of months were grueling, but the novelty didn’t wear off. Not even when they ran out of “freshies” and were stuck eating non perishables. Not when a guy freaked out over not getting cheese on his burger and threw a tray at the cook after mumbling over an empty plate for half an hour. Nothing seemed to tarnish the invigorating landscape that had captured the hearts of the entire Nankov family. Rhiannon had found the right place to rekindle her interest and cure her of her prodigal boredom.

L I F E   D U R I N G   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

“All your life you’ve never seen woman taken by the wind”

The Nankov family was still in Antarctica when the outbreak occurred. When the internet was knocked out, neither were shocked or surprised. They had a supply ship coming from France to replenish their stores and with it would bring new blood onto the continent which meant stories from the outside, magazines, and the WORKS. But when the ship finally docked, it brought with it something worse than than a beat-up outdated copy of Italian Vogue or Rolling Stone. The crew were shaken up–they’d stopped in Argentina to pick some of the awaited scientists on their way to the continent and things had only gone south from there.

During the two-day trip, one of them had gotten feverish and sick.Twelve hours before docking, he “fucking snapped” and attacked the doctor in the ship’s infirmary. ‘A wounded animal will bite when cornered,’ one of the ship’s crew said bleakly. After a short scuffle, the scientist was killed when he was shoved back and slipped, striking the back of his head on a medical supply cart. No one was more shaken up than the physician who’d had her arm bitten in the attack. She was brought in immediately to see the physicians on base after she developed a fever and chills–signs, Rhiannon overheard, that might be indicative of sepsis.

Pamela had always been a compassionate woman. When she’d heard about the sickness the physician faced, she confessed to Rhiannon that it was hard for her not to see herself in the same professional woman’s shoes. With no family accompanying her, Rhiannon suggested her mother visit the woman, if not for her own peace of mind, then at least to give the sick woman a comforting hand. If nothing else, she could give the medical crew their much needed break to get some rest for themselves after a long day.

Pamela brought the woman clean clothes, a cool rag, and a book–hoping to ease her woes–but the physician was much sicker than she had allowed herself to hear. Resolved to be strong, Pamela spent the woman’s final moments with her–wiping sweat from her feverish forehead with a cool rag, humming softly to her the tunes of her favorite songs fromRumours. Halfway through Landslide the woman began to arrest and Pamela called for help, holding her hand in tears. If someone heard her cries, no one came. The physician passed away, delicate hands cooling quickly in Pamela’s clammy, shaking grip.

When the medical team members returned after filling their bellies and resting their weary eyes, they were horrified by the amount of blood in the room. Their terror was short lived, as their attending physician and the woman who’d come to give her compassion tore through their necks with expert finesse for a couple of monsters so fresh and inexperienced of maiming. The group made it through the corridors and into the cafeteria before they were gunned down by a toastie who’d been heading through the caf on his way to repaint his own quarters with his brains after spending six hours crying for no reason he could figure out. After that he dug his heels in and clung to living harder than he’d ever clung to anything in his life.

The outbreak in antarctica was FRIGHTENING but quickly contained. Those left on the base were clever enough to connect their recent loss of contact with the outside world with the disease brought with supplies. They chose–unanimously, but with heavy grief–to stay on base as long as they could before leaving on the ship that brought the virus to them in the first place. Ivan had never felt the pressure to be so strong as he did now, a grieving daughter held tightly in his arms as they watched the love of his life burn alongside the bodies of the other infected. The two learned to be strong for each other, but in the process never allowed themselves the shelter in grieving with one another. ‘We’ll keep living.’ Ivan would say, blue eyes fixed ahead on the distant glaciers he’d once loved that broke through the ocean in white sheets, so cold at their core they were blue–like the hottest part of a flame.

L I F E   A F T E R   T H E   O U T B R E A K: 

“She rules her life like a fine skylark and when the sky is starless”

After another year, supplies had run so low that they had no hope of surviving without leaving their barren, but LIVING wasteland. Rhiannon kissed the snow goodbye from the hull of the boat as flakes landed on her lips and eyelashes. Her favorite place in the world might only have her again in her dreams and she was terrified of the world that she was returning to. After docking in Ushuaia, Argentina the Americans left alive made their way home–uncertain of what else they could do aside from looking for their loved ones and hoping for the best. 

Ivan and Rhiannon had little hope to returning to Berkeley, both of them shared the unspoken feeling that returning home to a California with no sun ( no Pamela ) was as comforting as volunteering to live in a crypt. Cobwebs clung to their memories, suffocating and binding. There was nothing left for them there. The two heard of Cheyenne from some traders who’d helped them out with an extra map ( not all human kindness had been sucked from the world, it would seem ). 

The pair made their way to the city, which her father was convinced shined in the Wyoming wasteland like glittering ice. Those cold, distant eyes held smiles once again and the man who’d held her hand and walked her to school everyday seemed to return. One morning he left to catch some breakfast near the Colorado River. She waited five days for him before she let him go. Even a lark knows when its song is done. As far as Rhiannon knows, out of all those she left the frozen south with, she’s the only one who survived. 

The prodigal, childish girl she once was became replaced with a stronger, faster girl–still frightened of the world around her and the DEATH, but rising to the challenge of survival. It seems any courageous part of her, despite her determination to keep it, wavers with the overwhelming loneliness of being without her family. Since she’s arrived in Cheyenne after finding nothing worth living for in California, she’s been trying to rebuild herself and figuring out a skillset she can actually use. Still, the weight of survival buckles her knees some days and she cannot help but break down–in private moments, in desperate hope–regretting every small thing she might have redone if given half a chance.

[tvdversefanfiction]

Canary Carnage

Chapter Eight: Return to Star City

Warnings: I don’t own any of the rights, content or characters belonging to any of the DC content I use within the story along with not owning any rights, content or characters within The Vampire Diaries, Originals or Legacies.

18 Rating: Moderate/Graphic displays of violence, sexual innuendos, sexually charged scenes, SMUT, strong language and potentially triggering scenes.

Pairings: M/M, F/F, M/F.

Laurel Lance was more than happy to be back on her earth in Star City returning to her beloved city as The Black Canary with the new added assistance from The Green Arrow which was more than a little awkward for her considering the green arrow was Oliver Queen who just so happened to be her first love who was presumed dead and had cheated on her with her sister.

