#but my god that is what we call fear in its truest form

[neko-naruto]

k so fuck everything in the entire world

[curtklingermanposts]

Taking The Lord’s Name in Vain

It’s Not About Expletives

There is a misunderstanding about what it means to take the Lord’s name in vain. The general public believes it means to attach swearwords to His name. Of course, it’s good not to attach those expletives; however, it’s not really what it means. Here’s a clue: those have taken His name in vain, probably use those expletives more than those who haven’t.

The Phrase Defines the Meaning

Exodus 20:7 Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain; for the LORD will not hold him guiltless that taketh His name in vain.

This is first place this phrase is used in Scripture, and it doesn’t mention cusswords. What does it mean to take His name in vain? The word, take, means to lift (Strong’s Concordance number 5375) and carries a number of meanings. In this instance it means to receive, and may include accept or bear. Another way to say it is, “Thou shalt not receive the name of the Lord thy God in vain.” One could also say accept, or bear the Lord’s name in vain. When you received Jesus as Lord and Savior, you received His name as well. You are called by His name.  

Vain (Strong’s Concordance number 7723) means literally ruin. Morally, it conveys guile (deceit, duplicity), and used in relation to lying. It also pertains to idolatry, or that which is false, useless, or deceptive. It denotes falsehood, or a lie. Moreover, it expresse emptiness, or nothingness. For instance, an empty promise is synonymous with a vain promise. Another possible rendering for this passage is, Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God falsely. One could also say, “Utter not the name of the Lord upon a falsehood.”

Denying His Name Carries the Same Meaning

Proverbs 30:7-15 Two things have I required of thee; deny me them not before I die: Remove far from me vanity and lies: give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me: Lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is the LORD? or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.

It is obvious that we are able to deny the name of the Lord by what we say, do, or even fail to do. This verse reveals it carries the same weight as taking His name in vain. Simply put: when one claims to be a Christian or disciple of Jesus, and yet lives contrary to His ways, he has taken His name in vain. This is known as a hypocrite, and by definition, it is an actor. One who pretends to be someone he or she is not. It has to do with intentions. Having the occasional hypocritical moment is not the same thing. Christians have been known to behave contrary to what’s actually in their heart.

When a disciple has an oops moment, he or she repents. Hypocrites will not; although, God does give them space to repent. In short, saying one is a Christian and actually being one can be two different things. Here’s where it gets dicey:

But whosoever shall deny Me before men, him will I also deny before My Father which is in heaven (Matthew 10:33).

Ultimate Vanity

There are some who have taken the name of the Lord in vain in its worst form. Some have claimed His name, but were of the spirit of antichrist.

1 John 2:18-19 Little children, it is the last time: and as ye have heard that antichrist shall come, even now are there many antichrists; whereby we know that it is the last time. They went out from us, but they were not of us; for if they had been of us, they would no doubt have continued with us: but they went out, that they might be made manifest that they were not all of us.

Read all of 1 John, Hebrews 10:19-39, along with the book of Jude, and you’ll get a better understanding of what it really means to take His name in vain. They define what it is to deny Jesus in the truest sense.

This is not a light issue; nonetheless, those who are true disciples of Jesus Christ need not fear. Our call is to continue in the faith. Remember, God is able to keep you from falling.

Jude 1:24-25 Now unto Him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen.

www.perfectfaith.org

[animebw]

In retrospect, it’s pretty amusing how similar Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood and Fruits Basket 2019 ended up being. Both of the manga they’re based on are crown jewels in their respective shonen and shoujo demographics. Both series already had one adaptation in the early 2000s. Both those adaptations were controversial for the changes they made, and also left the story unfinished as they were released while the manga was still running. So eventually, they were each given a new adaptation, covering the entirely of their now-finished manga with almost the exact same episode count. And while these new adaptations may not be the most creative adaptations they could be, the completeness of their adaptation and the talent of the anime staff bringing them to life ensures that they will forever remain the definitive version of their story.

And, of course, there’s one other way they’re similar.

Both are some of the greatest anime ever made.

In the past, I’ve described FMA Brotherhood as the once and future king of anime adventure, fit to stand alongside any titan of classic adventure literature. It’s only fitting, then, that Fruits Basket 2019 has turned out to be every bit the queen of anime romance. From the unimpeachable character banter to the utterly spellbinding drama, the way everyone’s emotions tangle and twist and grow, how it explores such heavy topics with such unflinching bravery, how it seeks to understand the concept of love itself and why it’s worth fighting for in the first place, and so, so much more, this series is nothing more or less than the pinnacle of everything that makes romantic drama so meaningful. Other series have done similar things, walked similar paths, but never with such a singular, all-encompassing vision. Not with so much time to explore every facet of the characters’ feelings, every nuance of their lives, every detail that makes up this sprawling tapestry we call life. Watching Froobs 2019 is every bit the total package as FMAB before it, such a complete and thorough example of its genre that everything else must now settle with fighting for second best.

Of course, Fruits Basket has been pretty incredible all throughout. My countless posts gushing over it should be proof enough of that. But it isn’t until this final season, when the long-simmering tension of the Sohmas’ impending judgement day finally bursts to the surface in a finale for the ages, that it truly earned its place among my all-time favorites. Not until this spectacular, astounding, overwhelming climax did I truly realize how much I’d come to love Fruits Basket, and how much it had earned my love through some of the most heartwrenching, heartwarming storytelling I’ve seen in this medium or any other. I love these characters. I love their stories. I love what this tale can teach us above love, fear, guilt, grief, abuse, forgiveness, hope, death, and life in equal measure. I love how utterly this final season destroyed me and left me huddled in a sobbing heap. I love this show with the kind of dizzying, terrifying love that I so rarely get to experience fresh anymore. I. Love. Fruits. Basket.

I wish I could say I loved it without qualification. I wish my love didn’t have to share space with Arisa and Kureno’s romance, or the lackluster student council characters, or any of the countless problematic moments that litter this show like shards of glass from a shattered window. But you know what? That’s fine. If there’s one thing that Fruits Basket has taught me, it’s that the truest form of love is one that doesn’t ignore the flaws you wish you could blind your eyes to. Love is not love if it doesn’t see the bad in you as well as the good, if it’s not pushing you to be the best version of yourself that you can possibly be. And if I criticize Froobs’ failing, it’s only because I love it enough to afford it that respect. I love this show just as Tohru loves Kyo, just as Kyo loves Tohru, just as Hatsuharu loves Rin, just as God loved all his zodiac. And not even its flaws, as painful as they can be, are enough to stop me from giving this final season- and by extension, the entire show- a score of:

10/10

Thank you all for joining me. If you just found me through my Froobs reactions, I hope you’ll stick around now that it’s over. Don’t expect another liveblog anytime soon: I almost never catalogue my thoughts on anime this extensively, I just loved this show so much I had to. But I’ve got a massive backlog of more in-depth analysis posts on countless anime I’ve watched over the years, so be sure to visit my homepage and check those out! In the meantime, once I’ve finished basking in the afterglow of this masterpiece, I have some Revenging Tokyos to check out. See you next time!

[babyboibucky]

Devil’s Mark: Lead Me Into Temptation

Pairing: CleanRockstar!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your chose to give up everything to be with Bucky.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Knife play, carving, marking, blood (not period blood okay), tasting said blood, pain kink, oral sex (M receiving), face fucking, tea-bagging, thigh riding, toxic relationship obviously, bible references as usual

A/N: Like I said, this AU owns me??? Whenever new rockstar pics are released my brain instantly goes into a mayhem and I can’t NOT write shit based on those photos. Anyway, enjoy sinning in this one skskksks

Devil’s Mark Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

You should have been ashamed at how quickly you decided to leave everything behind— your family, your work and your so-called friends, your beliefs and dignity.

All because of Bucky and you were not embarrassed by it. In fact, you were proud of it and you wore it like a badge of honor, quite literally actually. Bucky’s initials that were carved on your left collarbone never failed to remind you who you belong to.

You bled for it and went through the pain when Bucky pressed the tip of his knife onto your skin and used it to permanently mark you with his name. The pain was unlike any other but it was fucking worth it when Bucky rewarded you for being his good, little pet.

“You did so fucking good for me, munchkin.” Bucky cooed, sitting back and admiring his work.

The letters BB looked good on your skin, they were still red but written clearly enough for everyone to see. Tears continued to streak on your cheeks as you caught your breath, having to hold it in as you endured through the process of being marked.

“Aww, is my munchkin in pain?” he teased, wiping away your tears.

You shook your head, “I can take it.” you rasped out, sniffing and ignoring the burning sensation of the lacerations on your décolletage.

Bucky chuckled darkly and pressed a kiss on your neck, sucking your skin as his hand worked its way inside your skirt. His fingers tapped against the first mark he had given you while his mouth slid down to your throat.

“Such a good, little pet you are.” he hummed against your skin.

A combination of a gasp and a moan slipped past your lips when Bucky cupped your clothed cunt, pressing the pad of his palm against your already throbbing clit. He grunted in satisfaction when he felt how moist you had gotten.

Pulling back, Bucky looked at you with amusement. “Did the pain turn you on?” he asked.

You didn’t even know it was possible, you didn’t notice how damp it was between your legs until Bucky asked you about it. Not knowing what to say, you merely shrugged and bit your lip from embarrassment.

“Leave it to me to figure it out, munchkin.” Bucky said before bending down to lick at your fresh wound, humming at the tangy taste of your blood on his tongue.

The sting that you felt went straight to your core and left goosebumps all over your body. Hissing from both pain and pleasure, you threw your head back and found purchase on Bucky’s shoulders. It confused you at first, why the pain aroused you to the point of completely soaking your panties.

But when Bucky’s fingers began to rub your folds, you didn’t bother understanding your arousal anymore.

“Damn, didn’t expect for my munchkin to be a fuckin’ freak. You like it when it hurts, don’t you?” Bucky asked as he sat up straight.

His tongue and lips still had some of your blood, and the sight of Bucky wiping it with his thumb and sucking on it had you whimpering.

“I’m gonna have so much fun with you, munchkin.”

The day that Bucky marked you like that was the same day you had surrendered everything to him like he was a god. You never looked back since then, didn’t have an ounce of regret nor fear at what the future holds for you now that you were reeled into his world.

Everything about you changed— the way you dressed and presented yourself, your likes and dislikes. Bucky gloated at how much you willingly let him take control of you and your decisions.

You’d spent your entire life being constricted by so many rules that turned you into a person you never wanted to be in the first place. Don’t wear that, you look like a whore. Pray and repent for your sins every night, we don’t want a sinner in this family. Stay away from temptation, you don’t want to burn in hell.

It was ironic how you let the devil into your life but still got a glimpse of heaven.

A smirk tugged at your rouge-painted lips as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You had never looked like yourself until now and you had Bucky to thank. He unraveled the truest version of you, helped you discover things you never knew you enjoyed, made you feel and bask in emotions you had suppressed for years.

Your finger traced the leather collar around your neck, something you considered a symbol of freedom rather than a restraint.

Bucky’s voice calling for you put an end to your pondering. Giving yourself one last look, you made sure to look your best before stepping out of the bathroom.

Your heels clacked as you walked into the bedroom of Bucky’s trailer, quickly catching his attention as he lounged on his bed in nothing but a pair of tight and stringed, leather shorts. His eyes darkened when he saw you, trapping his bottom lip in between his teeth as he got up to approach you.

A breath got caught in your throat when Bucky towered over you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. You faltered under his predatory gaze and looked away, feeling bare and exposed because of the outfit he had asked you to wear: a black see through bralette, a matching thong and a pair of black stilettos. The collar he had given you was also attached to a belted chest harness that you had adjusted to accentuate your breasts.

“Fuck, knew my pet would look so damn good in that.” Bucky complimented, rubbing his stubbled chin as he took in your appearance.

He grabbed his silver chain from the bed and grunted when he heard your tiny gasp, loving how you got so fucking excited whenever he brought it out. Bucky smirked as he tipped your chin, thumbing your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick around.

“You wanna play, huh?” he asked before gently slapping the side of your breast.

You nodded enthusiastically, humming in excitement as Bucky continued to tease you. He clicked his tongue and took a step back, “Wanna hear my pet speak up.” he said.

“I wanna play, Bucky.” you immediately responded, looking at him with doe eyes and practically begging for him to leash you.

“That’s my pretty, lil’ munchkin.” Bucky praised, lifting your chin up so he could attach the chain onto the ring hanging at the middle of your collar.

Bucky caught you off guard when he harshly tagged on the chain, bringing you down onto your knees with a loud thud. His leather shorts already had a tent and the sight of Bucky’s thick, tattooed thighs instantly made you wet.

“Untie the strings, munchkin.” Bucky said, his hand still holding the chain while his other caressed your hair.

You lifted your hands up but they were quickly swatted away. When you looked at Bucky, he was grinning at you mischievously, “Use your mouth.” he said.

Gripping his thighs for leverage, you leaned forward and bit the edge of the string and pulled at it. You used your tongue and hooked it under the strings, lifting it up until it was loose. Bucky groaned at the sight of you on your knees, obeying his every command.

“You can use your hands now, munchkin. You’ve been such a good girl, go ahead and suck my cock. It’s all yours.” Bucky urged, exhaling through his nose when you didn’t waste any time and pulled his shorts down.

Spitting on the tip of his cock, you watched your saliva drip down to the shaft before licking the underside. You traced the prominent vein with your tongue, batting your eyelashes at Bucky whose mouth dropped open when you took his head into your mouth.

“Oh fuck, shit.” he hissed, scrunching his face in pleasure when you added your hand into the mix to fondle his balls.

“God, munchkin. You’re a fuckin’ sinner.” he breathily chuckled, gathering your hair behind your head into a ponytail.

“You gonna let me fuck your mouth?” he asked, moving his hips away from your lips.

Bucky snickered when your head followed his hips, not wanting to let go of his cock that was throbbing inside your mouth. He gripped your hair tight and yanked your head back until his cock slipped out and slapped against his abdomen. Your spit mixed with his pre-cum forming a string that connected the tip of his dick to your lips. Bucky tugged your head further away until your spit landed onto your chin and neck, dribbling down to coat his now fully-healed initials on your collarbone.

“How d’you want me to fuck your mouth, munchkin?” he asked, keeping his grip on your hair tight and painful.

“Fast, please.” you breathed out, licking your lips as you stared at his weeping, hard cock.

“Yeah, you want me to use your mouth and make myself cum?” he asked again.

You weren’t even finished nodding your head when Bucky pulled your face back down to his crotch. Your jaw ached when you opened your mouth wide, welcoming his cock back into your mouth until the tip hit the back of your throat.

Choking on his dick, your fingernails dug into Bucky’s thighs, creating dents that were easily hidden beneath his tattoos. Your eyes watered when Bucky held you in place for a few seconds before finally beginning to thrust his hips.

Wet, gaging sounds and Bucky’s moans filled the air as he fucked your mouth roughly. Saliva began to spill out from the corners of your mouth, dripping down to your chin and then the floor beneath you. Your tears escaped from your eyes and messed up your make-up, your mascara running down your cheeks, painting it a dark grey and mixing together with the smeared lipstick around your mouth.

“So fucking greedy for my cock, you’re such a slut.” Bucky grunted as he continued to fuck your face, ignoring the way your nostrils flared whenever you attempted to breathe through your nose. You blinked the tears away when you felt Bucky’s cock pulsate inside your mouth. The way his hips stuttered was a sign that he was close, and knowing how Bucky wanted to finish, you tugged his wrists away from your hair and started bobbing your head as you sucked him harder.

“Get under, I want to see my cum all over your innocent face.” Bucky demanded and began fisting his cock as you licked and sucked his balls.

You kept your eyes on Bucky the entire time, just waiting for him to make a mess on your face. The look of pleasure on his face always did it for you, always made you soak and drip for him. The fact that it was you making him feel this way, it gave you a sense of fulfillment. His brows would furrow, his nose would scrunch up and he would snarl and growl at you whenever he was close to his climax.

You loved it, loved seeing a man like him lose himself in you and on you.

“Yes, fuck!” Bucky groaned, taking a step back before aiming his cock onto your face, spurting his release all over you.

“Stick your tongue out, munchkin...yeah, fuck. Just like that, good girl.” he whispered, jerking his cock and letting more of his cum land on your tongue.

Bucky pulled his shorts back up and sat down on the foot of the bed, grabbing his phone and then opening the camera app. Like his good pet, you remained on your knees and didn’t bother cleaning up your face.

“C’mere, munchkin.” Bucky softly said, taking the chain in his hand as he watched you crawl towards here.

“Let me take a photo of you, fuck. You look so damn pretty like that, all fucked up and dirty. What a whore.” he chuckled and gripped your face in one hand, angling your face before snapping a couple of photos.

He threw his phone aside and leaned back, gazing at you with a satisfied smile. You returned the smile and started wiping your face with both your hands, gathering all his cum before bringing it into your mouth without breaking your eye contact with Bucky.

You sucked your fingers clean before proceeding to lick your palms, humming at the taste of Bucky.

You used to be an angel, such a pure soul but all that purity flew right out of the window when you met him. Now, your wings have been cut off and that landed you straight onto the devil’s lap.

“You really know how to make me happy, munchkin.” Bucky praised. “I knew it was right to keep you.” he added, tipping his head at you.

“Come, munchkin. Gotta reward you for being an obedient pet, of course. Why don’t you sit that pretty pussy on my thigh, rub yourself on me. Make that pussy purr.” he said, patting his thigh.

You crawled closer to him and held onto his knees as you stood up. You slightly winced in pain, your knees were red and bruised from being on the ground. Bucky gripped your leash and tugged on it, pulling you down until his thigh was slotted in between your legs.

A moan slipped past your swollen lips when your clothed cunt pressed against Bucky’s thigh. He laughed when he felt how fucking wet you were, your juices immediately soaking his skin, making his tattoo glisten with it.

“Ride my thigh, go ahead. Cum whenever you want.” he said.

You did as you were told and started moving your hips back and forth, moaning wantonly at the friction. You didn’t bother removing your thong, you were too aroused to do that. The throbbing in your pussy only grew with every movement, creating a delicious coil in your abdomen.

Bucky’s eyes kept on moving from your face to your pussy, watching you proudly as you tried to get yourself off. Your breasts bounced with emphasis thanks to the harness and your nipples were pebbled against the sheer fabric of your bralette.

“Bucky…” you whimpered, holding onto his shoulders as you quickened your pace— back and forth, back and forth, side to side.

Your juices were dripping down already, creating a vulgar, squelching sound whenever you moved. The hairs on Bucky’s thigh were also adding to your pleasure, allowing you to come closer and closer to your end.

“Yeah, you gonna cum? Cumming already, munchkin?” Bucky teased, yanking your leash to bring your lips down to his.

He licked your parted mouth before biting your lower lip, tugging at it until it bled. Bucky sucked on your lip before kissing you messily. You moaned into his mouth when you tasted your blood; it quickly mixed with Bucky’s release, creating a unique flavor that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Gonna cum, Bucky.” you whined, moving your hips faster and rougher against his thigh.

“Go on, munchkin. Give it to me, soak my fuckin’ thigh with your cream. C’mon.” he growled as he pinched your nipple.

The pressure in your abdomen exploded and made your entire body buzz from immense pleasure as you came. Electricity ran through your veins, starting from your fingertips down to your toes as they curled. Wetness gushed out of your sopping cunt, completely soaking Bucky’s thighs and the bedsheets beneath.

Your high-pitched moan was like music to Bucky’s ears; his smile was from ear to ear as he watched you get lost in your pleasure, your head tilted back as your nails left scratches on his shoulders down to his chest.

“That’s it, munchkin. Look at this mess…” Bucky pointed out, looking at his drenched thigh and your ruined thong.

Your chest continued to heave as you caught your breath, your eyelids fluttering from mere exhaustion. Bucky started pressing light kisses on your chest, throat and jaw while his hands began to caress the sides of your thighs.

Bucky’s praises and sweet words were your gospel, his grunts were your choir.

And you? Your body was his temple.

“You know I’d fuck you until you were dumb, but I got a concert.” Bucky sighed, helping you get off from his thigh.

“You wanna come and watch?” he asked.

The way his eyes narrowed at you was meaningful, you knew that Bucky was up to something. Whatever it was that he had in mind, you always looked forward to it.

You nodded in response, “I’ll go get changed.” you said and was about to walk away until Bucky grabbed your leash again, stopping you from doing so.

He tutted as he pulled you close, not caring whether you stumbled on your feet. Bucky caressed your face and fixed your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear before winking at you.

“I didn’t tell you to get changed, munchkin.” he said, lifting a brow at you.

“How ‘bout I take you out on a walk?”

Bucky could take you anywhere and you’d let him. Hell, he could keep you leashed and you wouldn’t even bat an eye. Truth was, Bucky could lead you anywhere he wants and you would follow him like a loyal disciple.

He had already led you into temptation, you might as well follow him to the pits of hell.

[phykios]

volcano kiss scene but make it medieval, for @perseannabeth 💙 note that this is little more than a fancy rewrite, but... marble king verse is too good to be done with completely

***🌊***🌊***🌊***

June, 1446

As Percy led his little band of adventurers through the tunnels of the Labyrinth, himself, his questing partner Ana Zabeta, his childhood companion Aegidius, and his half-brother, the cyclops Tison, following a marvelously clever creation of the god of fire, he allowed himself, for a brief moment, to feel a small sense of pride. They had finally located a deity who not only did not appear to have any negative designs on their characters, but had also promised them his help--after they had performed him a small favor, of course. 

Hephaestus had fashioned for them a little spider made of metal, who moved about as though it had a beating heart, darting this way and that, nearly invisible, were it not for their torchlight flickering off its shiny, shiny legs. Though he would never speak it aloud, Percy felt a particular kind of pride on Annabeth’s behalf, as she followed the eight-legged creature with neither complaint nor fear. He knew full well just how totally she detested the beasts, her eternal and forsworn enemies, just as their mother had been an enemy of Athena. 

They rounded a corner, moving from a passageway lined with a strange, shiny substance which felt cool to the touch to one of crudely-cut stone, when he spotted a tunnel off to the side, dug from raw earth, wrapped in thick roots which pried their way through the holes in the stones. Aegidius had noticed it as well, slowing his pace until he stopped entirely in front of the dark, gaping maw in the wall. “Aegidius,” Percy said, stopping as well. “What is it?”

It was as if he had not heard him. The satyr merely gazed into the black tunnel, his curly hair rustling in an impossible breeze.

“We cannot delay!” said Annabeth. “We must keep moving!”

“This is the way,” Aegidius muttered, hushed and reverent. “It is here.”

He couldn’t possibly mean… “The way to Pan?”

But Aegidius ignored him, turning instead to Tison, the creature whose very nature often rendered him speechless with fear. “Do you not smell it, too?”

“Yes,” said Tison. “Earth. The forest.”

Before them, the spider skittered further down the stone corridor. If they delayed any further, the trail would be lost to them. 

“Once we have finished our errand for Hephaestus,” said Annabeth, “then we can return for Pan, I swear it.”

“The tunnel will have gone by then,” said Aegidius, with a confidence Percy had rarely seen before. “A door such as this will not remain open for long--and I must enter it.”

“But,” she said, desperate, “the forges!”

He looked at her sadly, but firmly. “I cannot go with you this time, Annabeth.”

Percy had forgotten--Aegidius was not only his companion. He had been Annabeth’s as well. He had been responsible for seeing her safely over the magical boundary in Sigeion. But the spider was nearly out of sight, and they could not tarry any longer before the gateway to the god. “We will continue to the forges,” he decided. “Aegidius, you go on to seek Pan.”

“No!” she gasped. “It is far too dangerous. If we part ways, we might never find each other again! And I cannot let you go alone.”

It was then that Tison, gentle creature he was, put his hand on Aegidius’ shoulder. As much fear as satyrs held for cyclops, Tison, for some odd reason, held just as much, if not more, for the satyrs. They had made an amusing pair at times, two of the sweetest, kindest people Percy had ever known, cowering in fear at the other. But Tison showed no fear now. Now, he was brave. “I shall go with him.”

Percy could not believe his ears. “You will?”

He nodded. “The satyr needs help. We shall find the god of the wild--together.”

Aegidius took a deep, steadying breath. “I wish I could see this through to the end with you, but--”

“I understand,” said Percy. The search for Pan was his life’s goal, the final prize in a quest which had taken his father, his father’s father, and so many searchers before him. If he did not succeed on this journey, the Council of Cloven Elders would never give him another chance. “I pray that you are right.”

Shoulders square, suddenly possessed of a confidence Percy had rarely ever seen from him, save for when he deliberated on how keftedes paled in comparison to spanakopita, he grinned. “I know that I am.”

Percy took a heartbeat to gaze on him one last time, imprinting him in his memory--just in case. “Be careful,” he told him. Then, he looked towards Tison, and opened his arms to his half-brother, who went into them willingly, squeezing Percy so strongly his eyes just about burst from his sockets. 

Tison and Aegidius then disappeared into the darkness of the tree roots, lost to the wild. 

“This was a mistake,” said Annabeth, her voice trembling. “We should not have let them go.”

“We will see them again,” Percy replied, attempting to summon Aegidius’ confidence. “Now, come on. The spider will not wait for us any longer.”

“Do not remind me,” she said, shuddering.

Before very long, the tunnel grew warmer, the stone walls red and glowing. The air felt as though they were walking through a giant oven, as though they had been transported into one of the forges beneath the villa for Hephaestus’ children, and he supposed, in a way, that they had. The tunnel sloped down, deeper into the earth, the spider nearly tripping over itself to reach the bottom, Annabeth right behind it.

Percy jogged to catch up. “Annabeth!” he called. “A moment?”

She glanced back at him, but did not cease her quick pace, forcing Percy to match her. “Yes?”

“I have a… question,” he panted, “regarding what Hephaestus… said, about your mother.” 

“She swore never to marry,” Annabeth said, easily. Curses, Annabeth did not appear to be even remotely out of breath. He felt like such a fool compared to her, always. “She is one of the maiden goddesses, alongside Artemis and Hestia.”

Percy frowned. He had not recalled that detail about the war goddess--though, he was rather infamous for nodding off during lessons. Perhaps he had simply slept through that particular lesson. “But, if she is a maiden goddess, then--”

“How is it she came to have demigod children?”

Blushing, he nodded. 

Now, this was not at all appropriate conversation, he knew. Young boys and girls were not meant to discuss such things with each other--not yet anyway. But Percy was nearly a man, and besides, he had spent enough time with Carlos and the older boys at the agoge to pick up a few pieces of knowledge here or there. Hopefully, Annabeth would think the flush on his cheeks was due to the heat of the cavern. 

“Do you know how Athena was born?” she asked him. 

“She was born from… the head of Zeus? In armor?”

“Precisely. She was literally born from his thoughts--and thus, her children are born the same way. When Athena falls in love with a mortal partner, it is a purely intellectual affair, just as it was with Odysseus in the epic tales. Our mother says that it is the truest kind of love.”

“So,” said Percy, frowning. “Your father and Athena… you were not--”

“I was born from their minds,” she interrupted, quickly. “Sprung from the divine thoughts of my mother and the mortal ingenuity of my father. Her children are gifts, blessings on the mortals she favors.”

“But--”

She turned to him, exasperated. “Percy, the spider has nearly vanished. Do you really wish for me to explain the precise details of my birth?”

Flushing even harder, he snapped his jaw shut.

Victorious again, she smirked. “I thought not.”

Running ahead to catch their guide, Percy followed, very neatly put in his place, and not certain he would ever be able to look at his friend the same way ever again. Some things, he decided, were perhaps better left as mysteries.

After another few minutes or so, they emerged into a cavern, larger than any stadium Percy had ever seen. It felt to be five times the size of the mighty Colosseum. There was no floor, just miles of bubbling lava beneath their feet. Standing on a rock ride which encircled the cavern, Percy saw a complex, overlapping network of metal bridges spanning the width of it, meeting on a huge platform in the center which housed the largest anvil he had ever seen, a block of iron the size of a villa. Dark, strange shapes moved about them, like formless shadows, too far away to discern what manner of creature they might be. 

“We cannot sneak up on them,” said Percy, noting the distinct lack of places to hide with some despair. 

With a slight grimace, Annabeth picked up their metal guide, its form having changed to a small ball, and slipped it into a fold in her dress. “I can. Wait here.”

“Hang on--” But Percy was too late, as Annabeth put on her magical cap, a gift from her mother, and vanished from his sight. 

Percy cursed. He did not dare call after her, not willing to draw attention to her tactics, but nor did he appreciate the idea of her approaching the forge on her own. If those creatures could repel the likes of Hephaestus, what hope did Annabeth have? It was not safe. She was their leader--they could not risk her life. Percy would not risk her life. 

Alas, he could never sit still for very long. Creeping along the outer rim of the lake of molten rock, he darted from stalagmite to stalagmite as best he could, hoping to find a better vantage point. Really, Annabeth should have known better.

The heat was horrendous, heavy and oppressive. Drenched in sweat, and eyes stinging with smoke, he moved along, staying as far from the edge as was physically possible, until he found his way stopped by a large metal box, fitted on wheels. Peering inside, he saw it was full scrapped metal, bits and bobs of broken swords and lumpy shields, piled on top of one another. Nothing he could reasonably use for an extra weapon, or even some kind of defense. Making to squeeze himself around it, he suddenly heard from up ahead a voice, rough and grating, speaking an ancient language which no man alive had heard for a thousand years. 

Monsters, he knew. 

There was no time to run away, no place to hide… except for the box. Leaping inside, covering himself with a dented aspis, he curled his fingers around his father’s sword, that blade Anaklusmos, hissing as the sharp metal of his bed cut between the soft parts of his armor, biting his tongue so no curse could escape. 

With any luck, the monsters would pass him by, and he could continue along unmolested. 

That was when, of course, that the box lurched forward, pushed along by the monsters, carrying Percy along with it. Malaka! Was he about to be tipped into a smelting pot?

All around him, he heard the chatter of terrible beasts. He was not so skilled in the ancient tongue as Annabeth, but even he could recognize a few words here or there, “weapon” and “cyclopes” and “furnace,” and some names as well: Zena, hissed with scorn, Posidaota, spat with bile, and, most chillingly of all, Kronos, spoken with reverence and awe.

Percy blinked against the sudden light as his cover was removed from his person, revealing himself to the monster, who was so taken aback by his presence, that it blinked back at him in return. For a few moments, neither of them moved, so shocked were they by the other’s sudden appearance. Then, springing into action, Percy slashed upwards, dissolving the beast in a cloud of golden smoke. Snatching up another shield and leaping from his bed of spikes, he saw with his preternatural vision a small army of at least twenty monsters, black like dogs, but with sleek, shiny skin, and legs which looked to be more suited for swimming than scrambling around the rocks of Aitne.

With a hearty battle-cry and another wide swipe, he repelled the front row of these creatures, carving himself some space to jump, sprinting for the mouth of the tunnel. The monsters followed after him, baying and growling as a pack of ravenous wolves, and they would have caught him, tearing him to pieces, had they been but a little bit faster. Thinking quickly, at the top of the tunnel, Percy hurled his shield into a column, the rocks crumbling upon impact, burying the monsters and blocking off the path with a great, noisy cave-in. 

He doubted it would keep them trapped for very long. Not only that, he very much doubted that they had been the only monsters in the cavern. Percy had just announced his presence to anyone who might have been listening, destroying their chance for any sort of subtle reconnaissance.

And Annabeth was still out there, somewhere, invisible.

“Annabeth!” He yelled, running towards the platform at the center of the ocean of lava. “Annabe--!”

An invisible hand clamped over his mouth, wrestling him down behind a large, bronze cauldron. “Silence! Do you mean to have us killed?”

Arms flailing, he managed to locate her head, slipping off her cap of invisibility. She shimmered into view as an island emerging from the mist, scowling and covered in ash and grime. “It’s far too late for that,” he said, grimly. “I came upon a group of monsters, and brought the roof crashing down on them.”

Hissing curses, her hands clenched, as though she meant to strangle him, before she visibly managed to control her temper. “You said there were monsters?”

He nodded. “I know not what kind. I had thought they may have been dogs, were it not for their flippered feet and human hands, adorned with claws. They spoke of furnaces and weapons, making arms for the first Titanomachy.”

“Telkhines,” she gasped, eyes wide. “Of course! I should have known. I had wondered when I saw… well, look.” 

Together they peered over the lip of the cauldron. In the center of the platform stood four of these demons, larger than any Percy had seen before, standing at least the size of a fully grown man. Their black, scaly skin glistened in the light of the fire as they labored, sparks flying between mighty hammer strikes on a long piece of glowing, hot metal, hissing to each other in the ancient language. “What are they saying?” he whispered to her. If he could not understand them, Annabeth surely would. 

“They are talking of fusing metals,” she said, frowning. “Other than that, I--I cannot say.”

“Is that bad?”

She stared at him, incredulous. “The telkhines betrayed the gods,” she said, “for practicing dark magics. For their transgressions, Zeus banished them to Tartaros.”

“Alongside Kronos.”

She nodded. “We must return to Hephaestus at once--”

But no sooner had she spoken than a sharp, clawed hand pierced its way through the rubble of Percy’s cave-in, pushing aside the rocks which blocked its path, followed closely by its snout, teeth long and sharp and dripping with saliva. “You must return to the god,” Percy said, moving into a crouch. “Leave me here.”

“What?” she shrieked. “No! I will not leave you!”

At any other time, he would have praised her for her courage, but not now. “You must! Let me distract the monsters, and perhaps the spider can lead you back through the Labyrinth. You are the leader of this quest--you must take the message back to Hephaestus.”

“But you’ll be killed!”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, turning to face her. “As well, there is no other choice.”

She glared at him, her lips pulled back almost in a snarl worthy of one of the monsters. He knew this look of hers well--it was the one she wore whenever she considered hitting him for his foolishness. 

But rather than hit him, she did something which shocked him even more.

She grasped the collar of his tunic, pulled him close, and kissed him. “Be careful, phykios,” she murmured against his lips, breath hot. Then she put on her cap, and vanished. 

Percy couldn’t breathe, and not for the smoke. Had it not been for the lava, the monsters, the weapon, the quest, he would have been quite content to sit there all day, thinking of nothing but the softness of her mouth and the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight, unable to even recall his own name. 

A sea demon screamed, jolting him back into reality. 

The horde of monsters, freed from their prison, charged across the bridge towards him. Percy scrambled up from the ground, running for the middle of the platform, startling the large monsters so thoroughly that they dropped the red-hot blade over which they labored. It was as long as they were tall, curved like a crescent moon, its shape burning into his vision, sending shivers down his spine. 

Unfortunately for Percy, the monsters recovered quickly from their shock. Every which way he turned, his exit was blocked by a small army, surrounding him. Cutting him off. 

Raising Anaklusmos, he prayed that they could not see the blade shaking. 

“Son of Poseidon,” rasped a demon, speaking Percy’s own language now. “We are honored by your visit, fish-blood.” 

He spread his senses, casting about for an escape, but there was none. He was trapped. 

“Will you strike us down, half-blood?” asked another one. “An you try, the rest of us shall tear you to shreds.” Licking its lips, it advanced on him, claws glinting in the glow of the forge. “Perhaps we shall deliver you to your father in pieces--an omen of the horror we shall visit upon him, and all the rest of the twelve, for their betrayal.”

Annabeth would not have allowed herself to be cornered this way, but Percy was no strategist. If the gods favored him at all, they would have seen to Annabeth’s escape, leaving him to his doom. 

Was this to be his doom, he wondered? Trapped in the heart of a volcano, overrun by monsters which would use his bones to pick their teeth? 

The tallest of the demons plunged its hand into the furnace, scooping a handful of molten rock. “Let us see the might of Olympus,” it said, grinning. “Let us see how long it takes him to burn!” And it threw the lava at Percy.

Dropping his sword, he swatted at his clothes which had been set alight, as though he had merely had an unfortunate run-in with the lava trap at the agoge, but it was not nearly enough, the fire engulfing him with each passing second. At first, oddly, it had only felt warm, though it grew hotter and hotter with every heartbeat. 

“Your father’s nature protects you,” one monster sneered. “Makes you hard to burn. But not impossible, fish-blood. Not impossible.”

Later, Percy would struggle to remember the particulars. He would recall only the fire, and the pain. He would not remember how he crumpled to the floor in deepest agony, the sea demons howling in delight at his terror. 

Nor would he remember the voice of the naiad at the farm of the giant Geryon. The water is within me, she had said. 

Between waves of torment, there was a tugging sensation in his gut, calling vainly for water where there was none: not a river, nor a stream, nor even a petrified seashell. Percy called for the sea, the towering waves which could wash away villages, the currents which could destroy ships in a single blow, the endless power of the ocean, and he called for these things inside of himself, letting it loose in one terrible, horrible scream.

Fire and water collided, a typhoon of unearthly power shooting him up from the beating heart of Aitne on wings of superheated steam, peeling his skin away, another piece of flotsam flung from the earth by the force of the blast. Higher and higher he flew, further than Icarus, than Bellerophon, than Zeus himself, so high that the lord of the heavens would not be able to reach him--and then he fell, a shooting star, hurtling towards the sea which would not save him. Not this time.

[chuckie101123]

The Cult of Carnage

“I figured they were all insane, like the cops did. The marks they left behind, the carvings, it all pointed to a satanistic murder cult. The bodies they left behind were all mutilated to the point that we needed dna testing to find out what kind of animal it was from. We couldn't use size because when they started a mutilation fest, everyone joined in. And from the bodily fluids they left behind, it seemed they enjoyed an orgy along with it. None of us even considered the possibility...

The cops couldn’t get close to them, ever. They were all too loyal to their cause. They couldn’t find a snitch, and they couldn’t plant one of their own. Eventually, one of them came up with the bright idea to call me up. I was a cop, once. Had retired six years before I got the call, saying they needed help with one last case. I was bored, figured why the hell not, and drove in the next morning. When I entered, I entered into a madhouse that was nothing like the station I had left. It seemed like everyone and their brother was there, everyone shouting and running around at once. Then they caught a glimpse of me, and all of a sudden, it was silent. The chief poked his head out of his office to see what caused the sudden change, and paled when he saw me.

I suppose I should explain. Before I left and retired, I had a reputation around the station. Put simply, I was violent and unorthodox. I didn’t care about social niceties much, always thought of them as too frustrating to deal with. As such, I came across more often than not as a dick. Pissed a lot of people off with my carefree attitude too, a lot of powerful people. Eventually some of them tried to get me fired on accounts of illegal activities. No one could get the charges to stick. See I was a well-known asshole, but I was good at my job. I was violent, but never more violent than was legal. I wasn’t racist, wasn’t greedy, and was always ready to help out someone in need. (Hey, I told you, I didn’t care about social niceties, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t help out a kid who’s car broke down on the side of the road.) 