Putting her awkward alliance with her ex aside Laurel was happy to be home happy to be back to the rules of her earth and despite missing her siblings she was more than ready to wave goodbye to Earth Blood or at least she was for the first few weeks until her estranged mother Dinah Lance arrived in Star City in need of her daughter’s help thanks to a certain revenge seeking Bane who decided to target Lucas’ family since Laurel sought out the help of Team Flash to close any connecting portals to Earth Blood.

Laurel held up a lot of resentment for her mother mostly due to her leaving her and her brother shortly after Sara’s supposed death and had cut off all contact with her mother when she never showed up for her father Quentin Lance’s funeral making Laurel feel completely and utterly alone at a time she needed her mother most but despite all resentment Laurel knew she couldn’t pick and choose who needed saved.

“You know all this trouble would be easily solved if you just made it clear to Bane you wouldn’t give a damn if he killed either of your children considering Sara is the only one you ever cared about.” Laurel snapped at her mother as she and Dinah stood in the living room of Laurel’s apartment. “Lucas sure as hell wouldn’t care if you died and that’s one thing, I can’t actually blame him for.”

“Laurel I admit I wasn’t a very good mother after everything that happened with Sara and then your father, I should’ve been there for you both, but I could barely be there for myself.” Dinah replied to her daughter, looking genuinely remorseful. “I didn’t mean to abandon you when I left but all the grief of losing my daughter was tearing me apart and I never thought I’d ever come through it…until Sara returned.”

“So, the prodigal daughter returns and suddenly your super mum again yeah it doesn’t work like that mother dearest.” Laurel argued with her mother. “I’ll help you with Bane because it’s Lucas’ mess not yours but after I’ve dealt with him, I want you gone.”

“I’m so sorry I left you alone but know I was just as much alone as you were.” Dinah admitted, tears forming in her eyes. “When I think of all the ways I failed you and Lucas it tears me up inside…I can’t help but blame myself for Lucas’ awful crimes.”

“You’re not to blame for Lucas turning into a psychopathic killer I mean you left me too and I did just fine.” Laurel said with a reluctant sigh, feeling bad after seeing tears in her mother’s eyes. “Maybe it’s more of a case of his genetics and less of the people who raised him.”

“What do you mean by that Laurel?” Dinah asked her daughter while drying her tears, genuinely confused by her daughter’s words.

“Because you and dad adopted him and don’t bother lying because Sara may have bought the surprise baby thing but I wasn’t as naïve or as young back then and there was no sign of you ever being pregnant before or after Lucas’ arrival.” Laurel answered her mother. “It’s okay mum adoptions happen all the time I actually think it’s great you and dad decided to take in another kid.”

“Laurel…Lucas isn’t adopted.” Dinah revealed to Laurel. “Things aren’t exactly as simple as that with Lucas technically your father and I adopted him but that’s not the whole story you see Lucas isn’t my son he’s my grandson.”

“Wait…how is that even possible?” Laurel quizzed Dinah, more confused now about her brother than ever before. “Do we have a secret sibling we don’t know about or something? Who the bloody hell is Lucas Lance?”

“He’s your son or at least he will be your son in the future.” Dinah admitted to her daughter leaving Laurel shell shocked as she sat down on the couch in her daughter’s apartment. “This is going to be very confusing Laurel you’re going to want to take a seat.”

Laurel Lance thought she knew everything when her younger brother Lucas suddenly arrived in the Lance family home after she came back from school although at only eight years old her supposed conclusions continued to change: at first she believed the stork method of baby delivery was proved that day, then as she grew older and into her teens she believed her father had an affair and the baby mother dumped Lucas on their doorstep but as she matured into adulthood she realized her father would never do such a thing and so she decided adoption was the only reasonable conclusion.

The truth however was far more confusing than anything Laurel could’ve realized no matter what age she was although in Laurel Lance’s defense even Batman himself would have a hard time getting his head around the idea that a future version of Laurel Lance from a dark future traveled into the past to convince her parents to raise her son as past Laurel’s brother.

Dinah and Quentin both had a hard time at first trying to get around the idea of a future version of their daughter coming to them with their grandchild who they would later raise as their own child but Dinah was no stranger to the crazier things in life having a canary cry of her own with a heroic yet troubled past.

Future Laurel didn’t reveal too much to her parents only that her son was called Lucas and she came from a doomed future in which her son wasn’t safe and that’s all they needed to know from their daughter although now as Dinah sat next to present day Laurel she realized she probably should’ve asked a few more questions about her future.

“I don’t understand Lucas is my son not my brother…I didn’t even like the idea of him being my brother I mean I hated it so much that him being adopted was such a relief because at least we could blame his parents for how he turned out instead of us…and now he’s my son.” Laurel said in shock as she struggled to come to terms with her mother’s revelations, as she and Dinah sat on Laurel’s couch within her apartment.

“You’ve dealt with future timelines before when you’ve teamed up with The Flash, I’m sure you know how complicated the future can be and how it’s always changing.” Dinah attempted to explain to her daughter. “You’re future self-showed up one day stating the future was bleak and that bringing Lucas here was his only chance of ever having a normal life of course we wanted to know more but she didn’t have a lot of time.”

“I guess you know a lot more about this crazy world than I ever expected if anything you know more about it than I ever did.” Laurel replied. “Dad too.”

“Yes, I’m afraid keeping that secret from you was just another awful decision I made as a mother.” Dinah apologised to Laurel, clearly ashamed of her many mistakes as a mother.

“No mum you did what you needed to do this one isn’t on you.” Laurel admitted as she reached out and held her mother’s hand. “Clearly future me was a better parent than I ever could be.”

“You never knew who Lucas was how could you? We made sure you never worked out in case it somehow effected his future.” Dinah made clear to Laurel as she tightened her grip on her daughter’s hand, trying to convince Laurel she had no reason to feel guilty. “Of course, now he’s turned out to be a murderer I’m not so worried about the future being changed anymore.”

“Mum, what exactly are you trying to say?” Laurel asked as she pulled her hand away from her mother’s.

“Lucas had killed so many innocent people made such powerful enemies and I know I’m not innocent in the monster I mothered but if you make sure he’s not conceived then he’ll never be born and all those people he killed will still be alive.” Dinah revealed coldly to her daughter, reluctantly giving Laurel an awful ultimatum which they both realized may just be for the greater good.