Anyway, when the brass up top couldn’t bring me down the legal way, a few of the more immoral ones tried to take me down the hard way. I sent every one of their men to the hospital with varying injuries, six of whom are still in a coma and twelve more who have to be fed with a straw. Again, the brass tried to get me fired for excessive violent behavior, but as it was in self-defense, the charges wouldn’t stick. Over the next three years, I personally put twenty six of those corrupt bastards behind bars. I doubt I got all of them, but no one has messed with me since.

Anyway, back to the station. So the chief sees me, pales like he just shit out all his blood, and rushes to greet me. Turns out, I recognize the dude. The guy was just a deputy when I left, must’ve done well for himself to have gotten his title. I already didn’t like him, but I did my best to keep myself in check, as he already looked terrified enough. After greetings, he took me to his office and explained the situation. 

Forty-two occurrences in the last two months, all involving what looked like violent blood-baths and massive orgies between around thirty or so members. No member had been caught, no DNA matches, nothing. Nothing, except, a symbol, always placed in the very center of the presumably very exciting events. The symbol was that of a crescent moon lying point side down on top of a sun with a half circle taken out of the side closest to the moon, and there was a four-point star lying in the gap between the two, almost like it was being sheltered or protected somehow.

No evidence, no witnesses, and no leads would make for a difficult case, and I told him as such. In response, he placed a picture on the desk in front of me, and explained that the woman shown was believed to have something to do with it. I recognized her, Alicia Cortez. She was a nice girl, late twenties, who worked in a grocery store in the downtown area. I had caught her out late one night in the pouring rain and offered a ride. On the way to her home, I got to know her a little better. 

She grew up in New Jersey with an abusive father and a junkie mother. She told me that at first, she seemed like she was on a path that would lead her to follow in her mother’s footsteps, using dangerous and powerful substances to fill the ache inside her. Thankfully, a kid helped her see just how far she had fallen, and she packed up and moved to our town that same week. I wanted to ask her more, but by the time I figured out how to phrase the question and opened my mouth, we had already arrived at her house. She thanked me quickly, and ran inside to escape the rain. It seemed strange, but I shrugged it off and drove home. That was eighteen months ago, two months before I got the call.

Once I saw the picture, I started to wonder if I shouldn’t have pressed further. Deputy O’Ryan, or now, Chief O’Ryan, told me that the incidents had started soon after she arrived in town. They said her neighbors had reported strange sounds coming from her apartment, but every time police arrived, the sounds had stopped and no evidence to anything resembling what the neighbors heard could be found. I told the chief I’d look into it, and went home.

Few weeks later, I “ran into” her at the grocery store where she worked at and asked her if she’d like to join me for lunch. As we talked, I noticed she was very pleasant. Not “uninterested in the conversation”, but more mischievous “What do you think you know” pleasant. Eventually, our conversation moved onto her past again. I tried to press gently on what made her change her life around. She smiled in triumph, and even though the damage was already done, I tried to back peddle. It didn’t work. Still though, she answered my questions. 

She explained that the child that changed her life introduced her to his religion, an unorthodox and still recently established Carnagism. She went on further to vaguely explain how the god they worshiped, Carnage, was not quite how the name suggested. She was not evil, or violent, nor did she encourage such traits in her followers. Instead, she encouraged freedom in its truest form. No prejudice, no discrimination, no worries. “Does that include no laws?” I remember asking. Her only answer was a smirk. It was clear to me that I wouldn’t get an answer to that question, so I tried to change topic, asking instead what her religion had done to help her life? After all, if it was appealing enough to get her to pack up and move so quickly, surely the benefits must be amazing? Rather than answer, she instead invited me to her next worshiping session to find out for myself.

And so began my dilemma, do I agree and join her for what might be my own murder, mutilation, and possibly corpse-rape, or refuse and give up the case? For my stubborn, dumb ass self, their was only one option. I accepted.

Fast forward two days, and I find myself in the woods, hand in hand with over seventy other people as we skip around a massive bonfire in a clearing in the woods I swear wasn’t there the day before. All of us are buck-ass naked, covered in paint, mud, and blood from the desecrated corpses of hundreds of birds, squirrels, rabbits, foxes, and field rats. I realized why the bodies were so hard to identify: because these cultists used nearly every part of the corpse, beyond what a normal hunter would. The feathers, each indivual hair, each bone, brain, musclefiber, and organ, all used in their rituals. We fed on the meat and organs, and dressed ourselves in the rest, excluding the pelvic bones of all the females. Those were tossed into the fire we all skipped around, shrieking, laughing, and chanting as we summoned what I had assumed to be another made up god.

I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

As we shrieked and sang and chanted in a strange language I could never quite catch, the fire suddenly exploded outward, the flames rushing across our bodies, touching but never burning. A few of the more recent recruits like myself shrieked and tried to recoil in fear, but we were stopped by the tight grips of the members on either side of us. We tried fighting back until we realized we weren’t hurt by the flames, and we looked to the flames first in wonder and curiosity before our expressions turned to those of fear and wonder. For there, before our very eyes stood figures in the flames of every hue and color. Beings of pure fire, beautiful and proud, took their steps across the edge of the fire towards the cultists.

I stared in wonder at the sight before me, these beautiful and terrifying beings, as one by one they stood in front of a cultist. For simplicity's sake, let’s call them elementals. No two elementals were the same, some didn’t even look human, despite their flaming appearance. Some had what looked like animal heads, others had appendages added and subtracted in weird ways (one had feet for arms and arms for legs and a tail attached to the back of their neck), a few just seemed like floating flames with no features of any kind, and others still just were. They were like the air above hot tarmac, you could see the shimmer and could feel the heat but could see no definite features.

It took me a moment before I realized one of the elementals had stopped before me. Whereas the other elementals were larger, almost adult sized or even bigger, mine was tiny like a fairy might be. She floated in the air before my face, gazing intently at me until I looked at her, and then she smiled. Not the forced smile I was used to seeing, nor the pity smile a mother might show a child who brandishes a mud pie in his hands, nor even the full grin you’d see on that very child’s face. No, the elemental before me smiled a gentle smile, full of only kindness and love, as if she were a mother smiling at a child who returned home after losing their way. Her smile made me feel safe, and warm, like everything was going to be okay.

I couldn’t help it, and I’m not afraid to admit it. I cried. I wanted so badly to apologize to her and thank her and welcome her to this hellish world. So many emotions and needs arose within me at the sight of her gentle smile that I just collapsed in joy and grief and anger. Every suppressed memory, every lost moment I’ve ever had came rushing to my mind. I relived my horrible childhood life, suffering every beating my father gave me, breaking as my mother screamed that I was worthless and would never amount to anything. I relived all those painstaking study sessions, trying to do meet their expectations, but also trying to meet my own. I relived my old friendships, all my romantic relationships, every argument, every peaceful or proud moment. I relived my fistfight with my father and my last argument with my mother before they both died. I remembered every day I’ve ever had, and relived each as if they were occurring at that very moment all at once. And then I relived more recent days. Peaceful walks in the park after retiring, kind conversations I had with people around my neighborhood, excited grins from kids waving to me as I passed. I relived my conversations with Alicia about the goddess she worshipped, Carnage was not a god of violence and destruction, but of chaos and freedom.

And I understood. Carnage was not a goddess of lawlessness. She did not encourage the mutilations of animals for fun, but to teach the value of each individual piece. Carnage represented a peaceful freedom, without corruption to spoil it. Hatred, fear, joy, worry, her followers were free to experience all without judgement. They were not condemned for who they loved, nor were they discouraged from loving as much as they could as often as they could. With Carnage, the strange or different weren’t just permitted as they were everywhere else. They were accepted. There weren’t any personal definitions or social cliques, They just were, free to be as passionate and loving as they desired to be.

With that realization, the memories slowed to a trickle, the last few days before the ritual playing softly and slowly until I caught up with the present. When I did, I noticed three things. One, I was kneeling on the floor with my head in my hands, tears still flowing gently down my cheeks as my nose ran. Two, the small elemental was beside me, her tiny hand rest gently on my cheek, flames licking at the stubble from my beard. Three, she wasn’t alone. 

In front of me kneeled another elemental, adult size this time, though still female. She faced me with her hands on my shoulders, holding me as I sobbed. When I had finally stopped crying enough to see her clearly, I saw her face. She was even more beautiful than all the rest, and while the others looked like they were made from the flames, she looked like the flames were made from her. Every feature was more defined, from her angled, kind eyes to her soft, supple lips to her delicate, nimble fingers and toes. She was just as nude as the rest of us, but it was not her body that held my attention, but her eyes. For in them I saw the history of mankind, all the fury and bloodlust but also the love and compassion. And those kind yet terrible eyes looked at me with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“You remember,” she said, not a question but as a statement. Even so, I nodded in answer. “Do you know who I am?” I shook my head. “I am the goddess you have worshiped this night. I am Carnage.”

“Hi...” I said in a small voice, making her smile.

“You have a way with words, child,” she teased.

“Sorry,” I apologized, looking down in shame.

“Do not apologize, young one,” she whispered, lifting my head. “It is a part of who you are, what makes you unique.”

She started to rise, lifting me up with her. She smiled at me once more before turning to see the other cultists. She held herself up tall as she made her way back to the bonfire, no longer roaring as it had been. Those she passed bowed, but did not kneel. When she reached the edge of the fire, she stopped and turned to once again face me.

“Tonight, my children, we celebrate! For we have helped your new brother remember!” she exclaimed to the crowd, as a roar of joy rose up from the other cultists. “Tomorrow, we celebrate once again, for I have returned to this beautiful and terrible world! Tomorrow, we will right was has been wronged, and rebirth the ugliness of the Allmother with her former beauty!”

“TILL THE DAWN!!!” a roar rose from the cultists, as if a battle cry had sung.

That night, I danced with my brothers and sisters, loved them as only I could, ate as I wished, and celebrated the return of Carnage.

[demonprosecutor]

NEW HADES ONESHOT, TITLED: OH NO!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

trouble comes in the form of bedraggled travelers - stinking with the scent of journey-sweat, the ghost of blood, and strong brows streaked with dirt. they stood on the the threshold of the door, intimidating and tall enough to block the sun with their heads. Some were injured, supported by his compatriots, and the leader, aegeus, did not look any better.

“My name is aegeus of athens. My men and i need aid, if you are amenable to helping?” as if there was any question, as if there were any part of you that would ever deny helping out those in need. (lady hestia had always had a soft spot in your chest, and something inside you pulses with a warm pleasure).

You dry your hands on a nearby cloth, draped over your shoulder, smiling close-lipped in welcome. “Of course, you will find safety in the lands here.” however, you do pause, turning your head towards the stairs that housed the slumbering god prince - much to your exasperation, he was too much like a cat, sleeping deeply whenever he did. If you had to wager a guess, he would rouse well-past noon, only coaxed to wakefulness by the smell of lunch.

(you spoil him awfully, plans to slaughter a cow in the name of the gods and prepare a meal of kings)

Aegeus smiles at you, teeth pearly, arch of his nose hooked and strong, dark eyes obscured by the boyish curls not tamed by the purple-dyed headband that pinned locks back from his face fruitlessly. Perhaps you stare too long; for his brow arches and you avert your gaze to stir into action. “Ah, erm, i shall set out cots out back and bring out my medical supplies. I’m afraid they are rudimentary at best, so cleaning wounds and binding bandages are the best I could do.”

The leader of the group waves a careless hand, corners of his eyes crinkling kindly. “Worry not, my men shall clean themselves up. We only desire more rest.”

Your head bobs in a single nod, directing the small motley group towards the back where they could find rest on hay bales, the straw cushioning. There was a strange magic in the lands that lady persephone tilled, a gentleness in everything she did that translated to the earth in equal. You hear them, ears pricked for danger, sigh at the truest sense of the word ‘reprieve’.

Much like the bees that buzz in the cradle of branches, you busy yourself with gathering the appropriate supplies - laying fresh fruits and baked bread into a basket before hurrying outside in lithe steps. You distribute your wares carefully, smiling with the slightest quirk at the corner of your mouth.

All the while, Aegeus watches with the simple delight of seeing his men resting and able to fully relax the hard jut of weary shoulders. He accepts the fruit and bread graciously, “we do not know how to thank you generosity, it is beyond what we had hoped for.”

You shrug slightly. modesty was in your blood and you are never someone who could ever find comfort in the gratitude of others, even if it was well-warranted. (the lands that edged the outskirts of lady persephone’s fields were wild ones, ones that lady artemis delighted in hunting in. it was no place for men). “no need for thanks.” you say after a few awkward seconds, at which you deigned to look up at aegeus who simply watched you in amusement.

shyness was not a part of your normal build, but something about aegeus elicits something within you - a certain flightiness that makes you want to shift in place and to run. brows furrow together before you start pulling out cots for the men to rest at during the night - the lady of the house was not due back to the cottage for a week’s time, so you knew that she wouldn’t protest against it. not that you were going to attempt to hide this whole affair in general.

although, something does strike you as strange. the briefest blink of action, or more accurately, action that should have been, that caught your eye. the same man who grimaced and groaned about an apparent head wound was laughing freely, tossing his head without a care, as though he were not injured at all. but suddenly, aegeus was in front of you - a flicker of movement that has you startling and clutching the basket closer to your chest.

“fair helper of the gods, would it be too much to ask for water to quench our thirst? we would drink the river water, but it is well-known to be the Styx, and we do not fancy an early journey to the underworld.” he looms over you somehow, face arranged in serene calm, yet eyes betraying a hardness that has you nearly taking a step back.

but when faced with wolves, turning to run is the worst one could do.

your mouth is dry, hands white-knuckling its grip around the handle, as you nod and carefully, with the awareness of deer - retreat to the the cottage.

instead of the empty kitchen with lentil soup simmering over the tripod cauldron with friendly licks of fire underneath the heated metal, you find the audacious prince of the underworld sneaking a sip! 

“zagreus! stop sneaking!” he peeks one eye open, the red one, expression torn between guilt and bliss. but you were never that good in remaining firm, even if firmness was warranted. how do you think the cats that prowled about stayed well-fed and plump? you try your hardest to frown, but the attempt shatters as you pass by him and throw a piece of bread at him from the pile, eyes crinkling at both the easy catch and the delightful crunch of food well-cooked. “if you’re going to sneak my food, at least try the bread with it.”

prince zagreus, scourge of the underworld wretches, snorts out a laugh, as he does what you instruct. while he may have the stubbornness of a bull, you find that he has the tendency to go along with what you say... well, majority of the time. his eyes widen before his features melt in orgasmic bliss that would have lady aphrodite cooing. “ugh, this is delicious. are you sure you aren’t the deity of cooking?”

it’s well-meaning and one that makes you laugh, thwapping him with a clothe. “ha, ha. flatter me all you like, prince zagreus, but you won’t be able to sneak food before the allotted time.”

the god pouts for two reason: “it was worth a try, and what did i say about calling me prince zagreus, it’s just zagreus.” he never did like reminder of his own status - found it to be isolating in ways he did not wish to revisit any longer.

you laugh and place a tray in his hands, loading cups onto it, while you carried a pitcher of water. “alright, just zagreus. come help me give water to our guests.”

“who?”

“just injured travellers that need a place to stay at before continuing on with their journey.” zagreus looks towards the back where you both can hear the boisterous laughter of men before nodding and walking to help give water. 

(it did feel awfully nice to be able to boss someone of zagreus’ personage around)

but he stops just a few steps away from the back door, suddenly enough that you bump into him and spill a bit of water on your chiton, nose mashing against his solid back muscles without remorse. involuntarily, you squeak, “ow! zagreus!----” 

before the ringing cries of weapons being unsheathed has you stiffening and zagreus dropping the tray of cups with a shattering echo that makes you wince. you try edge out from behind him, to peek around his bulk to see what the Hades is going on, but he throws out an arm to keep you behind him - protective. if you were terrified for your life, you would be endeared - but for the moment, you were terrified beyond reproach.

“what matter of god-abomination are you!” one of the men yelled, hefting an expertly-crafted bow in his hands, glinting arrowhead trained on the prince.

the prince growls, eyes glinting dangerously and hands flexing into fists. something battle-hungry swirled in the depths of his being, only stayed by your hands, curled tightly into the back of his chiton. leashed by your own fear. “who are you!?” he demands harshly, moving in such a way that you could tell he was herding you back into the cottage. 

however, you dig your heels in stubbornly, nearly folding yourself against his back. 

“it would bode wise for you to answer our questions, we are not merciful men.” the once-kind tone of aegeus warps into something oily, something that truly makes your skin crawl. a conniving fox who found rest in the hen’s coup and is preparing to consume all of the chickens. you, the fool who opened your doors for the predator. 

the implication of the tone was clear. alone, zagreus would have a chance to fight, but with you there? it would make it far more difficult. zagreus grinds his teeth together, “my name is zagreus, son of persephone and hades.”

you think that it would be the end of that, but suddenly, zagreus sweeps you up in his mighty arms and barrels through the back door - slamming it shut with his back. already you can hear the thud of weapons against the creaking wood and the cacophonous shouts of men hungering for something you didn’t understand. 

perhaps you are screaming, perhaps you are not. but in your tunnel vision, all you can see is prince zagreus holding your face as though it was the most precious thing he’s ever known, “--- listening, are you listening!” you blink before nodding as best as you could in his hands. “i want you to hide underneath the stairs, curl up into a ball and cover your ears. do not come out unless i get you, ok?”

your hands shake and curl around his wrists, “but what about you?! you-- you’re outnumbered and they look-”

he squishes your face until all protest ceases, face smoothing into confidence, “don’t worry about me. i got this, i’ve faced a lot worse. go. go.”

zagreus nudges you to the stairs where you curl up under it, pressing your hands against your ears hard enough to make them ring, as he runs upstairs to retrieve his weapon.

your heartbeat thunders in your chest in unrelenting thuds and you count: one apple, two apples, three apples, four...

by the time you reach eighty-three apples, something taps your back and you shoot up in alarm, bumping your head against the underside of a step. you yelp and zagreus hisses through his teeth, reaching over to rub the place where no doubt a bump was going to form.

through your tears you see him, splattered a bit with blood and... “zagreus! you’re--- you’re bleeding.”

he looks down at his side where an open wound was sluggishly bleeding red (don’t gods bleed gold? do gods bleed at all?), far too nonchalant for your liking, “it... would seem so.”

you crawl from your place and drag him into the only chair chair, ignoring the bodies laying yonder, swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise at the blood that caked his body. “does it hurt?” you look for your bandages, the kitchen remarkably intact despite the fact that the door was beaten down and had sword slashes and arrows sticking out of it. “silly question - it does.”

“not that bad. i’d had worse...”

there’s another pitcher empty nearby, and you fill it with warm water, snagging a clean cloth. tipping the pitcher, you start cleaning the wound, wrinkling your nose and ignoring the way your skin crawled. it was silent, the only sounds being the hisses of stifled pain, the whispers of fabric. you stand up, and grab another cloth and dip it into the pitcher of water before cupping the prince’s chin and wiping away the blood that found its way onto his face. it felt... intimate standing between his open legs, scrutinizing his face for anymore injuries.

you make it up to his neck before you realize just what you were doing. 

what in the gods’ name am i doing?

you clear your throat and take a step back, skin prickling for another reason from the look that the prince gave you, looking to the side. the cloth, stained with red, twists uncertainly between your fingers. “i’m sorry. i... i should’ve known better. i caused you to get hurt.” guilt saturates your tone, enough that zagreus reaches out, hand around your wrist carefully. 

“hey. hey, don’t talk like that. it’s not your fault. you were being kind and they took advantage of that.”