Oliver Queen’s return to Star City wasn’t anywhere near as happy as Laurel’s, he knew his sister Thea died of an overdose when she was a teenager, but he didn’t realize the toll it took on his mother Moira who was comatose after a pain killer influenced car crash leaving his long awaited return home from being anything but a happy one.

However he was still the Green Arrow he still had the mission of saving Star City and he still had Laurel in his life, the same woman he had loved his entire life even if he didn’t show it particularly well but this time around he was determined on being a better man.

The only problem was the Black Canary didn’t want or need the Green Arrow for anything other than heroic duties because she had not only found a way to heal her hurt over her betrayal but she had stopped loving her Olly a long time ago which to be fair was a man Oliver himself no longer was which would turn out to be good news for them both.

“Laurel…” Oliver said in shock as he opened the front door of the Queen Manor to find Laurel stood on the doorstep. “You don’t normally come here.”

“I don’t normally need your help but my mum’s being hunted by Bane clearly we’re the new targets now which is super fun now.” Laurel revealed to him. “I tried calling in for some help from Flash and co but they’re not exactly answering right now so it’s just up to you and me to stop him.”

“I should probably suit up then.” Oliver replied to the Black Canary. “Let’s just hope taking down Bane sticks this time around.”

“I have to chase some leads about Bane’s whereabouts first we don’t have a wonder witch with locating spells at hand on this earth.”  Laurel answered the Green Arrow, wishing she had Davina on this earth. “I was actually hoping you could play bodyguard to my mother while I play detective.”

“Your mother?” Oliver asked, hoping he had heard Laurel wrong. “Your mother despises me with every bone in her body especially since the day she…”

“Caught you with my sister.” Laurel butted in while rolling her eyes, clearly still holding some judgement towards him for sleeping with her sister. “How about you babysit my mother and we’ll call it quits?”

“I did say I’d do anything to earn your forgiveness Laurel I just wish it would be literally anything else.” Oliver admitted to her.

“I’ve forgiven you Olly I really have.” Laurel replied with a sincere smile. “I just can’t forget it…but maybe just maybe we can work on being friends again.”

“I’d really like that.” Oliver told her, truly happy for Laurel’s forgiveness.

Laurel Lance was a truly amazing woman and nobody knew that better than Oliver Queen even the idea of Laurel forgiving him felt like a pipe-dream a few years ago but he should’ve known better if anyone could forgive him for his multiple sins then it would be Laurel but what Oliver didn’t quite understand forgiveness and redemption didn’t necessary mean a reunion was on the cards for him and his first love.

Dinah Lance, maiden name Drake, was a powerful woman in her own right working as a singer in a nightclub within Gotham City until she met a young detective named Quentin Lance and she began using her meta-human abilities to help him solve crimes as the two partners found themselves becoming lovers then spouses leading to Dinah falling pregnant with her first child.

Everything changed for Dinah Lance when she became a mother to her firstborn daughter Laurel as her and her husband moved to Star City upon her husband’s promotion as Dinah became a full-time mother as she was gifted with her second daughter Sara.

Dinah never regretted her choices though having grown up in a broken family she longed for a family of her own and even with the shock addition of her grandson she pretended was her son she was happier than she ever thought possible until the day she learned her then young adult daughter Sara was sleeping with her big sister Laurel’s boyfriend.

Dinah had never been so furious in her life to see the lack of loyalty from her own blood and words were exchanged by mother and daughter words Dinah never would’ve said is she knew she was going to soon loose Sara and words she wished she could take back and for that she blamed herself, she blamed the world and most of all she blamed Oliver Queen.

“I get you’re some green hooded hero nowadays Oliver but every time I look at you all I see is the catalyst to the destruction of my family.” Dinah bluntly told Oliver as the two of them walked into the living room area of the Queen Manor. “A part of me realizes you’re not to blame for everything but that doesn’t make it any less difficult to see you or be seeking your safety.”

“I understand there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could rewrite history, but I can’t and so instead I seek to change my future.” Oliver replied to the Lance matriarch. “I’m truly sorry for the part I played in your family’s heartbreaks.”

“Oh, now I’m mad at myself for being mad at you and even more mad at you for making me feel this way.” Dinah sighed and she sat down on a nearby chair. “Sara was at as much fault as you for betraying Laurel and nobody’s to blame for what happened on the Gambit but I did let down Laurel and Lucas after it all…Quentin too…the truth is it was my grief that destroyed my family.”

“Mrs Lance you lost a daughter nobody can blame you for falling apart anybody would I mean look at the state of my family after they lost me at least you’re back now and have a chance of fixing things I can’t get Thea back and I don’t think my mother will ever wake up.” Oliver explained to Dinah as he sat down on a chair next to Mrs Lance, the two bonding over their losses. “Sara’s alive, Laurel’s still very much Laurel just stronger and well Lucas he’s complicated but I’m sure you can uncomplicate him.”

“Lucas was such a sweet and loving child so quiet and timid you’d always just assume he was the happiest kid in the world because he’d never let you know otherwise or maybe he was just too quiet in a house so bloody loud.” Dinah admitted to the Green Arrow. “Laurel was such an overachiever we were always so proud of her and Sara was forever getting herself in trouble that I was forever getting her out of…the two girls just kind of demanded our attention and sadly Lucas clearly suffered because of it.”

“You can’t blame you or Quentin for how he turned out you loved him and were there for him for most of his life that’s all you could’ve ever done.” Oliver replied, trying to make Dinah feel better.

“He was just such an easy child to raise and now he’s turned into this monster this monster that I made him into I should’ve loved him more paid attention to him more made him feel more special to us I mean for Christ sakes he was our first grandchild and came from the future it doesn’t get more special than that.” Dinah cried, not noticing she had slipped up, leaving Oliver shocked by her reveal. “He fell under Slade’s bloody control in some desperate attempt to be loved and it changed him forever…if only he knew how much we really did love him how much I still do despite everything.”

“What do you mean Lucas is from the future?” Oliver asked her, determined to learn more about the Red Canary. “Grandchild…is he Sara or Laurel’s…”

And just like that Dinah Lance had found herself explaining Lucas Lance’s existence to someone else not realizing that the person she was explaining to was her grandson’s father in the future for Lucas Lance was the biological son of the future Black Canary and the future Green Arrow.