“but i should have been more wary!” you protest, yet allowed yourself to step closer, close enough that zagreus can pull you into a loose hug, shushing you gently. you don’t cry, lost the ability to do so for a long time, but it was close. eventually, the chaos lifts and you pull away, feeling more put-together (you suspect that a breakdown was in order later when zagreus wasn’t around). “... did you get all of them?”

the prince’s countenance darkens, hand curled into a tight fist against his thigh. “no, the leader got away.”

that makes you shiver. aegeus... was more than he seemed, and he appeared to be the type of man to not forgive and forget. but he was gone and that is what mattered. “oh.” you bite your lower lip and look towards the back, “what do we do about the bodies?”

zagreus pats your hand where it rested on the table, “don’t worry, i’ll take care of it.” uncertainly, you nod your head. frazzled by the day’s events. 

“well, i suppose... lunch is in order. go clean yourself up, you stink.” you manage to muster up a smile at the way he pouted and whined, helping him to his feet (although he did playfully make sure you couldn’t tug him up), and nudging him to get cleaned.

as you spooned lentil soup into the bowls, your troubled mind goes to aegeus, before you shake it violently.

it would bode well for you to banish that from your mind, nothing would come from it. after all, no one would dare to cross the gods. 

[eazirel]

Since it’s pride month, I wrote something about my life as an effeminate man in Nigeria.

One thing Africa, to narrow the milieu, Nigeria is good at is upholding customs even though they clearly are backwards, distasteful, not toeing in line with good conscience, nor an aid to the development of its state. One moment it is discerning morality from its laws and the next using it as bases to its laws and still at that, giving mawkish backups as to what they feel morality is. And every passing day, I wonder how it quests to develop when its laws are backdated and the minds of its people thickly benighted.

Some time ago, I read a story of a very young boy who was tortured to death for being effeminate; He was killed for his love for cosmetics and make up. Amongst other things, his story entails the inhumanity of people who are fanatical and undampened towards their belief of things they do not understand.

Growing up, I was taught to be ashamed of being effeminate or associating with effeminate men, to make conscious efforts in being more manly, that being effeminate emasculates a man and it is not acceptable in the African society, as a matter of fact, that it is ungodlike and morally villainous.

People made it a responsibility to call me by the way I walk, ’boy girl, see as he dey waka like woman, you be man so? Which was not a bother in my early childhood, but not until my teenage years when people with unsolicited opinions not only identified me with being effeminate, but also asked my parents why it was so. My mother always had one particular defense, I don’t know how it came about but whenever she said it, it got them speechless and the most of them wrecking with superficial and ungenuine laughter on their faces .

‘He grew up amongst women, he never had much memory with men.’ This is something I heard year in and out. In fact, it became a defense my siblings used too when confronted about me at school and gradually, I began to see my effeminacy as a malnormal.

I made conscious efforts at altering my truest form. I began to walk as though I was to follow two imaginary parallel lines, I made sure I used less of my hands in talking, and I always tried to never get my legs too close to themselves. I dreaded glossing my lips for it might seem to appear too much to those who cared. Basically, I tried to adjust the things people were concerned about the most.

Although it was always a great relief when boys said I was gradually beginning to act like one, this in its totality was a problem. I spent the most of my time thinking and rehearsing how to be more masculine and appealing to people, which was worth far more than good grades to me. In a quest to be more manly, I prayed, fasted and waited on God for yet ungiven reasons.

The first thing I noticed in a man was how manly he was, and how I could trade all I had to at the very least to just walk as he does without having to rehearse how to. Certainly because, it was so depressing how my pairs counted me as female and all everybody did was laugh at it. I felt like a joke, nobody ever saw the problem with that, it never appeared to be derogatory or abusive. It was rather amusing, something that triggered laughter.

While at high school, about a year before my final year, the press club had a task of running school news at the school assembly every Wednesday morning. School news told students of their obligations, and keeps track on the goings on at the school. It also publicized and extoled students who did exceptional things. I had never made the school news so when I got an opportunity to, I worked very hard to getting in for the best. There was an inter class debate which held at the school and I was the first speak of my class. I read wide and made sure I came up with good arguments. I tested my speed, made sure I was articulate enough, and that my grammar was in check. My class emerged winner and I, the best speaker. I was so happy because had won and the principles comment about it was, ‘you have a mind of a reader’, which meant a whole lot, and because I was going to make it to the school news. On the Wednesday morning, the club’s correspondent who read out the school news spoke about the interclass debate which held and mentioned me as a sharer, and as though his audience needed further description of me, he added, “also known as the best male cat walker in the school”. I am an early bird who was always at the fore of the assembly ground and as soon as he said what he said, it became a parade of laughter, and from where I was standing, it was easy to point me out to anybody who never knew me before then. This kept on for weeks until the whole school had its fill.

This worked negatively on my esteem. It felt like the only place I was truly valued was in mind. Just because I was effeminate. I began to question my goals and tried hard to change what truly I wanted to be. I wanted to be a lawyer and a writer-it’s a good thing that I am both now- but for the fear of public opinion, I began to consider a profession that would have me relate with people less. And no sooner than necessary, my effeminacy was associated with weakness and the conventional impairing gender roles ascribed to women. For instance, a girl can come top of her class overly, and by test of I.Q, be much more probable to become successful in life, but not until she controverts the code, the Nigerian civilization will stand by its view on gender inequality. And this is almost so for effeminate men. In Nigerian thinking, effeminate men can only love girly things, “they can’t love football, they are natural born domestics, they are as good as women in colors, they make good event planners and make-up artist, they don’t seem to make good lawyers nor engineers, they aren’t sound enough to be politicians” and it goes on and on.

I wasn’t taken as a complete man, neither was I as a woman, it was as though I had a different category, ‘a man, but not a real one.’ And for this aggravated may quest to lock myself out to avoid defamatory confrontations from people.

People are fast at pinpointing flaws or what they think is, for the same reasons they see your worst side as the real you. There is always a comparison of whose sin is greater; looking down on other people, seeking to feel better about themselves, and at its peak, for the thought that their opinions matter in every circumstance, down to other people’s personal decisions.

Effeminate people suffer a great deal in Nigeria; ranging from Social and emotional violence, to abuse by security officers. i.e. the defunct anti-robbery squad (SARS). Before October 20th, 2020, an unforgettable day of the massacre of innocent and promising people of Nigeria at Lekki toll gate Lagos, Nigeria, just because they wanted to be heard, BBC Nigeria reported stories from effeminate Nigerian men who were detained and battered for being human. There was also another account of a man who lost his brother to the same governmental agency for being effeminate, and nobody notices this inhumanity.

A single paper cannot do justice to all the inhumanity effeminate men endure in Nigeria and I may not know enough about being effeminate, and probably never will. But one certain thing is, effeminacy is not a decision. It is not something one wakes up to make every morning. I mean, at this stage of my life, I love myself but for the sole fact that we are social beings, I would have changed every morning and maybe have my real self as an alter ego. And neither does effeminacy come from un-association with men or over-relationship with women. men are born men; masculine or effeminate. Effeminate men have the exact capabilities as other humans with same tendencies to succeed. Effeminate men are all shades of beauty, you just need a little bit of soul to see it.

©Johnson Israel2021.

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 214: Worlds Collide, Pt 3

Summer was growing exhausted, as she kept nullifying Mephisto's fireballs by putting them in her bubbles and extinguishing them, while her siblings fought off his heavily armed gang.

"We have to make sure they don't destroy the museum. We can't let all this history be destroyed," Eva feared.

"Yeah...we need to draw them out of here for sure," Emma agreed, as she blasted more of them back.

"He's definitely given these guys an upgrade in fighting skills and power," Leo said, as he breathed heavily, following a fist fight with one of the thugs.

"All right kid, you're our resident powerhouse. What do you suggest?" Emma asked her baby brother.

"An earthquake is the last thing we want in the museum, Emmy," he argued, but then smirked.

"But I think I have a new trick up my sleeve that I've been working on with Mr. Gold," he said. Rumple nodded.

"Now would be the time, lad," Rumple said, as three more of the thugs dropped dead, thanks to the Dark One snapping their necks.

"So much for not killing," Eva said uncomfortably.

"They're thugs...he just saved a ton of lives by killing them. They would have gone on to kill innocent people," Leo reasoned.

"He's right," Regina agreed, as several more dropped, thanks to her. It was drastic, but the stakes were too high. They were already going to be blamed for all the property damage and being the cause of it. But if they had civilian casualties, it would be far worse.

"I won't be surprised if the Major loses the battle with her government and we have them threatening to have the National Guard invade the United Realms," Regina said.

"Mom and Dad will wall us off before they let that happen," Leo assured. She sighed, hoping he was right. Snow and Charming were notoriously forgiving, but after the experience with their darker halves, she hoped they had learned that there were times that the tough decisions had to be made.

"You really think you can take me on, brat?" Mephisto questioned, as the fire in his palms gave the entire room a glow and yet Bobby didn't back away from the intimidating display.

"Considering I can do that too...yeah I think I do," Bobby retorted, as fire came alive in his hands. By now, most of the innocent bystanders had been evacuated, but there were still a few reporters and camera people that were braving the spectacle in order to get in on video.

"And I can do way more than that...like this," Bobby said, as he grabbed Mephisto's wrists.

"I may be able to wield all the elements, but I still specialize in earth powers," he said, as they disappeared with a jade green puff of smoke.

"Look!" Leo called, as they saw something burrowing beneath them through the ground and followed it outside the museum. There was another puff of jade green smoke, as the two emerged from the ground and Bobby tossed Mephisto onto a parked car.

"Ooohhh…I hope they have insurance," Emma commented. Mephisto was seething, as he pulled himself off the wrecked car.

"If you think for a second that this is over, brat...you have another thing coming," Mephisto growled, as disappeared in a fiery display of flames. His four older siblings descended upon him at that point, patting him on the back and ruffling his hair.

"That was awesome!" Leo exclaimed.

"Yeah...he was pissed. Good work, kid," Emma congratulated him. Bobby looked down a bit shyly.

"Thanks," he said.

"Come on...we need to find Mom, Dad, and Grandpa Xander," Eva said. They all agreed and with the rest of their family, they ventured back inside the museum to try and discern where they could have gone.

~*~

Snow and David chased them through the Museum, but when they followed them into the Ancient Egypt exhibit, they found the room empty.

"We lost them," Xander hissed.

"No...there's no way out of this room other than the way we came in," Snow realized.

"She's right," he said, as they willed the chalice forth in its joined form and used it to scan the room for any residual magic or portals. There was an ethereal glow on the replica of the Giza pyramid and they exchanged a glance.

"That's why no one can ever find them. They're using this exhibit to portal somewhere else," David said.

"But this land has no magic without the two of you in the vicinity," Xander said.

"No...but would creating a portal with some of Clayton's technology be impossible?" Snow asked and he sighed.

"No...that's very possible," he agreed, as the chalice glowed and the magic opened up the portal from the residual trail left by whatever technology they had used to slip away.

"We have no idea what we're walking into," Xander warned.

"No...we don't. But we don't have a choice. We have to stop them and it looks like we're the only ones that can," David said, as he looked at Snow.

"The kids will find us too…" she assured them. They nodded and walked through the portal.

~*~

"Wow...this is a really old book," Tink mentioned.

"It is and it was really hard to find. That's why I think it might be important," Rose replied.

"But I thought you were able to catalog everything in the library?" Neal asked.

"I was...that's why this one is so unique. This book is not in my catalog," she replied.

"The plot thickens," Tink said, as she flipped through it.

"Because new books literally appear all the time, that's happened from time to time, but I just have a feeling that this one had help appearing," Rose replied.

"You think it was being hidden, my angel?" Fandral asked.

"It's possible. I don't know who is suddenly helping us or maybe it's because Blue has committed the ultimate crime," Tink replied.

"The murder of another fairy," she said.

"Not to mention a human, even a deplorable one," Fandral added.

"Who did Blue answer to as Head Fairy?" Neal asked.

"Zeus himself," Tink replied, as he took the book.

"And who do you answer to now that you're Head Fairy and Zeus is dead?" he asked.

"Well…I've had no formal meeting with any other Gods, except Aphrodite. I suppose it would be Athena, but she has yet to formally meet with me," Tink replied.

"And if Zeus, for some reason, forbade Athena from interfering, she might use other means to get the information to us," Rose deduced.

"It's entirely possible," Tink agreed.

"Did Blue ever answer to Hera?" Neal asked.

"No…Hera would have never had any authority over the fairies. She may have been Zeus' wife, but they hated each other. He didn't trust her," Tink replied.

"That was probably wise...look at this," he said, as he showed them an image on the page.

"That's Blue...and Hera," Tink said.

"Standing over the unconscious body of Aphrodite," Rose added in alarm.

"Can you translate this?" Fandral asked. Tink nodded and used her wand to translate the book from Greek to English.

"We best start at the beginning," Rose said, as she took the book and began to read.

~*~

Flashback

The young blonde girl cried, as she looked out over the ocean, tears glistening in her eyes, as the sea foam bubbled to the surface of the crystal blue water.

"It's time, my precious one," Zeus called, as he stood behind her.

"Why Daddy?" she asked.

"Mother has been gone but a few weeks and you are getting married again!" Aphrodite shouted.

"You know it's not my choice, young one," he admonished.

"I am the God of the skies. I must have a Queen...it is one rule I cannot break," he said, as she stood up.

"And it is time for you to learn of your duties. You are the Goddess of love and beauty, daughter of Dione and you will fulfill her vision of championing true love," he announced, as an item appeared in his hand.

"Mother's chalice," she said in awe.

"Your chalice now...its magnificence and power is now yours," he corrected.

"What do I know about true love?" she asked bitterly. He smirked.

"You will, my sweet girl," he assured, as he kissed her forehead.

"Hera will not like that she does not get mother's chalice," Aphrodite said wearily.

"She has no claim to it. You are our pride and joy and she wouldn't want anyone but you to have it," he replied.

"It's a big responsibility…" she said with trepidation.

"One that your mother knew you would excel at. After all, who better than to choose the truest loves each millennium among the mortals than a product of true love herself," he said. Aphrodite smiled and hugged him.

"I miss her, Daddy," she said.

"Me too, sweet girl," he replied. They were both unaware of Hera's blistering gaze upon them from the shadows.

~*~

"Are you sure they're okay?" George questioned, as he looked at the pair. The moment James had given Aphrodite true love's kiss, the curse on them shattered, but as a side effect of the complete unlocking on Aphrodite's memories, they collapsed into unconsciousness. Neither Zeus or Dione seemed alarmed though and Nyx had magicked a bed to lay them upon.

"They are fine...this is part of it. They will only awaken when they have relieved their entire past," Zeus assured.

"What kind of curse is this? And who cursed them?" George asked.

"You will know that soon...but not before them," Dione replied and they went back to waiting for them to awaken.

~*~

"These are exquisite," the man said, as he examined the artifacts.

"These are genuine Olmec Terracotta's...they're priceless," the woman next to him added, as she looked them over as well.

"Everything has a price...getting these wasn't easy," Natalie commented.

"Yes...they are nearly untouched, despite their age. How did you find these?" the woman asked.

"I'm not an archeologist that plays by the rules, so to speak. But I know what I'm doing and able to excavate certain sites that have forbidden said excavation," Natalie replied.

"Clayton always did hire the best. It seems you have surrounded yourself with the same skillful people that your father did," she commented, looking to Johnny. He smirked.

"I was groomed from birth to step into his shoes," he agreed.

"And I do manage to find the best, however, our previous translator passed and we need a new one for this," Johnny mentioned.

"Oh a quipu...is this the one you've been hoping for?" she asked.

"We'll see," Natalie replied vaguely.

"Well…I may know of someone that can translate this for you. But I expect you to give me a deal on these beauties," she said.

"Then I assume you and Dr. La Guerra are interested in the jade as well?" Johnny asked.

"Normally, I would pass on the jade, but the condition this is in is rare," the doctor replied.

"Then you had better be prepared to pay a pretty penny," a new voice said, as Natalie turned.

"Mother…" she said in a warning tone.

"You'll let these real treasures slip through your fingers on the off chance that another silly quipu will lead you to a grander one that might not even exist," Thalia argued.

"I can't believe you discount the existence of Cibola or El Dorado when I was born in freaking Atlantis," Natalie argued back.

"Clayton was hundreds of years old and knew some of the best explorers. He even knew her ancestor, one of the greatest and most ruthless conquistadors in history," Thalia argued, gesturing to the woman.

"And he still never found it," she finished.

"It's real mother...and I'm going to find it," Natalie snapped back. Thalia sighed.

"You and finding things," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" Natalie asked, but her question was interrupted when Snow, David, and Xander appeared in the secret meeting place.

"Well, well...you found your way here, after all," Johnny said, as he tapped his glass.

"Ladies and Gentlemen...the illustrious Snow White and Prince Charming themselves, in the flesh, along with the chalice of Aphrodite!" he announced, instantly drawing the entire room's attention to them.

"My father's murderers!" he continued, with a hiss.

"We didn't murder him. His own arrogance destroyed him," David snapped back.

"Your chalice...it was all I ever heard about growing up, you know. Father was always a bit miffed that he knew about such an object, but it was the one thing he couldn't collect. Thus why he decided to collect the pair of you," Johnny retorted, as he looked to Xander.

"You remember the stories. I still remember those nights here and there where father was too busy to deal with me and the nannies were at their wits end. But you would get me calmed down and put to bed," he recalled, with a bit of fondness.

"All while you knew you abandoned your own son and your granddaughter that was out there in some group home," he added with a vicious smile.

"Shut up, you little prick," Xander hissed, which only amused the sadistic son of the Collector.

"And you," he said, with reverence, as he looked at Snow.

"Father always was enamored with you the most, because of your resemblance to the Goddess. She was his original obsession," he revealed, surprising them both.

"Oh, didn't know that, did you?" he said.

"I suppose you wouldn't, since the Goddess has had her memories scrambled more times than even you two," he retorted.

"Yes...he almost had it all. He made you crush his heart to cast a curse and he would have had the chalice. And you...but then you know that part. It still haunts you," he leered.

"Shut the hell up," David growled, as he pulled Snow even closer to him.

"And you...the hero Prince Charming. He wanted to be you, in a way, just without all the selfless heroics. The people's Prince...the husband of the fairest of them all. The truest loves. I came to loathe your story," he said bitterly.

"It's not our problem that your narcissistic father didn't hug you enough. Trust us...we never wanted his kind of attention," David retorted.

"Oh, but you got it...every bit of it," Johnny replied.

"We're here to retrieve the stolen items that you took," Snow said, as she looked at Natalie.

"Including the quipu. It's not yours," she added.

"Oh and I suppose you're going to take it from me, Princess?" Natalie challenged.

"Don't tempt her. That's not a fight you'll win," David challenged, as blue eyes met blue eyes.

"I think I can handle more than you know," she challenged back.

"Thinking you have any advantage here would be unwise," the older blonde woman next to Natalie said.

"Who the hell are you?" David asked. She smirked and looked at Xander.

"He is definitely yours," she replied.

"Long time no see...Xander," she purred.

"Thalia," he said stiffly.

"You know her?" David asked.

"Oh he knows me...quite well, in fact," she replied. Snow's eyes narrowed and she looked at her father-in-law.

"How well?" she asked, watching him swallow nervously.

"It only happened a couple of times," he assured.

"Oh my God…" David exclaimed in outrage.

"David...your mother had been gone a long time and I was struggling," he tried to explain.

"Yes...he was. The alcohol...the guilt with you laying in a hospital bed and his granddaughter in an unhappy group home," Thalia revealed.

"Stop it," Xander growled.

"Yes...to be fair, you wanted to reunite your family then, but Clayton convinced you that it would be a mistake," Thalia said.

"I've made a lot of mistakes and I wasn't always a good man. My son knows my shortcomings," Xander insisted.

"Apparently not with the way he's looking at you right now," Thalia said.

"Oh and I suppose your daughter knows everything about you?" he challenged. She frowned.

"Not everything…" Snow interjected and the older blonde glared at her.

"Stay out of this, princess. It's none of your business," she retorted.

"David is my business and I have a feeling there's something that she doesn't know about you," Snow challenged.

"Snow?" David asked, as he watched her look at his father. He sighed. He had known Snow long enough to know that she wouldn't let this go until she had answers for her husband.

"Is she mine?" he asked and Natalie looked alarmed by that question.

"What? Mother?" she asked.

"We're not doing this…" Thalia hissed, as the three of them cried out and a shield appeared around them.

"Ray shields...I think you'll find them quite impervious to your magical chalice," Thalia said, as they tried to use it to nullify the shield, but it didn't work.

"The auction is over for tonight!" she called, as they could only watch, as most of the people dispersed through portals that seemed to be catacombed within the strange chamber.

"Where is this place?" Snow wondered.

"We're hundreds of feet underground. Trust me, no one is going to find you," Natalie refuted.

"Underground?" David asked, as he and Snow shared an amused glance.

"You're going to eat those words," Snow said.

"What about our deal?" doctor La Guerra interjected, as there was suddenly a rumble beneath them and a huge plume of jade green smoke, as Bobby burrowed to the surface with his siblings and Regina, while the others waited on standby on the surface.

"That was the weirdest thing ever, but really cool," Leo said.

"There is a ton of dirt in my hair," Regina complained, as she started trying to brush it out.

"At least your hair is dark enough not to show it," Emma grumbled.

"Mom! Dad!" Eva called, as she ran to them.

"Careful honey...we don't know what this shield is, but the chalice couldn't break through," Snow warned. Regina waved her hand over it.

"It's not any magic I know," she said.

"Maybe it's not magic at all," Leo said, as Eva spotted a control panel on the wall.

"Not one step, princess," Thalia warned, but was shocked when Leo used a lightning bolt to fry the control panel, destroying the shield.

"Let's go…" Johnny growled, as he grabbed Natalie's hand. She spared another glance at them, as Johnny escaped with her and Thalia. The doctor and his companion weren't so lucky.

"Freeze!" David warned, as he pulled his gun on the mysterious pair and they were forced to put their hands up. Emma waved her hand and cuffs appeared on their wrists. David holstered his gun and they used the chalice to create a portal back to the surface.

"No idea who you two are...but you're gonna tell us," he said, as they gathered the stolen artifacts, except the quipu, and filed through the portal.

~*~

Flashback

Hera stormed into her Temple and huffed, as she sat down in her Throne.

"For someone that just got married to the All Mighty Zeus...you don't seem very happy," Blue mentioned, as she emerged from the shadows.

Zeus had created the fairies to be messengers between the Gods and mortals. For some reason, the mortals saw fairies as a symbol of good and did not fear them like they did the Gods. Mortals had their reasons to fear the Gods though, since the past was filled with bloodshed between the monarchs of Mount Olympus and humans.

Reul Ghorm had been chosen by him as head of the fairies, but as it often did, power slowly began to corrupt Blue and just as bitterness had set in for Hera, it had for Blue as well.

Blue wanted more power and control over mortals, but Zeus had long forbade it. She had even tried to endear herself to Dione in hopes of having a hand in choosing the truest loves. It was a vision that Dione had and never realized. She planned to select two mortals, who represented the epitome of true love, to bestow the power of her magical chalice to.

The chalice was forged by Dione's mother, Gaia herself, from the essence of the earth she loved so much and all its elements. She gifted it to Dione and she wanted to do good for mortals with it. But the recent Titanomachy had given Hera the perfect opportunity to eliminate the woman that had the Throne she wanted. Dione had been mortally wounded, but it was not what it appeared to be. Hera had colluded with the Titans to topple Zeus and Dione, promising them positions of power if she was crowned Queen if they killed Dione and her precious daughter. Naturally, she betrayed them all and they were cast into Tartarus with her secret remaining unknown. The end result was that Dione was dead and she was Queen now. However, their offspring lived and the coveted chalice now belonged to Aphrodite.

"He gave the chalice to his daughter!" she hissed.

"Then perhaps we need to arrange an accident for the little blonde bimbo," Blue suggested.

"You know that's impossible. The war with the Titans distracted Athena enough that she could not see our deception, but now it will not be so easy," Hera reminded her.

"True and if Zeus loses the apple of his eye...well, there will be no Earth to rule. He would smite us all and the mortals just in sheer blind rage," Blue agreed.

"Yes...and even as Queen, I am still overshadowed by Dione's precious little flower," Hera complained. Blue smirked.

"If we can't kill her...then we can certainly manipulate her," she suggested. Hera's interest perked at that.

"What do you have in mind?" Hera asked.

"I will befriend the empty headed beauty and help her choose her champions," Blue replied. Hera smirked.

"Champions that we select...champions that ultimately could lead to our control of the chalice," she deduced. Blue nodded.

"Precisely," she said and Hera tilted her head.

"You already have a pair of mortals in mind, don't you?" she asked. Blue smirked.

"Yes...and they will serve us well. The man I have in mind will do anything for power. Faking true love with some woman will fool the little twit and when she gifts them her chalice...it's as good as ours," Blue replied.

"Then this is our plan. Proceed...and do not fail me, Blue," Hera said.

"Never, my Goddess. Zeus may think my loyalty is to him, but we know that you are my Queen," Blue said, as she became small in her fairy form with a Blue glow and descended back to earth.

~*~

"Wow…" Tink said, as Rose finished reading the beginning passages.

"So Blue has really been loyal to Hera all along and was working for her," Fandal said.

"That's heavy...but something tells me more happened later between them. I mean, this explains why Hera hates Aphrodite, but this implies that Blue was only doing Hera's bidding at first," Neal said.

"He's right...somewhere it became personal for Blue too," Rose said, as she closed the book.

"I'll read more when we get home and then we can discuss more tomorrow," she said. Tink smiled and used her magic on the book, duplicating it.

"Now we can both read...because I have to know more. Then I think we can finally bring her down," Tink said. Rose nodded and smiled at her.

"Guess we're doing more reading when we get home instead of other stuff," Neal muttered. The blonde smirked.

"Behave and you might get more than reading," she teased, as they joined hands and left the diner.

"I'll round up the children," Fandral said, as he kissed her cheek and went to get them from the table where they were playing a game.

"Mom...what if the Blue Fairy realizes you're reading her story and she tries to stop you?" Carina asked worriedly.

"I won't lie to you, sweetie...she very well may try. But your Papa will never let anything happen to me," Rose promised.

"Your mother is right," Fandral agreed, as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"The Blue Fairy may have magic, but this Asgardian warrior will not let her silence more people," he promised, as they left the diner to head home for the evening.

~*~

"Dammit...you two were careless! And now we lost a fortune worth of jade and rare terracotta's!" Thalia roared.

"Relax...the quipu is what we really wanted, especially if it is the one my father sought. The key to Cibola or El Dorado. They have enough treasure to command power over the entire world," Johnny replied.

"Or it's just another ancient series of knots and strings full of riddles! Taunting the truest loves was a horrible misstep!" she cried.

"They already knew exactly who we were!" Johnny snapped.

"That woman...the Major has them chasing us like her own personal team of fairy tale agents," he added irritably.

"Pack up...we're leaving. Back to the Athens base," Thalia ordered.

"Oh no...we're not doing that. It's time for offensive measures," Johnny refuted.

"Johnny...that's not a good idea," Thalia argued.

"I'm in charge of this operation!" Johnny snapped.

"I am my father's heir!" he added.

"Besides...the cowardly doctor will talk. I have no illusions that Prince Charming and his brats will interrogate the truth right out of him," he said. Thalia sighed.

"Then you better work on getting that thing translated and hope that it's what we need," she said.

"Not until you tell me what you're hiding," Natalie interjected.

"Natalie…" she started to deflect, but her daughter cut her off.

"Were you and Xander...involved?" she asked.

"Of course they were," Johnny answered for her.

"Stay out of this, Junior," Thalia snapped.

"Mother…" Natalie pressed and she sighed.

"It only happened a couple of times," Thalia insisted, stunning her to silence. She was almost afraid to ask her next question, because somehow she knew the answer.

"Is…is Xander my father?" she asked. Thalia turned away in frustration.

"Mother...is he my father!?" she shouted and her silence spoke volumes.

"Wow...that I didn't know, but I guess it makes sense," he said.

"You knew they were together at one time?" Natalie asked in an accusatory tone, but he shrugged.

"We were never together…" Thalia refuted.

"I remember seeing them together here and there as a child. When my father wasn't pulling him out of the bottle...your mum was. Honestly, I never really put it together, but it makes sense," Johnny said, as he started to laugh then.

"Father must certainly be laughing now...you're a Charming!" he exclaimed to her.

"Well...half Charming," he teased.

"Shut up!" Natalie hissed.

"Mother…" she growled.

"It's true...Xander is your father," Thalia revealed.

"You said that my father died…" Natalie hissed.

"I lied...and it was for the best! Xander was gone most of the time, on missions for Clayton and when he was around, he was drinking and wallowing about the children he had already abandoned. He would have abandoned you too," Thalia said.

"That wasn't your choice!" Natalie hissed.

"Xander is a traitor...and our plan remains unchanged," Johnny said, as he loaded his gun with a clip.

"We cannot count on Malina's source to translate the quipu...but I've located a back up. Let's go…" he said, as Natalie glared at her mother and had a moment of pause.

"Natalie...are you coming?" he asked. She looked at him and then nodded.

"Yes," she replied. The revelation that Xander was her father and she had this huge family out there was jarring. But she didn't know them and they certainly wouldn't want someone like her. No...this didn't change anything.

~*~

After returning to the surface, they escorted the two mysterious captives back to the Boston FBI headquarters for interrogation. Agent Green and Agent Brooks insisted on taking the first crack at their interrogation. Some of the other agents began processing the recovered artifacts, while David observed the interrogation from the glass, along with the Major. It was late, so he insisted that everyone go back to the hotel to get some sleep, but he wasn't surprised when Snow came in and put her arms around him. She could see the questions in his mind and knew his father was probably waiting in the conference room for him. But he didn't want to think about any of it right now, because he knew he knew lashing out in anger wouldn't get them anywhere. He wanted answers, but knew he wouldn't like hearing any of them. So for now, he was focused on the two potential investors in the next room. Snow managed to get a bit of his frustration to ebb away, but it was growing since the two agents weren't getting anywhere.

"How much more time are we going to let these two waste?" he asked impatiently.

"The lab is running their prints. If we get a hit, then I'll let you go at them both. But I'd rather you go in there with something, because they're not giving an inch," the Major replied.

"It's going to be okay," Snow whispered to him, as she kissed him gently. He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers.

"You figured it out before me…" he said.

"The bitterness rolled off that woman in waves and when I saw that it was directed at your father...it wasn't much of a leap after that," she replied, as the Major came back into the room with a file and Xander followed her in.

"We got two hits…" Patricia said, as she put the file down on the table in front of them.

"Did we even need to?" David asked, as he looked at his father.

"Do you know them too?" he demanded to know.

"Yes...I know of them. I only met them a handful of times," Xander said. David gripped the metal table, his knuckles turning white and probably the only thing that kept him from raging at that moment was Snow's hand on his arm.

"The man is Dr. Hector La Guerra. He technically had his medical license revoked in 1945 and he fled his homeland of France for the United States," Patricia said.

"Funny...he doesn't look that old," David commented.

"None of these people are what they seem. He was born in 1918 and worked for the Nazis during World War II," she continued.

"Oh wonderful...a real life Nazi," Snow said.

"He lost his license for human experimentation and specializes in working with disease and poisons," Patricia continued.

"Clayton recruited him after the war and brought him to Atlantis. He introduced the doctor to all the magical plants, herbs and substances he had in his collection. It was Dr. La Guerra that created the youth potions. He was able to synthesize the water from the fountain of youth with his own mixture of magical herbs and created a way to utilize the water without tying the user to Atlantis," Xander explained.

"Boy, the good news just keeps coming," David deadpanned.

"We never saw him in Atlantis...but I spent a lot of time in the infirmary with Eva during that time. There were many rooms sealed off to us and I can still remember the screaming of people coming from some of those rooms," Snow recalled, as she got a haunted look on her face. Xander nodded.

"That would be him. There is other things I could tell you about what he does to people, but it's too horrific and I'm not going to do that," he added, as they looked at him.

"I'll tell you everything you need to know, but I will not tell you the specifics of what he does to people, even children, inside those rooms. You won't be able to handle it," Xander said firmly. Snow shuddered and David let that lay, as he turned his head back to the window.

"Enough about the sick bastard...what about her?" he asked.

"She is Malina Pizarro, born in Spain and if you know anything about the history of the Conquistadors, yes, she is of that Pizarro bloodline. The conqueror of the Incas was her ancestor and she has continued her quest to pillage and destroy indigenous cultures all over the globe," Patricia replied.

"Born in 1936 to her powerful and wealthy parents in Barcelona, she followed in her family's footsteps and led many expeditions that resulted in the destruction of ancient sites, their history, and complete pillaging of their cultures," Patricia added.

"How are evil pieces of crap like this not in prison already?" David hissed in frustration.

"You know why, David...that's the reason you and your family are here," Patricia reminded him. He turned back to the window in frustration and then stood up straight.

"They're not getting anywhere...I'm going in," he said, as he walked out of the room. He drew his sword and barged into the interrogation room.

"Excuse me...we're in the middle of an interrogation," Agent Green argued.

"And for normal perps, your methods might work...but not for this evil scum. Get out," he ordered. Agent Green huffed, but when Patricia entered the room and motioned them out, they reluctantly obeyed her order.

"Uh oh Malina...Prince Charming is here to intimidate us," the doctor goaded and she smirked back at him. David responded by kicking his chair out from beneath him. The man cried out, as he fell to the floor, but not before he hit his chin on the table on the way down, causing him excruciating pain. Blood leaked from his mouth from busted teeth and he glared up at the Prince.

"You ignorant brute…" the doctor hissed.

"You're going to tell me where Junior is off to or you're not going to live to see another day," David warned. The doctor chuckled.

"Right to the death threats…" he laughed.

"Believe it or not, your Highness, you don't scare me. I've done things that would make you double over and retch where you stand," he warned.

"So I've heard," David retorted.

"Oh no...you haven't heard the details, because you're still standing," as he turned his attention to the window. It was one way glass, but somehow he must have known she was there.

"I remember seeing your lovely, fair wife in Atlantis...your children too. None of you ever saw me, as Clayton forbade me contact with you, for he knew I wouldn't be able to help myself," he goaded.

"Specimens like them...now that would have been a glorious experiment. Magical blood...I begged him to let me at her, but alas, it didn't happen. I imagined her tortured screams though and watching her red blood slide down her white, delicate skin…" he said, as he licked his lips. David lost it at that moment and picked him up, before slamming him against the wall.

"Last chance to keep breathing. One more word about my wife or children and it's over for you," he warned.

"If you want information...then we want a deal," Malina said calmly.

"Not happening...the only deal you're getting is life in prison and not a needle in your arm. Your list of crimes is extensive," Patricia replied. She smirked.

"Then do your worst, Major Donovan. My family is powerful...I won't spend one day in your jail," she said confidently. But it was Patricia's turn to smirk.

"Oh, it won't be an American prison if you don't cooperate," she revealed.

"Your crimes in other countries have them clamoring to prosecute you. I just put out the word that I have you in custody, thanks to my newest and very special agent," she said, referring to David. She frowned.

"The American prison is at least humane. You'll get meals and a bed and even a few privileges. But the other countries prisons won't be so nice, but not even those are the ones you have to worry about, because if I turn you over to the people that your family has destroyed for centuries...your life is done and your death will not be swift," she threatened.

"You can't do that...your court system does not work that way," she countered.

"It does in this case...do you really want to test me or him?" Patricia said.

"Fine...those in the states that can still translate a quipu are all at Universities, which would be too risky now. So Junior is likely going to Peru. That's about the only place where you're going to anyone that can still read them and even then that's going to be difficult. It's a dead language, as are the Inca people. But I know of one family near Cusco...and so does he. That's where he'll go," Malina revealed.

"And this family? Will they tell him willingly?" David asked. She smirked.

"Definitely not...his father helped the Conquistadors destroy their ancestors, as well as countless other cultures. But like his father...Johnny will get what he wants, one way or another," she replied smugly.

"It's too bad...I'd love to participate in the coming torture," the doctor said.

"Reminding me that you're still breathing isn't wise," David snapped at him, as he walked out.

"We're leaving aboard the Jolly Roger in the morning and those two are going to lead us to them," he said to Patricia. She nodded.

"I'll have them put down in a holding cell until then. Agent Green and Agent Brooks, you and your team will be responsible for transporting these two to the Harbor and joining us. We're going to Peru, O six hundred," she ordered, as she saw David pull Snow into his arms and kiss her. Some of his stress melted away at her kiss and her touch, at least in those quiet seconds.

"David…" Xander interrupted.

"You tucked Clayton's son in at night while your granddaughter was alone in a group home!" he roared.

"It wasn't like that," Xander insisted.

"He was a neglected child that grew into the shadow his father left behind," he added.

"You worked with these people!" David shouted.

"You ate with them! Talked to them! Hell...you even slept with some of them!" he ranted.

"And I hated all of them! And mostly myself most of the time, but Clayton was very convincing! You have to believe me! I wanted nothing more than to get Emma from that group home and bring her to you! But he told me it would be a disaster!" Xander insisted.

"He lied," David growled.

"Yes...and I realized it far too late. I helped him destroy people, because he promised me that in the end, it would lead me back to you and my family," Xander replied. David snorted.

"Well...he was right. Too bad it took you almost thirty years to get to us when you knew exactly where we were," he said, as he took Snow's hand and started to walk away.

"David please...you have to forgive me," Xander pleaded. He stopped and turned to him partially.

"No…I don't and I'm not sure I can," he said.

"David…" he begged, with tears in his eyes.

"How many times?" David asked.

"What?" Xander asked.

"How many times did you stand over my comatose body in that hospital!?" he roared. Xander swallowed thickly.

"Too many," he answered and David shook his head.

"You could have brought Emma to me...hell, you could have brought Snow to me too and you didn't! You were too busy working for that psychopath and sleeping with his operatives," David hissed, as he turned away again and Snow cast a glance behind her, as they walked away from him. She was torn, for the last thing she wanted was for her husband's relationship with his father to implode. But her loyalty was to David first and he had every right to be angry.

~*~

Flashback

The village burned with roaring fire, making it certain that it would be wiped off the map when the flames died. A tall man of Greek descent emerged from the fire and approached his team.

"Did you get it?" he asked, as one of his excavators unwrapped the cloth and presented the jeweled necklace to him. He examined it, but his hope faded and he tossed it back at the worker.

"This is fake!" he cried.

"I'm...I'm sorry sir...the chief finally revealed its location after hours of interrogation. This is said to be the necklace of Harmonia," he replied.

"It's a fake replica! Costume jewelry!" he ranted, as he tossed it into the fire.

"I need that necklace! It can give me eternal youth and find the treasure I seek," he growled.

"The necklace of Harmonia is with Zeus...you'll never obtain it," a voice said, as there was a blue flash and a woman appeared before him.

"A fairy…" he said with intrigue.

"Yes...and you are the man known as the Collector," she replied.