Laurel had always had a problem with how Lucas turned out never fully understanding how he could change into a cold hearted monster overnight and when he first aligned himself with Slade Wilson she was determined not to lose another sibling but after several attempts to push the Red Canary towards redemption she eventually began to believe they was no saving him or at least that’s what she believed until she wound up on Earth Blood and started to see something still human about the twisted meta-human.

It wasn’t easy for Laurel Lance to say goodbye to Sara or Lucas but she did due to her loyalty to Star City and her tiredness of being the sister trying to save her siblings but now that she had learned Lucas was actually her son sent from the future by a future version of herself she began to feel the kind of guilt only a mother could feel making her realize she had to return to Earth Blood one way or another and be there for the son she technically hadn’t even conceived yet.

Before Laurel could even think about going anywhere she had her secret son’s enemy Bane to deal with and her estranged mother Dinah to reconnect with while protecting her from Bane in the process the only problem was she wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to take him down once she found him.

After a long day of searching lead after lead only to get nowhere Laurel returned to her apartment eager to get some time alone before dealing with her mother but before she had a chance she found Bane stood in her living room eagerly awaiting for the Black Canary to get home.

“The good thing about nobody wearing masks in that other world is the fact it helped me work out your identity of course I always thought Laurel Lance was the black canary but now I know it to be true.” Bane greeted Laurel sinisterly, clearly ready to attack her at any moment.

“Your ability to hold a grudge is seriously something else I mean your targeting his entire family now that’s a bit overkill considering the circumstances don’t you think?” Laurel asked him rhetorically. “He’s gone why don’t you just get on with your life and go hunt someone else down for revenge?”

“I’m sure the death of his sister will lure him back here or at the very least I will please me before I kill your mother too.” Bane said before charging at Laurel who attempted to stop him with her canary cry only for him to push past the sonic scream to punch Laurel across the face with such force she went flying through her apartment door, crash landing onto the floor in the hallway as Bane walked over to her.

Laurel quickly rose to her feet and charged towards Bane launching a series of punches and kicks at him, which seemed to not even make him flinch as he grabbed a hold of the black canary and sent her flying mid air across the hallway as Laurel back flipped and landed on her feet before releasing another canary cry, wishing her powers were as strong as they were in Earth Blood as Bane started walking through her sonic scream once again.

Laurel continued to let out her canary cry with more intensity as it grew louder and louder finally stopping Bane in his tracks as she used the full extent of her power to keep him stuck to the same spot quickly realizing she couldn’t hold out for much longer but luckily for her she didn’t have to.

A bat boomerang smashed through the window behind Bane hitting him directly in the back causing him to be electrocuted with intensity as he fell to the ground unconscious allowing Laurel to stop her canary cry much to her relief before seeing Batman himself burst through the same window, smashing the window completely as he landed on his feet in Laurel’s apartment building hallway.

“I figured Bane would come looking for the Black Canary after the Red Canary went missing.” Batman told Laurel, his voice deep and husky, as he walked towards her. “Now that I’m here where exactly is Lucas Lance?”

“I’m starting to see the point of no masks considering everyone knows who I am anyway.” Laurel replied to him while catching her breath. “Lucas has been dealt with but thanks for stepping in to help with this one.”

“I’ll make sure he’s never back in Star City again Laurel but make sure you do the same with the Red Canary and Gotham City for everyone’s sake.” Batman instructed the Black Canary.

“Sure, thing Batman…what exactly did Lucas do in Gotham?” Laurel wondered, hasty about the answers her question could lead to.

“What didn’t he do?” Batman scoffed. “I know he’s your brother Miss Lance, but some people are not capable of redemption.”

Seems like Batman didn’t know everything like many suspected and that was a relief to Laurel knowing her son from the future had a very violent past with Batman and his bat family and being the only one who still had some hope Lucas Lance could be redeemed, even if she knew that hope was born out of desperation and learning her brother was really her son.

The last thing Oliver Queen or Dinah Lance every expected was the two of them to be at Queen Manor sharing drinks and reminiscing about the past, finding themselves bonded by the mistakes they had both made which led to the downfall of both their families but somehow that’s exactly what they were doing.

“I always thought Lucas was going to turn out to be yours.” Dinah admitted to the Green Arrow as she took a drink from her glass of whisky. “Of course, Quentin always fought me over that one, but I was convinced…guess I was wrong.”

“That’s probably for the best considering Lucas and I never really got a long anyway although it does have me wondering who the hell his father really is.” Oliver replied, curious to know what the future held for his first love Laurel, as he too held a glass of whisky. “I don’t think she’s really been with anyone in years not since her and Tommy broke up.”

“Maybe there isn’t a father the future is always changing and raising Lucas in the past might have changed all that although of course then there’s the confusion to why he still exists.” Dinah explained to Oliver as she finished her glass of whisky. “I can’t help but think that history needs to be changed…that Lucas not being born could be what’s best for everyone…and it breaks my heart to admit it because I still love him after everything but by god I wish he was never born.”

“Your son…grandson isn’t beyond redemption nobody is I mean sure he’s done some unspeakable acts but many of us have including Sara and you forgave her because she showed regret and I believe Lucas does regret a lot he’s just not ready to admit it yet.” Oliver reassured Dinah, surprising himself by standing up for the Red Canary, as he finished his whisky. “I’d like to think one day when…if my mother ever wakes up, she’d be as forgiving as you are.”

“Nobody is ever perfect as a child never mind a rich one you were bound to be a bit of a spoiled brat you’ve turned into a brave and heroic man, a hero of course your mother would be forgiving hell she’d be proud as punch.” Dinah told him with sincerity. “Besides Laurel and Lucas were amazing children and only one of them turned out to be a success story.”

“I’m guessing you mean Laurel.” Oliver joked, knowing for sure Dinah wasn’t talking about Lucas. “Laurel is truly a remarkable woman…if only I was wise enough to know that all those years ago.”

Oliver and Dinah had many regrets over their actions in the past knowing they both brought a lot of heartache towards Laurel and that they’d never truly be able to make up for their actions but both willing to continue to try.

Star City may have been home to the Black Canary but for now Laurel Lance knew she had to be somewhere else at least for now but luckily for her she knew she could trust her old friend Oliver Queen to continue to keep her city safe as the Green Arrow until she returned as it was time for Laurel to put her son first as her mother Dinah decided it was time to help her daughter restore the Lance family.