"Sirius Clayton…" he introduced himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must continue my quest for another source of eternal youth if I am to make sure I live long enough to find Atlantis," he said.

"I can help you do that...and more. I can make your entire bloodline for centuries to come...legendary," she offered. He stopped and turned back to her.

"I am not a good man and you are a fairy. Why would you do that?" he questioned.

"Because I want power...just like you and I need a mortal to get that power," she revealed.

"But don't worry...you'll have the ultimate power too," she said.

"Tell me more…" he inquired.

"There is a chalice, created by Gaia herself and gifted to her favorite daughter, Dione. In turn, Dione has gifted to her precious one, Aphrodite," Blue explained.

"Goddess of love, beauty, and desire," he recalled.

"That's the one...the apple of Zeus' eye and instead of giving the chalice to his new wife, Hera, he has given it to his naive, virginal daughter that still thinks that true love is real," Blue said.

"Fascinating...and where do I come in?" he asked.

"Before Dione died, she intended to gift the chalice to a true love pair that she deemed worthy of it to champions of love and heroes to mortals. But she never discovered a pair that she deemed worthy enough," Blue explained.

"Her daughter is determined to keep those standards, but she is wildly more naive than her wise mother," she continued. He smirked.

"You want me to find some woman and convince your naive Goddess that we are the pair she should gift her chalice too," he deduced.

"You are sharp...but it can't be just any woman. It has to be someone convincing and able to pull off the act," she replied. He smirked.

"I think I know of someone," he said.

"But what kind of power are we talking about?" he questioned.

"Unlimited power and eternal youth," she promised. He smirked.

"Where do we start?" he asked.

~*~

Xander sat at the hotel bar and hadn't even bothered to go to his room that night. It was almost two in the morning and they would be kicking him out soon. A glass of scotch sat before him and his stare burrowed into the amber glass of liquid, as a blonde climbed onto the seat next to him.

"Please tell me you haven't touched that, Gramps," Emma said.

"Don't worry...I'm just looking at the thing that kept me from my family for so long," Xander replied.

"You know, I don't blame you, right?" Emma asked. He snorted.

"Your father does...maybe you should. I could have spared you years of unhappiness, Emma. When the Swans sent you back...I should have told Clayton to go to hell and took you straight to your father," he replied.

"You know Clayton would have stopped you or tried to. He might have killed you," Emma surmised.

"And you know Dad...he'll come around. He's almost as forgiving as Mom," she reminded him.

"I don't know, Em...I've never seen him this angry," Xander replied.

"Mom will bring him around...she always does. Just give him time," Emma assured him.

"I hope you're right…" Xander replied.

"Go up to your room and get a little sleep. We're leaving early," she suggested.

"I'm not sure David wants me there," Xander said.

"Yes he does...and you know Clayton's operation better than anyone. Not to mention that you now have a daughter out there that's on the wrong side. You can either stay here and wallow in self pity," Emma said, as he looked at her.

"Or you can fight for your relationship with my Dad and maybe even one with your daughter," she said.

"Her mother has poisoned her against us," Xander replied.

"And we thought George and later Clayton did the same thing to James and now I call him Uncle James," Emma reminded him, as she pushed the glass toward the bartender.

"He won't be needing this," she said, as she threw some money down for it. Xander sighed and followed her to the elevator.

"We always tell you how much like your father you are, but you are every bit your mother's daughter too," he mentioned fondly. Emma smiled.

"I know...I've seen the hope thing work for her time and again, so I took a page from her book on this one. Dad will come around," she assured, as they got in the elevator.

~*~

Snow awoke in the middle of the night, noticing that the warmth of David's body was gone. She got up and padded out to the outside balcony of their hotel suite in her long, white silk nightgown. She found him there, staring off into space and slipped her arms around his waist, before resting her head against his naked back.

"Oh baby…" she murmured, as her heart ached for him.

"I just got used to having a brother...and now a sister…" he muttered.

"A sister that was raised in Clayton's world," he said.

"Not all the people in his network are killers," she offered, as he took her in his arms and kissed her hair.

"I hope...I mean, the stealing I can get passed," he said, looking at her fondly and she smiled back.

"You do have a thing for bandits," she teased.

"Except you were stealing to survive. She steals...for treasure," he said bitterly.

"Then it's your father that's mostly bothering you," she surmised.

"I knew he had killed people...I mean, I've killed people too. We're not so different...at least that's what I told myself," he said.

"But if I knew my grandchild was out there, somewhere alone, being abused...I would have moved heaven and earth to get to them!" he said fiercely.

"I know...I know, my love…" she soothed.

"What if Merlin hadn't nurtured her belief by giving her the book? It would have been ten times worse for her, Snow," he fretted.

"At least the book showed her how much we truly loved her and how we didn't choose to be separated from her. It gave her hope…" he continued.

"But my father could have walked into that adoption agency, submitted to a DNA test, and proved he was Emma's blood. But instead, he was sailing around other realms that weren't frozen by the curse, collection things for Clayton! Treasure and gold and inanimate objects over our daughter!" he stressed.

"Over you...you can say it, my love. He chose those things over you and it was wrong," she said.

"You are a much stronger, braver man than he is. You are your mother's son," she said fondly. He sighed.

"The killing...I can get past as surprising as that sounds. I got past it with James. He was raised by a tyrant. It would have been a miracle if he didn't become a killer," he said.

"But what else has he lied about? There could be so many things we don't know about him. I knew that...and I ignored it. I can't do that anymore. I need to know everything," he added.

"And you will," she assured him, as she led him back inside.

"Until then...we should go back to bed," she said, as he sighed.

"You know I can't sleep now…" he replied. She smirked and gently let the thin straps on her nightgown fall away and it became a puddle at her feet.

"Then let's do some...not sleeping," she replied. His eyes glazed, as he drank her in. His beautiful wife was a master at distracting him and though he knew they would have to deal with all of this in just a few short hours, he welcomed this distraction. He walked to her with purpose and kissed her passionately, while cupping her face in his hands. She mewled into his kiss and then yelped in excitement, as he lifted her up and she hooked her legs around his waist. He carried her to bed and for those few hours, they became lost in each other...

[pamphletstoinspire]

Divine Mercy Sunday Solemnity; Liturgical Color: White True power pardons

In the Nicene Creed, we say that Jesus is seated at the right hand of the Father. When a judge walks into a courtroom, the bailiff announces, “All rise,” and the judge sits in judgment. In his see city, a bishop rests in his cathedra, and in his palace, a king reigns from his throne. A president signs legislation while seated at his desk. The chair is a locus of power. The power that emanates from such seats of authority judges, condemns, and sentences. Today’s feast reminds us, though, that authority also exercises power by granting mercy. When a judge pronounces innocence, the sentence is no less binding than one of guilt. The absolved exits the court into a new day, ready to begin again. And when the priest’s voice whispers through the screen, “I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” guilt evaporates into thin air. The purest and truest expression of power is the granting of mercy.

Mercy is a superabundance of justice, not an exception to it. When faced with a wound to the common good, those responsible for repairing the damage do not have two contrary options: justice or mercy. Justice and mercy are not mutually exclusive. Mercy is a form of justice. Mercy does not ignore the tears to the fabric of the common good slashed by crime and sin. Rightful authority notes the torn fabric, weighs the personal responsibility of the accused, and distributes justice precisely by granting mercy. Mercy does not turn a blind eye to justice, but fulfills its obligations to justice by going beyond them. After all, one cannot be absolved of having done nothing. Similarly, where there is no guilt there is no need of mercy. When justice calls out, two words echo back off the hard walls: “condemnation” and “mercy.” Mercy runs parallel to, and beyond, the path of condemnation. This is the mercy we celebrate today, the mercy whose greatest practitioner is God Himself. Because He is the seat of all authority, God is also the seat of all mercy.

God plays many roles in the life of the Christian—Creator, Savior, Sanctifier, and Judge. Our Creed teaches us that God the Son, seated at the Father’s right hand, “will come in glory to judge the living and the dead,” both at the particular and at the final judgment. At that moment, it will serve us nothing to state, in excusing our sins, that “God understands.” Of course God understands. To state “God understands” is just another way to say that God is omniscient and all powerful. “God understands” implies that because God knows the powerful temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil, that He could not possibly judge man harshly. Yet “God understands” is a lazy manner of exculpating sinful behavior. When nose to nose with God one second after death, the repentant Christian should plead, instead, “Lord, have mercy.” Faced with the scandalous behavior of a friend or relative, the response should again be “Lord, have mercy.” Appealing to God’s mercy will melt His heart. Appealing to His knowledge will not.

The private revelations of Jesus Christ to Saint Faustina Kowalska, a Polish nun and intense mystic who died in 1938, are the source of the profound spirituality of today’s feast. Sister Faustina was a kind of Saint Catherine of Siena of the twentieth century. She lived a regimen of fasting, meditation, liturgical prayer, and close community life that would have crushed a less resilient soul. But Faustina persevered, amidst debilitating illnesses, sisterly jealousy, and respectful but questioning superiors. Her diaries are replete with the starkest of language from the mouth of Christ, showing that moral clarity precedes the call for mercy. Sister Faustina faithfully recorded Christ’s manly commands in her diary. One of these commands expressly desired that the Divine Mercy be celebrated on the Sunday after Easter. In an age old pattern familiar to an ancient Church, Saint Faustina’s private revelations were challenged, filtered for theological truth, sifted for spiritual depth, and granted universal approbation by the only Christian religion which even claims to grant such. In the soundest proof of their authenticity, the profound simplicity of the Divine Mercy revelations and of their related devotions were intuitively grasped and adopted by the Catholic faithful the world over.

Pope Saint John Paul II first inserted today’s feast into the Roman calendar on April 30, 2000, the canonization day of Saint Faustina. Saint Pope John Paul II was also canonized on Divine Mercy Sunday in 2014. And so the Church’s third millennium was launched with a new devotion that quickly eclipsed many older ones, a new piety rooted in the most ancient truths, a fresh appeal to a side of God that had not been fully understood in prior ages. Divine Mercy is the new face of God for the third millennium, a postmodern Sacred Heart. This is the God who leans in and waits with bated breath for us to whisper through the screen, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” This is the God who at the end of time, whether our own time or all time, waits to hear from our lips those few prized words “Lord, have mercy.” Having heard that, He need not hear anything more. And having received that, we need not receive anything more.

Divine Mercy, do not hold our sins against us. Be a merciful Father who judges us in the fullness of Your power, punishing when needed, but granting mercy when we need it more, most especially when we are too saturated with pride to request it.

__________

April 19, 2020 Divine Mercy Sunday (Year A) The Eighth Day in the Octave of Easter Readings for Today

On that day all the divine floodgates through which graces flow are opened. Let no soul fear to draw near to Me, even though its sins be as scarlet. My mercy is so great that no mind, be it of man or of angel, will be able to fathom it throughout all eternity. Everything that exists has come forth from the very depths of My most tender mercy. Every soul in its relation to Me will contemplate My love and mercy throughout eternity. The Feast of Mercy emerged from My very depths of tenderness. It is My desire that it be solemnly celebrated on the first Sunday after Easter. Mankind will not have peace until it turns to the Fount of My Mercy. (Diary of Divine Mercy #699)

This message, spoken by Jesus to Saint Faustina in 1931, has now come true.  What was spoken in the solitude of a cloistered convent in Płock Poland, now is celebrated by the Universal Church throughout the whole world!

Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska of the Blessed Sacrament was known to very few people during her lifetime.  But through her, God has spoken the message of His abundant mercy to the entire Church and world. What is this message?  Though its content is endless and unfathomable, here are five key ways that Jesus desires this new devotion to be lived:

The first way is through meditation on the sacred image of The Divine Mercy.  Saint Faustina was asked by Jesus to have an image of His merciful love painted for all to see. It’s an image of Jesus with two rays shining forth from His Heart. The first ray is blue, indicating the font of Mercy coming forth through Baptism; and the second ray is red, indicating the font of Mercy poured forth through the Blood of the Holy Eucharist.

The second way is through the celebration of Divine Mercy Sunday.  Jesus told Saint Faustina that He desired an annual solemn Feast of Mercy. This Solemnity of Divine Mercy was established as a universal celebration on the Eighth day of the Octave of Easter. On that day the floodgates of Mercy are opened and many souls are made holy.

The third way is through the Chaplet of Divine Mercy.  The chaplet is a treasured gift. It’s a gift that we should seek to pray each and every day.

The fourth way is by honoring the hour of Jesus’ death every day. “  It was at 3 o’clock that Jesus took His last breath and died upon the Cross. It was Friday. For this reason, Friday should always be seen as a special day to honor His Passion and ultimate Sacrifice. But since it took place at 3 o’clock, it is also important to honor that hour each and every day. This is the ideal time to pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. If the Chaplet is not possible, it’s at least important to pause and give thanks to our Lord every day at that time.

The fifth way is through the Apostolic Movement of The Divine Mercy.  This movement is a call from our Lord to actively engage in the work of spreading His Divine Mercy.  This is done by spreading the message and by living Mercy toward others.

On this, the Eighth Day of the Octave of Easter, Divine Mercy Sunday, ponder the above desires of the heart of Jesus.  Do you believe that the message of Divine Mercy is meant not only for you but also for the whole world? Do you seek to understand and incorporate this message and devotion into your life?  Do you seek to become an instrument of mercy to others? Become a disciple of The Divine Mercy and seek to spread this Mercy in the ways given to you by God.

My merciful Lord, I trust in You and in Your abundant Mercy!  Help me, this day, to deepen my devotion to Your merciful heart and to open my soul to the treasures that pour forth from this font of Heavenly riches.  May I trust You, Love You and become an instrument of You and Your Mercy to the whole world. Jesus, I trust in You!

[ninaahelvar]

Chivalry Fell On Its Sword (13/23)

Summary: All Arya wanted so to feel normal and go outside of the damn castle. Now, through a series of unfortunate, she’s stuck with a bodyguard that she accidentally flirted with: Gendry Waters.

AO3

A/N: 10 motherfucking chapters to go! this will probably be my last update for the year, so i thank everyone who read in 2019, and I can't wait for 2020. I'm also incredibly close to get 1000 kudos and i cannot thank everyone enough for the love and support for this fic. it's been such a journey and it's insane that it's gotten so many people that like it. thank you for continuing to read it, and coming back with each update. (this chapter has only had minor edits made, so if there are mistakes....my bad) 

The hospital cleared him, and he was sent home with little more than a nod from Brienne. The entire team was pissed at him - it was the first rule they had; you could be friends with the royals, but nothing more could come of it. Gendry loved his job at the palace, he loved his work with the Starks, and defending them was a drive he never knew he had outside of the army. The risk he took with Arya was careless, but when it was happening, he couldn’t help himself. He was in love. 

He still was. 

But when his mum called him, crying and yelling at him about this and that, he felt a part of him break. Of all people, his mother didn’t deserve to be like that. Gendry had heard Tailya crying too often when he was a child - it was torture to know that this time, he was the cause of it all. So he broke his own heart to save his mother the pain of further embarrassment. It wasn’t right, and he should have thought of something else, but he could only save one woman in his life the pain of his love. 

At home, he sat awake, his orders from the doctor, watching endless, mind numbing television that did him nothing but want to fall asleep. Arya always made this trash seem interesting, her own personal take on the inside lives of the characters on screen. He fell in love with that. And he threw it away for nothing. 

Getting home the night he ended things, he got drunk. Like way too drunk to stand the next morning. Waking the next morning was definitely an eye opener on how he felt the night before. He had to pick up the mess he created. Then, a few days later, Arya created her first mess.  

Discharged, he sat at home, wondering what the hell was going to happen. It’d be a miracle if the palace kept him on. They probably thought he’d fuck up his work...again. They would never trust him in Arya’s proximity again, and never Sansa’s - though he knew what was going on with her. There were the boys, but Robb needed men that wouldn’t get distracted, and as for Bran and Rickon...well...they were odd ones to get along with. They were reckless on a level that was stupid rather than Arya’s rebellious. Stupid was hard to contain.

A knock came to his door after a few hours on his own, and he stumbled to the door. He wanted to grumble about he wanted to be left alone, but when the door swung open and guards he knew swarmed his apartment only to leave a few seconds later, he was left stunned. Especially when the King came rounding the corner and thanking the men that left. 

Gendry’s mouth hung open for a solid few seconds before the words formed. It was the largest lump he ever had at the back of his throat. “Your majesty! What are you doing here?” He exclaimed, swallowing back the panic that was building within his body. 

“Son, we need to talk,” The king said, clapping Gendry on the shoulder and walking past him. Ned walked like a man that was built ten times larger than most, a control over every room. He was certainly controlling the one Gendry was in. 

“Would you like a coffee?” Gendry asked, patting down his pockets as though he had something to offer. He felt like an idiot when the King turned around, a small smirk on his lips.

“A beer, if you have one.” To that, Gendry blinked, nodded and went to his fridge. He got one out of Ned, but when he looked back with a stern brow, Gendry got himself one too, joining Ned on the couch. “The queen is trying to keep me from alcohol since the wedding, said I was too reckless, but I think she’s keeping me away from liquor after the accident.” 

“Here you go, sir,” Gendry said, handing off the beer. Cracking the top off the bottle, Ned took a sip and smiled to it.

“So,” he sighed, looking over to Gendry, “tell me what happened.” 

Gendry choked. “Excuse me?” 

“With Arya? Why did it end?” 

“I don’t think we should be talking about this behind her back.” He laughed it off, but the King scowled at that answer. Gendry swallowed back the lump in his throat. He may be a kind man, but that look he gave Gendry made him feel small, like the man in front of him was his father, asking him to be honest. 

“That’s for me to deal with,” Ned grumbled, keeping his eyes locked with Gendry’s, making damn well sure that Gendry knew that he wanted an answer that night. 

Gendry sighed, fingers combing through his hair before he rested his elbows on his knees. “I got a call from my mum that morning. She had to close the shop, because people were harassing her about me. I didn’t know what she meant and I got the article sent to me. I knew what the public was doing. They would have dug through my family, through what my mum went through with the prick that left her when he found out she was pregnant. I didn’t want her going through that. My only answer at the time was to leave Arya. I didn’t want to. I was a fucking idiot to do it, but...my mum is everything to me. I couldn’t do that to her.”

The truth spilled out, like it had been waiting all his life for a chance to explain himself, to tell someone what his truest fears were. That the man that fathered him was to blame for most of the hardship in the Waters’ family line. 

The look that washed over Ned’s face made Gendry’s stomach twist, like he knew something he shouldn’t. “Do you know who your father is? Or is it -” 

“I know who he is. So do you,” Gendry said, and the King confirmed with a nod, “but I don’t need that for my mum. When he left her, she was so hurt, and whenever news comes out, we shut it off. Ever wonder why it’s a stag’s head and not just a stag?” he scoffed. 

“Kill the bastard that hurt her.” Ned smirked, taking a sip of his beer before he sighed, looking back at Gendry. He wondered if when the King looked at him, he saw the man he knew. “He may be my oldest friend, but it doesn’t mean it justifies the things he’s done in his past,” he confirmed. 

“Will you -” 

“I’ll make sure it stays out of the papers, don’t worry,” he said, and Gendry let out a sigh of relief, leaning back into his chair, a weight off his shoulders. Then, Ned continued, a strong change in his voice, deep and threatening, “but son, you’re an idiot. Get back together with my daughter. You’ve proven to me what true happiness is in that girl, and you broke her. Fix it, or I’ll make your life a living nightmare, regardless of Robert’s family name getting dragged into this,” he said, standing and making Gendry get up too. Out of respect, perhaps? But he followed whatever Ned asked him to. 