“So, this is where the portal was originally then?” Dinah asked her daughter Laurel as the mother and daughter stood opposite each other in the same alleyway in which Laurel and Lucas originally wound up on Earth Blood.

“Yes, we did open one up elsewhere to get rid of Bane but if I’m going to get this exactly right which I hope I do then we’ll need to re-enact the original.” Laurel explained to her mother. “I really didn’t think I’d be going back there, and I can’t say I’m thrilled about returning.”

“I want to come with you I may be older than I used to be, but I’ve still got a canary cry and you said you’re stronger over there which means I will be too.” Dinah revealed to a shocked Laurel. “It’s time I start being the mother I’ve always wanted to be for all of you.”

“Mum I don’t know what I’ll be walking into…Lucas is unpredictable at best and that’s before he shacked up with one of the vampires and Sara’s a vampire now…I don’t want anything to happen to you!” Laurel admitted. “You’re the only parent I have left.”

“I’d rather die within a day of being back with my family then spend my life alone Laurel…I failed you all once I will not fail you again.” Dinah promised her daughter before the mother and daughter shared an accepting look and both began to scream their canary cries.

Laurel and Dinah continue to make their sonic screams louder and louder tearing at the thin air until a portal appeared instantly pulling them both in as both mother and daughter disappeared into the portal both hoping they’d soon be having a family reunion knowing that when they did it would definitely be a complicated reunion at best.

[live4thelord-blog1]

There Was a Man Who Had Two Sons – A Homily for the 4th Sunday of Lent

The Gospel this Sunday is about a man who had two sons, both of whom forsook him and refused to relive in relationship with him. Although the sons seem to have very different personalities (one outwardly rebellious, the other outwardly obedient), their internal struggles are similar. In effect, neither of them really wants a relationship with his father. Both prefer what their father has or can give them to their father himself.

In the end, one son repents and finds his way to the father’s heart. We don’t find out what happens to the second son. The parable didn’t tell us what happened to him because the story is really about us; it is we who must finish it. The question we must answer is this: What do I really want? Do I want the consolation of God, or the God of all consolation; the gifts of God, or the giver of every good and perfect gift?

Let’s look at this Gospel in four parts.

Renegade Son – Most of us are familiar with the Parable of the Prodigal Son. We tend to focus on the younger (and obviously sinful) son rather than the older one. This is interesting because the Lord Jesus seems to have His focus on the older son (the parable is addressed to the scribes and Pharisees, who see themselves as obedient). Nevertheless, let’s observe three things about this renegade son, this prodigal son.

Corruption – This is an angry young man, alienated from his father. He wants what his father has yet wants nothing to do with him. In effect, he tells his father, “You’re not dying fast enough. I want to be done with you and get what’s coming to me right now.”

His effrontery is even more astonishing given where and when it happened. Today, reverence for parents and elders is sadly lacking, but if our times are extreme in the one direction, ancient times in the Middle East were so in the other. In telling this parable as He does, Jesus shocks His listeners, who lived in a culture where no son would dream of speaking to his father in this way. Indeed, a son could be killed by his father for such insolence! Even to this day, so-called “honor killings” still occur in parts of the Middle East. If a child brings dishonor to the family, it is not unheard of for the father to kill him or her. While most governments forbid these practices, in many cultures people will look the other way and the perpetrators are seldom prosecuted.

Yes, Jesus must have shocked His listeners with such a parable. Here was a son who did something so insolent, ungrateful, and daring as to be practically unthinkable.

Even more astonishing than the son’s behavior, however, is the fact that the father actually gives him his inheritance and allows him to leave.

This is Jesus’ veiled description of the patience and mercy of the Father, who endures even greater insolence from us, His often-ungrateful children. We demand His gifts and take them with ingratitude; we want what God gives us but do not want Him.

Consequences – The renegade son sets off to “a distant country.” It is always in a distant country that we dwell apart from God. The consequences of the son’s behavior are great indeed.

This parable does not make light of sin. The Lord Jesus describes well a young man who chooses to live apart from God and in sinful rebellion. The result is that this renegade son lives in anguish and depravity. When he runs out of money, he finds he has no friends, no family, and no experience of his father.

So awful is his state that he becomes hungry for the disgusting mash that pigs eat. Yes, he is lower than the most unclean animal Jews can imagine: a swine.

Sin debases the human person and if its effects are not avoided, it orients us increasingly toward depravity. What was once unthinkable becomes easier and easier.

St. Augustine wrote of sin’s hold on individuals in his Confessions: “For of a forward will, was a lust made; and a lust served, became custom; and custom not resisted, became necessity. By which links, as it were, joined together (whence I called it a chain) a hard bondage held me enthralled” (Confessions, 8.5.10).

The renegade son is suffering the consequences of his sinful choices. He is debased, debauched, and nearly dead.

Conversion – In an almost miraculous turn of events, he comes to his senses. Too many, especially today, suffer a darkened intellect due to the debasing effects of their sin; it would seem that no matter how debased, confused, and even enslaved they become, they still do not come to their senses, for their senseless minds have become darkened (cf Romans 1:21).

Thanks be to God, the renegade son does come to his senses, thinking, I shall arise and go to my father. In this passage, the Greek text uses the word anistemi, here translated as “arise”—the same word used to describe the resurrection of Jesus. The young man’s father will later joyfully describe him as having been dead but then coming back to life.

St. Paul reminds us that we were dead in our sins, but God made us alive in Christ (cf Col 2:13). Thanks be to God for His mercy and for the conversion that He alone can effect in all of us, His renegade children, who ourselves have been debased and debauched and are dead in our sins. The conversion of this renegade son, we pray, is also our conversion, our rising and going back to the Father.

Rejoicing Father – The astonishing nature of this parable is only just beginning, for Jesus goes on to describe a father who is shockingly merciful. He does things that no ancient father would ever do. As Jesus describes this father, so filled with love and mercy that he sacrifices his personal dignity, we must remember that He is telling us that this is what His Father is like.

As the parable continues to unfold, we hear that the father sees the son while he is still a long way off. This tells us that he was looking for his son, praying and hoping for his return.

Such mercy is rare. Most people who are hurt and have their dignity scorned would be resentful, saying, “Never darken my door again!”

How shockingly different this father is, lovingly and longingly awaiting the day when his son will appear on the horizon.

Upon seeing his son, the father runs out to meet him, something no ancient nobleman would ever do. Running was a sign of being in flight or of being a slave out on an errand. Further, in order to run, the ancients (who wore long garments) had to bare their legs—a disgraceful thing for nobility. Only common workers and slaves had their legs exposed.

Yes, this is the portrait of a father willing to debase himself so that he can run and greet his returning son. When we take one step, God takes two or more; He comes running to us!

In the parable, the robe and the ring that the father puts on his son are signs of family belonging or restoration. This is the full restoration of a young man willing to live as a slave in his own father’s house. The father will have none of it. “You are my son whatever your sins. They are forgotten. You are my beloved son!”

What kind of father is this? No earthly father would behave this way. This is the heavenly Father. Jesus is saying, “This is what my Father is like!”

Resentful Son – Now we turn our attention to the older brother. His sinfulness is more subtle. Outwardly, he follows his father’s rules; he does not sin overtly. Unlike his prodigal brother, he has never openly rejected his father; inwardly, though, he is not so different. Like his younger brother, the older son wants his father’s goods, not his father himself. To understand the subtlety of his struggle, let’s look at some of the details of the story. Notice the following fundamental issues with the resentful older son:

He is distant. It is interesting that the older son is the last person to find out about the feast. This is a son who is distant from his father, unaware of the happenings in his father’s life.

Off on some far-flung part of the property, he is going about his duties, which he seems to fulfill adequately. However, we get the feeling that there is a sense of distance between father and son.

Why doesn’t he know that his father, worried about his younger brother, has been looking for him each day? Even the slaves in the household are drawn into the preparations for this celebratory feast; the older son is the only one who knows nothing about it. Even more telling is that he is unaware of his father’s joy at his brother’s return.

Yes, the resentful son is distant, miles away from the heart of his father.

He is disaffected. When the older son learns of the feast and the reason for it, he becomes sullen, angry, and resentful. He is disaffected. He stays away from the feast, refusing to enter.

So bitter is he that his father hears of it and comes out to plead with him.

Do not be too quick to scorn him, however, for we are too like him. We die the death of a thousand cuts as we see other sinners finding mercy. We become envious when others are blessed.

He is disconsolate. The father emerges from the feast to plead with his older son to come in. Again, such a thing would be unheard of in the ancient world! Any father in those days would have commanded his son to come in to the feast, expecting immediate obedience.

This father is different, for he represents the heavenly Father, rooted in love more than in prerogatives and privileges. He has already demonstrated his love for his renegade son and now does so for his resentful older son.

The fact is, he loves both of his sons. Yes, the heavenly Father loves each one of us.

Tragically, the resentful son is unmoved by this demonstration of love. He remains disconsolate and must be confronted in his resentful anger.

He is disrespectful. Now we see the ugly side of the apparently obedient son. He doesn’t truly love or respect his father; he doesn’t really know him at all. He disrespects his father to his face. He speaks of him as if he is a slave master, saying, I have slaved for you … I have never disobeyed any one of your orders.

Orders? I have slaved for you? Where is his love for his father? He does not see himself as a son but rather as an unwilling slave, one who follows orders only because he must. In effect, he calls his father a slave master, a despot.

Further, he accuses his father of injustice. He views the mercy his father has shown to his brother as evidence of a lack of due mercy shown to himself. He considers his father unreasonable, unjust—even despicable. How dare his father show mercy to someone that he, the “obedient” son, does not think deserves it!

In calling his father an unjust slave owner and taskmaster, the son disrespects him to his face. The father stays in the conversation, though, pleading with his son to reconsider.

He is disordered. Among the older son’s complaints is that his father never gave him so much as a kid goat so that he could celebrate with his friends. Our goal in life is not to celebrate with friends; it is to celebrate with the heavenly Father.

Note how similar the two sons actually are. Previously, the renegade son saw his father only in terms of what his father could give him; his father was only valuable in terms of the “stuff” he could provide. Despite his outward obedience, the older son has the same problem, seeming to value only what his father can give him. It is not his father he really loves or even knows. He is interested only in what his father can give him.

In this way, the resentful son is disordered. He misses the whole point, which is not the “things” his father can give him but their relationship. The goal in life is to live with the Father forever in a relationship of love.

Again, be careful before you condemn the resentful son. It is so easy for us to want the good things of God but not God Himself, to want God’s blessings and benefits but not His beloved self, to want the gifts of God but not Him who is the giver of every good and perfect gift.

Yes, the disorder of this resentful son is too easily our disorder. There is something about our flesh that wants God to rain down blessings, yet once we have received them, we want to keep our distance from God. Relationships are complicated and dynamic. Our flesh prefers trinkets. We prefer to receive gifts on our own terms. Our flesh says, “Give me the priceless pearls, but begone with the powerful person who gives them!”

Response – The father is outside pleading with his resentful son to enter the feast. At this point, Jesus abruptly ends the parable. Yes, the story ends! Does the resentful son enter the feast or not? Why is the story left unfinished?

Simply put, it is because we must finish the story, for we are so easily the resentful son.

Right now, the heavenly Father is pleading with us to enter the feast. Too easily we brood and say that we have our reasons for not wanting to go. After all, that renegade son is in there, our enemy is in there. If Heaven involves meeting our enemies and celebrating with them, we don’t want anything to do with it.

Here is the great drama: will we enter the real Heaven? The real Heaven is not of our own making, defined by our own parameters.

Are we willing to enter on God’s terms, or will we stand outside resentfully, demanding that Heaven be on our own terms? Further, do we see Heaven as being with the Father, or do we just view it as a place where we get the things we want?

The heart of Heaven is to be with the Father, with the Holy Trinity. The danger, even for the religiously observant, is becoming the resentful son. The Father is pleading with us to enter the feast, to set aside our prejudices and notions of exclusivity.

To the resentful son the father says, your brother was lost and is found, was dead, and has come back to life.

The Father is pleading with us to enter the feast—not some made-up feast where we choose the attendees—but the real, actual feast of Heaven, where some surprising people may be in attendance.

This parable is unfinished; you and I must finish it. Will you enter the feast? The Father is pleading with you, saying, “Come in before it’s too late.” What is your response to His plea? Answer Him!