“Yes sir,” he said, almost wanting to salute, but thought he’d be mocked for it. “Are you sure you want me to get -” 

“You’re in love with her, you prick! Will you always be in love with her?” he snapped, and Gendry gave a knowing nod. 

“Yes.” 

“Then fucking tell her that,” he said, throwing his hands to the sky. “Gods, you kids are the worst, most infuriating morons I’ve ever had to be around. Making a drama out of nothing. If this happens again, you come to me first and I’ll put a stop to whatever mess is happening. That’s all you had to do, not break the love of your life’s heart,” he said, drinking the remains of his beer in one huge tilt of his neck. Gendry watched the bottle drain in a few seconds, and the King burped briefly afterwards, not even excusing himself. He almost seemed proud, probably because it meant he was on his way back to normalcy. 

“Thank you for being so frank,” Gendry smiled, to which, Ned put his hand on Gendry’s shoulder, giving a smile back. 

“If you were my boy, I’d bloody well hit you, but as King, I’ve been told I have to stop doing that to people that aren’t my family,” he chuckled, and part of him wanted to be the son of the man in front of him. He wanted to mean something to the man, to make him proud and be everything he ever wanted from Gendry. He wanted to be the best he could. 

“I’ll try to get her back, sir,” he said, chewing on his lip before he added, “or at least make it better.” 

As the King sighed, he seemed to know the challenge that lay ahead of Gendry. Better was going to be the least he could achieve. “That’s all I want,” he said, and finally, left Gendry’s home. The door was closed and Ned left without even the smallest commotion from anyone nearby. Either the streets were cleared before he got there, or his secret service team was just that good that no one could even tell he was around. 

He watched the car roll away, and for the rest of the night, he knew what he needed to do; Gendry had to plan on how he needed to act, to be better. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and he had to think carefully on what to do, because it was Arya after all. Nothing came easy with her. It wasn’t like Gendry wasn’t up for the challenge, he just knew he couldn’t treat it like that. 

The next day, when Arya came to his door, he wasn’t sure what she’d say. He kind of expected her to get angry, start to yell and fume like she did the day before and sent him to the hospital. Instead, she was an Arya that had never truly stepped foot in front of him. He wanted to comfort her, tell her that everything she said and did wasn’t necessary, anything to put her at ease and not have her acting like she were to blame.

“I know this hasn’t been easy. For either of us, but I shouldn’t have acted like a spoiled child about it. It wasn’t right of me,” she said, ducking her head down, Gendry felt his hands tighten at his sides. Why did she have to look so small? Why was he the cause of it all? He hated that Arya wasn’t herself in that moment, that she looked like someone so insignificant compared to who she actually was. “But you have to know…” she paused, and Gendry swallowed, wishing that the words that came out would help the situation. “You were the only person I’ve ever loved, and the first person to break my heart too.” 

Gendry wanted to throw up. He wanted to collapse to his knees and beg for her to take it back, to not let herself have a broken heart because of him. “Your Hi -” 

“It was always going to hurt more with this. With you. I saw myself spending the rest of my life with you. But that isn’t going to happen. It’ll be okay, but I’ll just be a little broken until it is -” 

“Arya, please, just let me -” 

“I hope to see you back at work soon. The palace isn’t the same without you.” She said. And still the words beckoned at the back of his throat. 

Arya, please, just let me explain this, let me tell you what happened, and we can do what you wanted - we’ll work it out. We’ll figure it out together, and I won’t be the asshole that broke your heart. I’ll make everything better, just let me explain.

But he couldn’t get it out. 

The princess that could have armies at her feet was a broken shell of who she once was, and he did it all to her. He broke the unbreakable, and even when men had wished to do the same thing, it meant the worst pain imaginable for him. Gendry was the only man that deserved to die, and when she spoke, her breath hiccuping at the back of her throat, he wished she had throttled him until he was in just as much pain as she was. To be broken down to the bare essentials of who he was, just like Arya. He deserved all the pain that she dished out. 

Instead, he got her apologising, wanting him back at the place where she lived, she wanted him around. 

It wasn’t right, he felt like this was a punishment for her, not him. He was the one at fault for everything wrong in her life, and yet she wanted to keep him around. Watching as she left, much like her father the night before, instead she looked up to him, smiling before she got in the car and drove away. He wondered if watching him leave that day felt the same as watching her go. That there would always be a dull ache that remained as they parted from one another. If they both felt hollow without the other. 

But it was wrong to think like that. To hope. To wish. To pray for it. That she would feel the need to want him in return. He wanted it, more than air, he wanted for her to love him again, to continue to love him in spite of everything he had done to her. All Gendry wanted was to love her, and be loved just as much in return. 

Yet, he had to ask himself, how much did he love her in the first place? If he were so willing to desert her at the drop of a hat? Could she ever see that as anything other than a betrayal? How could she ever think he loved her to begin with? She made it clear the day he saw her that she thought he was just using her for sex. Which was the furthest thing from his mind when he started his relationship with her. 

In the end, Gendry knew that he never meant to fall in love with Arya. It happened in the blink of an eye, without warning or even the slightest inkling that it could come about. Love, like most things, came to him in a crashing moment of realisation, one in which he had no chance in stopping. Either the universe was playing a cruel game on him, or it had all been fated to go this way. He hoped there was a brighter future for them both. 

It took him a few more days at home, another check up with the doctor to see how he was doing, and he was cleared for work. Dressing in his suit, he went to the palace and walked through halls that were all too familiar, yet the stares were new. They were filled with judgment and scorn. He met with Brienne, who gave him the simplest orders: don’t interact with Arya for more than needed. One sentence was enough. That’s what he was told. But he knew them, he knew that, even though conversations somewhat became hard to maintain for both of them, it would flood into arguments and snide comments that would stew in their bellies for hours. They were lit fuses, ready to ignite whatever anger had been stored in them all this time. 

Walking back out, heading towards the stairs, he saw Sansa descending with Sandor behind her. Sansa stopped in front of him, Sandor on the other hand, barged past him. “Prick.” His voice was rough and mean, and Gendry knew it was also a comment that Sansa enjoyed from her slight chuckle at it. 

Gendry was left with the princess, and he gave her a bow, as he was meant to do when first greeting royalty. He was sure Sansa thought he was being an idiot, but it didn’t matter. He already won that prize a long time ago. “You’re going to have a shit night,” Sansa scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and Sansa stepped in closer to him.

“Sorry. We can chat later, but we can’t tell Arya,” she said, and Gendry nodded back in response. “Also, just cause I haven’t said it yet,” Sansa said, her hands sliding onto his shoulders, then in an instant, his mind went blank with pain, as Sansa’s knee had collided with his groin, stunning him, knees hitting the floor. “Fuck you for hurting my sister,” she said, and he choked, nodding to her aggressive action.

“I deserved that,” he wheezed, trying to get his breath back, holding his crotch to ease the pain. Sansa moved down the stairs and went to Sandor’s side, walking to the kitchens with him. 

“Great shot, little bird. Just like I taught ya,” Sandor praised and Sansa beamed a smile back at him. Gendry coughed, getting back his barrings and moving up the palace steps.

It took him a few breaths and the slowest walk up the palace steps to get himself to a presentable state before he walked into Arya’s room. He gave a knock, but Arya rarely replied, so he went inside. 

Upon stepping foot inside, Gendry’s throat went dry. He’d seen Arya look elegant, he’d seen her look disheveled but still beautiful, he’d seen her naked and bare in front of him, but fuck, he’d never seen her look so sexy in his life. With a leather skirt that hugged at every curve of her hip, tracing lines that only his hands had touched in the past, accompanied by a black lace bralette, revealing just enough to remember where his teeth had pressed in. With thin stockings and a jacket to match her skirt, Gendry was rendered incompetant to do even the most basic of tasks to breathe. 

“Where are we going?” he said, voice cracking like a teenage boy. He cleared his throat as he tried to remember what he was doing. 

Arya bent, her ass on display like she were teasing at something. Well, she was teasing him. Look at what you can no longer have. It’s free and ready to use, and you lost your chance. “Out,” she said, getting her boots and sitting on the edge of her bed as she put them on, “can’t you tell?” she questioned playfully. It made his shoulders ache, the need to readjust himself in every way possible was becoming the most agonising task. 

Sansa was right. He was going to have a shit night.

“I don’t think you going out will give off the best impression, princess.” 

“You don’t get a say in that, do you?” she remarked, going into her bathroom. He could only assume she was fixing up the make up that looked way too out of character for her. But that was possibly the point of it. 

“As your bodyguard, I do,” he reminded. Then, Arya poked her head out, puckering her lips as she reapplied the lipstick that stained her lips. 

“As my boyfriend, you don’t.” She sarcastically smiled, and Gendry felt his chest tighten.

“Arya, I’m not trying to be difficult but -” 

“Then don’t be difficult,” she gave a dry suggestion, then stopped in front of him, a scowl replacing her very smug grin, “and don’t call me my name,” she demanded. Gendry shut his mouth. The detail he had missed, one that he knowingly tried to remedy when he went in that day. It slipped. It shouldn’t have.

Arya moved out of the room quickly, skipping her way out of her room and cheerily behaving exactly as she had done when he first started. 

“Your highness! Wait!” he shouted, following after her. It felt like the beginning, when he lost sight of her and panic set in, “shit, this is going to be a long night,” he swore, racing down the stairs and seeing her get into a car. He flagged it down before it was completely able to leave. Arya scowled at him in the rear view mirror. He now felt dread take him. 

This would be his life, a job where he was condemned every day, sneered at for acting on an impulse he should have pushed aside. This was his ultimate punishment, welcomed back with open arms, and once in the hold, knives shoved in his back and he would never be able to complain - why should he? He was taken back after all the wrong he had caused. 

When they arrived, Gendry felt his shoulders sink as he looked at the building. The fucking Forge. Of course it was The Forge. Gendry wanted to put his head through the windscreen, because from his past experience in that club, it meant a great deal of foreplay that would end up going further in a bathroom stall. Arya was bolting out of the car, stripping out of her jacket and tossing it back in the car. Beric moved to the door outside, keeping watch. Gendry moved to his side when he jabbed Gendry right in the stomach. 

“What are you doing standing around out here? Gotta go in and protect the small pup,” he accosted, and Gendry groaned.

“I fucking hate this day,” he swore to himself. Moving inside, it was bodies pressing together, hands roaming to places they wouldn’t be in any normal situation - but it was hot, and people breathing down one’s neck was exactly what a person there wanted. Gendry waded through the swarms of people, being groped along the way, trying to find a wall where he could easily spy on Arya and keep her from harm. When he got there, he should have known the cruelty that he would be subjected to. 

As hands roamed, Arya smiled eagerly, hands gracing over her form and her own slipping beneath shirt collars, touching at skin that tempted at the edge of clothes. All the while, Gendry had to watch her, watch as her hips swayed, finding friction amongst the crowd, smiling that grew when people ducked their heads to her neck, lingering their mouths on her where once he was the only one to touch.

One guy came up to her, hands on her bare skin, just above her skirt and beneath the bralette that she very well could have slipped out of with how tightly the room was packed. Gendry was on edge, hid fight response was fuelling him in that moment, because all he wanted to do was shoot out across the room and punch the guy in the face - his hands on the princess when they shouldn’t have been. He couldn’t exactly judge anyone, he reminded himself, he’d done the exact same. 

Then, his hands went down, mouth directly next to her ear, whispering to her words that went deaf to the music around them. Whatever it was, it made Arya bite her lip, and the guy got eager, fingers inching down until they were trying to slip past the waistline of her skirt. Arya’s eyes sprung open, hands going to his to stop him. 

Lucky for her, jealousy had overtaken Gendry and he was already through the crowd and pulling the man from her. Taking hold of Arya’s bicep, he tugged her along. 

“Your Highness,” he said, dragging her out. Her hands tried to ungrip his hold on her, but he could do it - he had to get her out of there. He held her out the back door, pushing her out the back entrance and into the cold. 

“Get off me, Gendry!” she snarled and he finally released her. 

“You can’t do this out of spite,” he snapped back. Was he even really mad at her, or just the guy she was using? Either way, jealousy was moving its course, and he’d place blame wherever it laid. 

“You’d be amazed at what I’d do out of spite,” she replied with a scoff. A wisp of cold Northern air came through and shook Gendry. He wasn’t used to it, even after the year or so of being there. He suspected that it would be the same for Arya, if she weren’t half dressed. 

“This isn’t you, and you know it,” he replied, and Arya frowned at him. 

“Wow, really? You’re observant,” she scowled, rolling her eyes as she clutched tighter to her biceps, holding herself for warmth that was lost in the Winterfell night. Why he felt sorry for her, he hated it, because at the end of the day - all he knew was what Arya made him feel. In the depths of the cold, she always would provide warmth. Shaking off his jacket, he pulled it around Arya’s shoulders and stood back in a huff. Arya clutched it to her, but provided no surprise in his action. She just took it, as she should have. 

“Gods, you’re acting like a child, you know that?” he growled, hands going into his pockets. 

“Says the man that ran away when he got scared,” she snapped. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed. 

“Fuck you,” Arya snarled, turning from him, taking her place as a royal, her chin high and shoulders square. She wouldn’t stand for how she was being treated. Yet, there was a flicker in her eyes of pain - that she shouldn’t have said what she did, she shouldn’t be acting the way she had been. 

“Do you love me?” 

“Don’t ask me that,” she groaned. 

“I still love you, and this is what you’re doing,” he replied, and Arya looked back at him, shocked that he would eve say it. 

“I’m allowed to do what I like, regardless if I love you or not. You ended things too, remember? So why do you care?” 

“Because I do! Because I love you!” he shouted, unleashing the pain in his chest. He just needed to say it. Needed her to know that his heart hasn’t changed. He needed to...he wanted to better for her, and wanted her to know she was still loved. “Don't you still love me? What more is there?” 

“Of course I still love you, idiot! But you still broke my heart and my trust!” she snapped back, her cheeks going rosy because of the crisp night air.

“Then we can figure this out, we can work through this.” 

“I don't want to figure this out. I want to know you’re in this. I need to know you’re gonna fight for me.” Arya looked hurt, that breathing was becoming painful, or maybe it was just the same air they shared. 

“I am fighting for you!” Gendry roared. 

“You’re begging for me, there’s a difference!” Arya yelled back, her eyes pleading for him to know the difference. 

“I have always fought for us, you just don’t -” 

“You ran! You ran when you told me you loved me, and you ran when things got hard. You want me back? You make damn well sure that I trust you enough not to leave again,” she said, shoving at his chest. “Prove me wrong!”

“I’ve literally bled for you!” he snarled back, stepping into her space. Arya’s next breath came out shaken, the wind catching it and whafting it away like smoke. 

“I just want you to want me! Without fear, without concern or a care! I want you to fight to want me!” 

“Arya, please, I'm trying,” he said, voice soft, and Arya whined, her hand going to her forehead. She seemed like she was ready to cry, and Gendry felt it too, the tension in his chest was becoming agonising. Arya seemed to be worse off in the situation. 

“I know. I need to know you understand that for me and my position, I can’t just give trust back. You taught me that.” Her words stung, and he stepped back, watching as she clutched her arms tighter around herself. “I’m in the spotlight and at massive risk everyday. Trusting people, even someone who I don’t interact with regularly, is trusting that they won’t kill me or my family. It’s not that I could lose my title. It’s that I or my family could be killed and risk the lives and livelihoods of our people.” There were truths and lies in her words, but it wasn’t the time or place to argue with her - she was close to tears. “I trusted you, and even though I know you’d never physically hurt me or my family, I can’t just go back to normal. I have too much to lose.”

“So do I, that’s why I left,” he admitted. “I panicked. My mum has been through so much to get me here and because I followed my heart, her life was being affected. I have to protect her, she’s the only thing I have unconditionally.” Arya chewed on her lip as Gendry stepped back into her space. It was so familiar there, a perfect encasing for who she was in that space, warm even in the freezing night air. “I saw the statement. I know your family had to post it but I can’t help but think...was any of it true? Did you really...was it really all for nothing?”

“Don’t ask me that. You’re not going to like the answer,” she lied. He could tell by the tear that slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, looking off from him. 

A flash went off close by and they both shot their attention to the guy with the camera. “Princess! Is this a lovers spat!” he yelled, and Arya was ready to haul herself at him. 

“Fuck you!” 

“Your highness,” Gendry caught her quickly and she snapped her anger to him. He gave her a cautious raise of his brow, “allow me, please.” Gendry looked down at her, a warning look. Her stubbornness could have won out, and he very well could have pulled her away from the situation, dragging her away and causing even more of a scene than necessary. Instead, she huffed, giving him a nod of approval. She wasn’t happy about it, but she allowed it nevertheless. 

“Hey, buddy, gimme the camera,” Gendry said, walking to the guy. He had been frozen solid by the realisation that a threat was coming, and it made Gendry confident with his coming actions. As he got there, the paparrazi gave over the camera, and Gendry looked it over before throwing it hard against the wall beside him. The paparrazi went to his destroyed camera, looking up at Gendry.

For a moment, Gendry felt sorry, but knowing what guys like him usually did for money, his pity went away. Kneeling beside him, Gendry gave a sarcastic smile. “Go fuck yourself. The princess has been through enough. She gets to speak to me or you however she likes. So on her behalf, you can cordially, go fuck yourself right up the ass, and please, for everyone’s sake, shut the fuck up, would ya?” he said, and the guy simply nodded, leaving his broken camera on the ground, staggering to his feet, ready to race off. “Send a bill to the palace and we’ll replace it for you,” he said, and Arya came to his side. 

“You’re too nice,” she whispered, “I would have broken his arm.” Gendry believed that. 

“Which is why I had to handle it. You know you would have broken more than just an arm, princess,” he said, looking down at her, and she scoffed out a laugh, something she probably didn’t want to do, but did so against her will. 

“We need to get back to the palace before you freeze,” Gendry cleared his throat, gesturing out to the main street. Arya furrowed her brow, going to head back to the club, only for his arm to shoot out and stop her. Arya folded her arms over her chest, snarling back at him.

“I’m a Northern Princess, Gendry, I don’t freeze.” 

“Normally, I’m sure. But you’re currently in the worst outfit imaginable. Let’s go,” he demanded, and Arya rolled her eyes. 

“You ruin all the fun,” she said, moving around the corner.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied, voice far quieter than it had been before. They were back on the street and heading to the car. As they got there, Beric moved from the door, scoffing at Gendry as they moved to the car doors. 

“Have fun back there?” Beric chuckled. Gendry sucked in a breath, lunging to him and binding his fists in tight to Beric’s jacket. 

“Shut the fuck up, Beric. Nothing happened,” Gendry barked, holding on tight to Beric. 

“Sure,” he rolled his eyes. Gendry slammed Beric’s back to the door of the car, making Arya jump out and look over the top of the car. 

“That’s the fucking princess, you’re talking about. She isn’t just any woman. I lost sight of that, but I haven’t anymore. Treat her with more respect,” he said, throwing Beric against the car again and nodding up to Arya. 

“Sorry, your highness,” Beric apologised with a grumble in his voice. 

“It’s okay, Beric. I didn’t take anything by it.” Arya moved back into the car, and they were off, no other word or arguments as they got to the palace. 

Gendry walked up the palace stairs and to Arya’s room. Arya walked in, exchanging Gendry’s jacket for a throw blanket on the top of her bed. Gendry looked around her room, noticing that her furniture that changed its position, something he hadn’t picked up on the first time he was in there that day - that most of her room felt different then what it once was. That it was no longer one he knew to be...theirs. 