[dfroza]

A set of posts for Thanksgiving day

shared by John Parsons that illuminate the inner room of the heart in finding acceptance and peace in Love at its Source and the importance of what takes place in the thought-life and the words that are spoken from the mouth, the True nature of our silence & our sound that inspires the things we do.

personally, i enjoy sharing from the inner room of the heart by writing words and simply sharing from my True nature as a child of God that includes the sound of music as well. i hope to illuminate truth from the inside & out to inspire hope and faith in what is pure & good amidst a world that has gone mad.

John’s posts for Today, november 22 of ‘18

Gratitude is essential to our walk of faith... We read in the Torah: “And you shall bless the LORD your God for the good” (Deut. 8:10). Whenever we derive benefit or enjoyment from something we are to bless (i.e., thank) God for his goodness. Indeed the Hebrew term for gratitude is hakarat tovah (הַכָּרַת טוֹבָה), a phrase that means "recognizing the good." The heart looks through the eye, and therefore how we see is ultimately a spiritual decision: "If your eye is "single" (i.e., ἁπλοῦς, sincere, focused)," Yeshua said, "your whole body will be filled with light" (Matt. 6:22). When we see rightly, we are awakened to God's Presence in the little things of life, those small miracles and “signs and wonders” that constantly surround us. The good eye of faith sees hundreds of reasons to bless God for the precious gift of life (1 Cor. 10:31). Open your eyes... The LORD is "enthroned among the blessings of His people" (Psalm 22:3). Happy Thanksgiving, friends! [Hebrew for Christians]

Worry is a place of exile and pain. "For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel, "In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength" (Isa. 30:15). This message, alas, is rarely heeded because people are easily seduced by the vain attractions and empty promises of this evil world. We are constantly barraged with spurious messages that appeal to our lusts, our fears, or our vanity: "Buy me!" "You need this!" "Find pleasure," "This will bring you love, respect" etc.; or we are given subliminal messages to be afraid and conform to the programming of those in power, to uncritically trust authority figures, to resist independent thinking, to submit to the mass hypnosis of the collective, and so on. We are so saturated by such fraudulent messages that we often deprecate them as "just words" and thereby become cynical of our need for truth. Because worldly language is a means of coercion and violence, we must be all the more ready to think clearly and to ask the deeper questions about truth, significance, and the reality that language was intended to reveal to our conscious minds. Just as written words require surrounding spaces to identify their significance, however, so we need quiet - silence spaces within our souls - to heed the message of truth. Indeed the Torah links the use of language with the soul (i.e., nefesh: נֶפֶשׁ) since God breathed into Adam the ability to think and to speak. Thought and speech, then, are two primary characteristics of being created in the image (צֶלֶם) of God. A declarative statement constitutes an implied promise of veracity or "testimony" that is considered a “bond on the soul” (אִסָּר עַל־נַפְשׁוֹ) and therefore our use of words is directly linked to the “breath of God” within us. This further implies that lying, equivocating, denying the truth, or breaking our word defaces the image of God within us. [Hebrew for Christians]

Yeshua spoke of "good and evil treasures of the heart" that produce actions that are expressed in our words (Luke 6:45). Our inward motive determines our thinking, which in turn affects the way we act and use words. Therefore He warned: "I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless (ἀργὸν) word they speak, for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned" (Matt. 12:36-37). Our very salvation is based on confession of the truth, and therefore we must be sure to use communication as a means of expressing the love and grace of God (Rom. 10:9; Col. 4:6). We must be on guard to keep away from lashon hara (evil speech) by focusing on what is worthy, lovely, and of good report (Prov. 13:3, Phil. 4:8). As King David prayed: “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer” (Psalm 19:14). [Hebrew for Christians]

You may sometimes feel like no one really cares for you, that no one loves you without conditions, and that you are therefore abandoned to wander about lost in your pain, without a sense of acceptance or "place" for your life... You may sometimes feel like you are in exile, estranged from others, in a place of desperation, a silent scream, without a real friend in the world. These are real feelings and I do not discount them, though often such feelings arise from unbelief, or at least from questioning whether God's love is for you, after all. Friend, there is comfort for your mourning; there is consolation for the grief and emptiness you feel inside. Look again to the cross and attend to God's passion for you; believe in the miracle of Yeshua's love for you; by faith see his blood shed for you... He knows your alienation: he was "despised and rejected of men"; he knows the pains of your heart: he was a "man of sorrows acquainted with grief"; he knows the heartache of being forsaken, abandoned, and utterly betrayed. Indeed Yeshua knows your infirmities; he understands how you hurt and calls you to his comfort... Therefore when feelings of loneliness well up within you, go inward to commune with the Spirit. Ask God for his consolation so that you too might console others who are suffering (2 Cor. 1:3-4). Do not lose hope but foresee your blessed future. Focus on the coming day of healing for all the world. Remind yourself again and again that you are never really alone, that nothing can separate you from God's love, and that God's Name is "I-am-with-you-always," "I am your Abba, your Imma, your true home and place of belonging, all your dreams of love will come true, and unimaginable beauty and endless delight await you in the glories of the world to come. [Hebrew for Christians]

You will never feel safe as long as you regard the acceptance of who you are as conditional, since you will only be as secure as your own best efforts, a project that will exhaust you in the end. Instead you must know yourself as truly loved by God, just as the “prodigal son” came to know his father’s unconditional love and acceptance despite his many misdeeds (Luke 15:11-32). The incarnation of Jesus means that God “runs to meet and embrace you,” regardless of whatever happened in your life that made you run away from home. And whatever else it may be, sin is the separation from God’s love, but Yeshua made the decision to die for your sins before you were born. Your sin cannot overrule God’s surpassing and personal love for your soul, since God gave up his very life for you to find life. [Hebrew for Christians]

11.22.18 • Facebook

and a post about Thanksgiving he shared last week:

The American holiday of Thanksgiving (חַג הַהוֹדָיָה) undoubtedly has its roots in the Jewish tradition of giving thanks to God, and some historians believe that the early "pilgrims" actually derived the idea for the holiday from the Biblical festival of Sukkot (i.e., "the feast of Tabernacles"). Before fleeing to the “New World,” the pilgrims lived for a decade among the Sephardic Jews in Holland, since Holland was considered a safe haven from religious persecution at the time. Since the pilgrims were devout Calvinists and Puritans, their religious idealism led them to regard themselves as "new Israel," and it is likely that they learned that Sukkot commemorated the people of Israel's deliverance from their religious persecution in ancient Egypt at that time. After they emigrated to the "Promised Land" of America, it is not surprising that these pilgrims may have chosen the festival of Sukkot as the paradigm for their own celebration. As the Torah commands: "Celebrate the feast so that your generations may know that I made the people of Israel dwell in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God" (Lev. 23:39-43). The highly devout pilgrims regarded their perilous journey to the new world as a type of "Exodus event" and therefore sought the appropriate Biblical holiday to commemorate their safe arrival in a land full of new promise... [Hebrew for Christians]

For more on this see:

11.16.18 • Facebook

[journeythroughbible]

Being a Long Term Christians and It's Trials

1 Thessalonians 1 – 3

Verse 1:6 opens with a description of the salvation experience for most:

  and you have modeled your lives after ours just as we are modeling ours after the Lord. You took to heart the word we taught with joy inspired by the Holy Spirit, even in the face of trouble.

 When we receive Jesus, we experience joy and are filled with the life the word gives us. It’s easy to do as we are taught. Where it becomes a problem is after some time when the world starts to consume our beliefs. I know it still happens to me after 40 years of a walk with Jesus. It’s been up and down, yet in the past 40 years all roads have led back to Jesus.  The key point is to rely on the Holy Spirit through good and bad.

 Verse 1:10 shows we have been waiting for a while:

 and how you now await the return from heaven of His Son, whom He raised from the dead—namely, Jesus—our rescuer from the wrath to come.

 Throughout history we have been searching for that moment when Jesus will return and clean the mess up. The early church was expecting this to happen quickly and free them from the bonds of Rome. Through each dictator and evil leader, Christians have hit their knees praying for Jesus’ return to hasten. The key that we forget is all peoples need to hear the good news. Today we are closer to that than any other time, but it’s still some time off in my opinion.

 Verse 3:9 asks and interesting question:

 What thanks would ever be enough to offer God about you for all the jubilant celebration we’ll feel before our God because of you?

 When you think about it all should rejoice over the salvation of just one. It’s the idea of the prodigal son, where the lost son gets a great feast. We need to focus on God’s joy and salvation on this world not just our own personal experience. Here is a tough question, if a killer of your child received salvation would you rejoice? We have to continue to remind ourselves that we are forgiven by God as we forgive here on earth. Even in this situation we should overcome the desire to hate and feel joy over their salvation. No one ever said this walk would be easy … refer to 1:6.

  d by��|���

[davewisematters]

From Fathers to Sons

I’m about to be a father for the second time.  Our son, Pablo, is due very soon, and we are ready and anxious to meet him.  Today I am reminded of a novel I read almost a decade ago called, Gilead.  It tells the story of generations of fathers and sons, told through the letters of John Ames to his son.  It’s theological in nature, it’s about people, it’s about life.  As I await the arrival of Pablo, I am thinking of all those years I spent as a young adult chasing dreams, chasing women, trying to find myself, and contemplating life as a married man and as a father.  As lonely and frustrated as I felt at times in my youth about being single, I am glad I was 33 when I got married, and that it was to Kelly and that Mateo was my first child.  I was responsible as a young adult, a man of faith, and I worked hard, but I wasn’t mature, though I thought I was.  I also had not endured some of the many hardships that I would face with regard to my mental health.  It took over a decade for my mental health to stabilize long-term and for me to be able to say I live in recovery.  

As I think about Pablo’s first day here with us, and all the things I want to say to him, how I want to kiss him and hug him and tell him the story of God, of his brother Mateo, and of our family I cannot help but wonder whether all that I have been through in this life up to this moment was not in vain, but occurred to teach me lessons to teach my son and make me a man that can be a great father to Pablo.  I don’t know what I will say to Pablo first when I meet him. Maybe, “Your dad loves you.  I’m proud of you.”  Maybe I will say, “Pablo we have been waiting for you for so long. It’s so good finally meet you.”  One thing I know for sure is that I want to tell Pablo the story of my faith.  I want to tell him how I was raised with faith, but how people within the church poisoned that faith for me as an adolescent, and how mental illness affected that faith as a young adult.  I want to tell Pablo why I’ve doubted my faith at times, but why I believe it now.  I want to tell Pablo that his story, like all of our stories, begins with creation. I will explain to him how a good, powerful, and loving God created the world and breathed life into us.  I will tell him how we as people broke that love and sinned.  I will share with Pablo the story of our redemption through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.  I will tell Pablo about the new creation that is to come and the Kingdom of God where his brother Mateo waits for us.  I’m not sure how much an infant can understand, but scripture says:

“And they said to him, ‘Do you hear what these are saying?’  And Jesus said to them, ‘Yes; have you never read,’ ‘Out of the mouth of infants and nursing babies you have prepared praise?” (Matthew 21:16 ESV)     

I will share with Pablo that it is right for us to praise God.  We ought to praise God for the gift of life and for the many blessings He has given us.  

Music has been important in my life and is a love of my wife as well.  I hope to teach Pablo to play music some day and to share the gift of music with others.  I hope Pablo will learn that music is a powerful way to communicate feelings, ideas, sorrow, love, and praise.  It’s also fun.  I plan on teaching Pablo the psalms as music and hymns and spiritual songs.  

One of the greatest things I plan to teach my son Pablo is to love his mother. He will learn to treasure her and honor her above all women.  He will learn to respect her, listen to her, and follow her advice.  I will demonstrate sacrificial, servant love to her and to him.  Hopefully, he will learn to serve her and others as he loves them and himself.  

There are so many things for me to teach Pablo.  There are so many stories I cannot wait to share with him.  There are so many life lessons I hope he can avoid from taking heed of my own story; and yet, I know I will love him and be there for him even when he stumbles and falls.  I used to read the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15) from the point of view of the younger brother.  For often have I wandered from the home of my Father and squandered all I have on sin. Now I can begin to read myself into the story as the father who loves both his sons and runs to his son that was dead but is alive again and returns home.  

I think the thing I hope Pablo learns most from me is that God loves him more than he could possibly imagine and that Jesus makes all things new.  This at least is a start, the beginning and the end, and the most important thing.  I’m excited to be a father to my first living son.  I’m excited for Pablo and always remember Mateo.  I love my sons.