With his jacket over his shoulders again, Gendry gave to nod to Arya as goodbye. “Goodnight, your Highness.” 

“Gendry,” Arya said, her voice weak but urging him to stay. He stood still, waiting for Arya to speak. “I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. When you fell, I was hurting and angry and I just -” 

“Acted. I know how you felt. When I broke up with you that night,” he stopped himself, unsure if he should say it. In the end, he looked at Arya’s face and knew he could never lie to her again. “I got home and trashed my apartment. I broke a bunch of windows and the frame of my bed is kind of resting on three legs currently.” 

“Why would you do that?” 

He shrugged. Truth was all he had to gain back trust. “Cause I was an idiot. I broke up with the only woman I’d ever love.” 

“But being with me, meant hurting the only person that had ever been there for you before me,” Arya reiterated what he had told her.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back at his feet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” he said, raising his chin before giving a soft bow. “Your Highness,” he cleared his throat, wondering if the words would come out. “I’m sorry for how I acted tonight. It isn’t my place anymore to get in your way. I wish you all the happiness. I promise I won’t get in the way of that anymore,” he said, needing to clear his throat once more. It would be torture to do it, but he truly just wanted her to be happy again. He turned on his heels, getting ready to leave her room. 

“You were my happiness,” she whispered, but he heard it, and it felt like her full fist reached into his chest and squeezed. Were. It was clear, even if he had the chance to win her back, to get back into her good books and mend the wounds he had formed, she’d never give it back. The trust he had built from the very start was shattered beyond repair - a piece always missing from the heart they once shared. 

Gendry kept walking and hoped to god that when he got back to his apartment, he still had alcohol hidden away somewhere, because he was sure he needed to end this day drunk. 

 *~*~*

 “You were my happiness,” she whispered, and for a moment he stopped before he left the room. Arya choked on her small sob, chewing on her lip before she said something he’d never hear. “You still are.” 

[trihearts-bull-corner]

Prompt Challenge

So this is my writing prompt challenge. It is a very long list, and some of the quotes are very long. Every line is from my favorite author, Sherrilyn McQueen (previously known as Sherrilyn Kenyon). Quotes that inspire fluff, romance, and/or angst

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You have the optimism of a child. (Julian) Peter Pan all the way. (Grace)

Life isn't finding shelter in the storm. It's about learning to dance in the rain.

But as the Roman playwright Terence once wrote, From many a bad beginning great friendships have formed

I don't suffer from my insanity -- I enjoy every minute of it.

I marvel at the fact you’ve lived to your age and no one’s taken those rose-colored glasses and shoved them up your ass.

Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

Oh contraire, mon frère. I’m able to annoy anyone in ten syllables or less. Sometimes, I don’t even have to speak at all. I just walk into the room and it rankles them.

It's easy to look at people and make quick judgments about them, their present and their past, but you'd be amazed at the pain and tears a single smile hides. What a person shows to the world is only one tiny facet of the iceberg hidden from sight. And more often then not, it's lined with cracks and scars that go all the way to the foundation of their soul.

You’re not done with me entirely, human. I’m the mother of his daughter. (CharacterA) You’re right. You are ____'s mother, poor her. But you’re wrong about one thing. (characterB) And that is? (CharacterA) I’m no longer human. I’m the Atlantie Kedemonia Theony – the guardian of the Atlantean gods. And right now there’s only one of them walking about and to save him from one more bad memory created by you, I’d bathe in your entrails, bitch. As for ___, she’s a big girl – I know, I used to live with her. She’ll survive the death of her mother. Trust me, I have firsthand experience with the subject. (characterB)

"How can anyone be afraid of love?" (CharacterA) "When you love someone... truly love them, friend or lover, you lay your heart open to them. You give them a part of yourself that you give to no one else, and you let them inside a part of you that only they can hurt—you literally hand them the razor with a map of where to cut deepest and most painfully on your heart and soul. And when they do strike, it's crippling—like having your heart carved out. It leaves you naked and exposed, wondering what you did to make them want to hurt you so badly when all you did was love them. What is so wrong with you that no one can keep faith with you? That no one can love you? To have it happen once is bad enough... but to have it repeated? Who in their right mind would not be terrified of that?" (characterB)

Aren't you an enigma wrapped in a thick coating of contradictions.

Sometimes things have to go wrong in order to go right.

Do you want my input or is this just an angry tirade you need to vent? (CharacterA) Both! (characterB) Okay, you rant and I’ll add my comments at the end. (CharacterA)

We have three kinds of family. Those we are born to, those who are born to us, and those we let into our hearts

I assure you, princess, if you saw the real me, you’d run for cover. (CharacterA) Only if I knew you’d be waiting under that cover for me. (characterB)

"Oh God, I just kissed a vampire!" "Oh Gods, I just kissed a human!"

I have a computer, a vibrator, and pizza delivery. Why should I leave the house?

Bitch please...you haven't seen mean yet.

"____! I won’t leave you here to die." (CharacterA) It’s okay, princess. I don’t mind dying for you. (characterB)

Life is a tapestry woven by the decisions we make.

If brute force doesn't work, you aren't using enough

You know the incredible thing about hearts is their unbelievable capacity for forgiveness. You’d be amazed what people will overlook when they love someone

my balls if you crawl inside a bottle and pickle yourself solid. I’ve got other things to think about now. But let me remind you of something a good friend once said to me when I was being eaten alive by feelings I didn’t understand. ‘Even when my marriage was bad, it was good.’ I had no real idea what you meant that night, but now I do and I’m grateful to the gods I can finally believe in that I took a chance on something that almost killed me. The life I have now…no, the woman I have now is worth every rotten moment of my worthless existence that led me to her door, and I would relive it all to have one kiss from her lips. You’re the one who told me that the right woman was a shelter from the storm

I wasn't born, I was unleashed.

She couldn’t very well let him join her in bed like that. Sure you could. No I can’t. Please? Hush, self, let me think.

We almost made it to thirty seconds without an insult. I think we set a new record

Get off me, you lard-ass, halitosis, flea-infested horror-movie reject! 

I thought only a wooden stake through the heart killed a vampire. (CharacterA) A wooden stake through the heart will kill just about anything. And if it doesn't, run like hell (characterB)

You’re the only thing I’ve ever done right in my entire life and if anything ever happened to you, they’d have to dig two graves ‘cause I couldn’t live a single day without my baby beside me. (parent to child)

You know, I would date, if I could find a man worth shaving my legs for. 

C'mon, Tabitha. You stabbed me the night we met without even blinking. (CharacterA) Yeah, but you were a dirtbag then. (characterB) I think I'm offended. (CharacterA)

I learned a long time ago not to judge people by what they look like, sound like, or by the clothes they wear. Just because a house is nice and shiny out front doesn’t mean it’s not rotting on the inside.

you're right ___. I am a selfish bastard. I had to be, because no one else gave a single shit about me except me

I have found my star. She is beauty and grace. Elegance and goodness. My laughter in winter. She is courageous and strong. Bold and tempting. Unlike any other in all the universe, and I cannot touch her. I dare not even try

I’m here because I know the sadness inside you. I know what it feels like to wake in the morning, lost and lonely and aching for someone to be there with me

What are you doing? (CharacterA) I'm getting into my car. (characterB) You own this?! (CharacterA) No. I'm stealing it with the key in my hand. (characterB)

So, does this make you visibly challenged? (CharacterA) No, but if you don’t lay off me, I’m going to make you breathing impaired. (characterB)

I'm the top of the food chain and well...you're the food

___ says that tragedy and adversity are the stones we sharpen our swords against ao that we can fight new battles.

Sure. My ego's had enough time to recover a modicum of dignity. Let's make sure we crush it again before I mistake myself for a god

Human will is the strongest will ever created. There are those who are born to succeed and those who are determined to succeed. The former fall into it, and the latter pursue it at all costs. They won’t be denied. Nothing daunts them.

You know when people say fine, it generally means ‘leave me the hell alone because I don’t want to talk about what’s really bothering me

Baby, I ain't trash. Trash is something you throw away. My people keep me.

We're not the damned, folks, we're the categorically fucked. 

So is there any part of you that’s not a lethal weapon? (CharacterA) No. Even my wits are sharpened. (characterB)

The worst wounds, the deadliest of them, aren't the ones people see on the outside. They're the ones that make us bleed internally

The past is dead. Tomorrow will become whatever decision you make it.

Strength through adversity. The strongest steel is forged by the fires of hell. It is pounded and struck repeatedly before it’s plunged back into the molten fire. The fire gives it power and flexibility, and the blows give it strength. Those two things make the metal pliable and able to withstand every battle it’s called upon to fight.

Love is deceitful and sublime. In its truest form, it brings out the best in all beings. At its worse, It's a tool used to manipulate and ruin any one who is stupid enough to hold it. Don't be stupid

Forgiveness is the best part of valor...Discretion is easy. It's finding the courage to forgive yourself and others that is hard

Even if I were lying on the sun itself, I would be freezing there without you

I learned the bad guys are not always bad, the good guys are not always good, and to quote Captain Barbossa, the parameters are like rules, mostly guidelines. And that it takes a little bit of bad boy to fight the evil in the world.

Laugh it up, asshole. But she who laughs last laughs longest, and I intend to belly roll tonight

I think infatuation is like a garden. If tended and cared for, it grows into love. If neglected or abused it dies. The only way to have eternal love is to never let your heart forget what it's like to live without it.

What? It's not my fault I stab all the fanged people. They shouldn't look like vampires. (CharacterA) I didn't look like a vampire, but you stabbed me. (characterB) Yeah, well, you looked like a lawyer so I had to kill you. It was a moral imperative. (CharacterA)

Where are you anyway? (CharacterA) I don't know. I hear some godawful kind of music from outside, horns blaring, and I'm in a house with a Mohawk cuckoo bird, a transvestite, and a knife-wielding lunatic. (characterB) Why are you at ____'s? (CharacterA)

You’re selfish and you’re cold, and I’m tired of getting frostbite when I touch you

He who lets fear rule him, has fear for a master

Be kind to dragons, for thou art crunchy when toasted and taste good with ketchup

If you have any care for ____ at all, don't leave him in darkness. It's not fair to show someone the sun and then to banish him from it. Even the devil may cry when he looks around hell and realizes that he's there alone

Have you ever wanted something that you knew was bad for you? Something that you ached for so much you could think of nothing else?

Gee, thanks Dad. I promise to be a good boy and play nice with the other kids.(CharacterA) Smart ass. (characterB) Better than a dumb ass.(CharacterA)

I'm too young, too smart and too good-looking to die.

You're so afraid of being hurt that you attack first. Only those who really care about you will weather the assault of your verbal attacks and stay. The rest will fall away.

Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live

The most beautiful heart of all is the one that can still love even while it bleeds, and especially after its been broken into thousands of pieces.

Just how many sisters do you have? (CharacterA) Eight. (characterB) Eight? (CharacterA) What? (characterB) I'm just pitying whatever poor males lived in that house with all of you. It must have been truly frightening at least one week out of every month. (CharacterA) Was that a joke? (characterB) Merely a frightening statement of fact. (CharacterA)

There, there, baby. We'll hide her body in the trunk later.

Sorrow spares no one, and scars respect no person.

Yeah, it never fails to amaze me how a single lie can undo an entire lifetime of good

Is he a good boy? (CharacterA) No, Mom, he’s Satan incarnate. In fact, once it’s over, we’re going to get liquored up and tattooed, then find some cheap hos and have a good time with his trust fund. (characterB)

Oh no, no, no! Are you going to suck my blood? (CharacterA) Do I look like a lawyer to you? (characterB)

Hey, yummy leather guy? Can you hear me? 

Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss other people. Life's too short to worry about what other people do or don't do. Tend your own backyard, not theirs, because yours is the one you have to live in

It would have really cramped my future plans had I died. 

No power from above can make one human love another. Love comes from within the heart.

There are always three sides to every memory…yours, theirs, and the truth, which lies somewhere in between the two

You don’t knock on the devil’s door, boy, unless you want him to answer.

Take care of him, ____. And remember it takes great courage and heart for a man who knows no kindness to show it to another. Even the wildest of beasts can be tamed by a patient and gentle hand.

To infinity then. (CharacterA)  What’s that mean? (characterB) It’s something my dad used to say when I was a kid. To infinity, meaning you’d see something through to the end. (CharacterA) Infinity is never-ending. (CharacterB) That’s right, which means you keep going and going no matter what happens or what obstacles you meet. Over, under, around or through. There’s always a way. And if you have to chase something to infinity, strap on your big-boy pants, hiking boots, and go. (CharacterA)

Whoa, what is this? Battle of the Sarcastic and Pissed? Should I make popcorn? Forget American Idol, man. This is much more entertaining

Life is serious. (CharacterA)  No, life is an adventure. It's thrilling and scary. Sometimes it's even a bit boring, but it should never be serious. (characterB)

You can take my life, but you'll never break me. So bring me your worst… And I will definitely give you mine.

Just remember, anger is always your enemy. You must keep your emotions in check. The moment you lose control of them, you lose the fight every time.

It’s a responsibility that I take most seriously, so excuse me for banning you from killing them because you have reverse PMS. (CharacterA) Reverse PMS? (characterB) Yeah, unlike a normal woman, you’re cranky twenty-eight days out of the month. (CharacterA)

You are the only warmth in my heart. The only sunshine my winter has ever known

I wonder why no one called the police about the rocket launcher? God knows my neighbors usually report it if I so much as fart in my backyard.

I am a socially awkward mandork. 

What else can I do to piss you off? (CharacterA) You can leave me. (characterB) I would never do that, ____. No one can live without their heart and that’s what you are to me. (CharacterA)

What planet are you from? Obviously Planet Insanity was missing a local, long-term resident.'

Actions that sometimes seem mean aren’t. Rather they are done by the ones we love in order to protect us without our knowing it.

Knock, knock. (CharacterA) Now, ain't this a bitch. Here I am, trying to kiss my girl, and you have to interrupt us. What, were you raised in a barn? By the way, touch the woman, or the Lamborghini, and you're a dead man. (characterB)

The wealth of a soul is measured by how much it can feel... its poverty by how little

You’re human. No one cares if you sleep with a whore. (CharacterA) (characterB did something she’d never in her life done before. She slapped another person.) You ever insult ____ again and so help me, I’ll do to you what you allowed your brother to do to him. I’ll cut your tongue out for it. ____ is the man I love and no one, ever, takes issue with him without having issues with me. (characterB)

Your destiny is shaped by choice, never by chance. Beware the decisions you make, no matter how small, for they will be your salvation...or your death.

Wake up, ____. Your psychotic criminal is playing with knives.

I accept you as you are, and I will always hold you close in my heart. I will walk beside you forever

Words are easy to say, but emotions betray the best intentions.

Because I have no boobs. My ears stand out, and I have freckles all over me. (CharacterA) Boobs? (characterB) Breasts. (CharacterA) You have very nice breasts. (CharacterB) Thanks. What about you? (CharacterA) I have no breasts. (characterB)

I love you, I love you, I love you! And if you ever die on me again, I'll kill you so dead!

I'm old enough to make you look like an embryo. 

How did you get me here? (CharacterA)I have my evil Jedi ways. The Force is strong with this one. (characterB)

Have you ever noticed that salvation, much like your car keys, is usually found where and when you least expect it?

The man may not be dead, but he was certainly stiff. And this had nothing to do with rigor mortis

He was like some wild, untamed creature that you could keep and feed for a time, but in the end you knew you'd have to let it go for its own sake as well as yours

I will fear no evil for I am the baddest bitch in the land

Ironically no one ever wants to hear what I have to say about anything. They usually argue with me to the point I want to put them through a wall. Hopefully you won’t be so dense

So you're the infamous ____. (CharacterA) Lord and Master of the great barbarian horde that roams the night. (characterB)

No one should have to pay for love in flesh or blood. 

Should I ask about the handcuffs? (CharacterA) Not unless you want to live...otherwise if anyone asks, tell them I died of a heart attack during a wild sexcapade with her. (characterB)

A flower can't grow without rain. (CharacterA) Too much rain and it drowns. (characterB) And yet the most beautiful of the lotus flowers are the ones that grow in the deepest mud. (CharacterA)

I’ve spent my entire life listening to people tell me why I can’t be loved and how I’m nothing but a worthless piece of shit. I always told myself that I didn’t care, that I didn’t need anyone else. It was a lie, you know. I do care and I want ____. If it costs me my life to be with her, it doesn’t matter. I’ve already lived past my prime, anyway. I get up every morning with more pain in my joints than the day before. If I have to die, I’d rather die knowing someone cared about me, just once. Is that really too much to ask? (CharacterA) For us? Yes. It is. We are the gutter and the gutter is all we’ll ever be. Don’t reach out for the stars. They’ll burn you until there’s nothing left. (characterB) Then let me burn. (CharacterA)

Should I warm the oven and bake you a batch of hero cookies? 

I don’t even know what to say to you. (CharacterA) Me, either. I guess we’ll just stand here and cry at each other, huh? (characterB)

Everyone cries sometimes, ____. There are some pains that run too deep for even the strongest to take without breaking. I don’t think any less of you for it.

Please nothing, she’s a vicious piranha. She looks all cute and cuddly, then she opens that mouth and lets loose so much venom she could double as a nest of scorpions

Don't worry, ___. I'm an acquired taste. Most of my best friends had to know me for years before they could even stand my presence. I'm like mold, I usually grow on you very slowly

You know, I've walked this earth for over eleven thousand years, my lady. I have seen things in my life that are unimaginable to you, and you ask me if I doubt you? Lady, I doubt the very air you breathe

(CharacterA) "You are naked."......"You are so naked" (characterB) - "I know" (CharacterA) "You are naked!" (characterB)  "We've established that." (CharacterA) "You're happy and naked." (characterB)"What?

Please don’t let it be another cop. I’m outta bail money. Wait a minute…I could sell you on eBay and make a killing. (CharacterA) Not in my current condition. You’d have to sell ___ or ____. I’m sure there’s someone willing to buy two perfectly good white boys. (characterB)

Hey!" (CharacterA) snapped as he realized (CharacterB) was about to lock him on the outside with their attackers. He pushed the door open and glared at him. "No man left behind." (characterB) scoffed. "This aint' the army, boy. It's every man for himself. Fall behind. Get eaten!"

I marvel at the fact you’ve lived to your age and no one’s taken those rose-colored glasses and shoved them up your ass.

Because I don’t feel broken when you look at me. (CharacterA) How could you feel broken? (characterB) I was shattered as a child and thrown away, like a piece of trash no on wanted. But you don’t treat me like that. You see in me the human bit and you touch that part of me. You make me feel whole and wanted. (CharacterA)

Fate is a bitch with a wicked since of humor and today I'm her punchline

If you're going to hell buddy, I'm driving the bus

I'd rather be judged by twelve than carried by six

If I am to be judged it will be for who I am. Not for who I'm trying to become

I will count the heartbeats until I see you again

It's official take a psycho to work day. Why else would I be here?

The bitterest pain of all is when you can only hold someone in your heart who you used to hold in your arms

Pain baptizes us all without prejudice or mercy

Whatever doesn't kill me better run like hell

True love will always find it's way through paths where even feral lorinas fear to prey

So goes my incentive to fight fairly. You want fair, play with kids. You wanna come at me, make out a will.

People who don't know me, think I'm quiet. People who do, wish I was.

Shall I show you to the door... Or would you rather go out through the wall?

Before you rattle my cage, you'd best make sure I'm padlocked in it

There are two ways out of this room. The window behind you and the door behind me..... You might survive the window.

Everyday do one thing that scares you. Or one thing that scares other people

The truth spills as quickly from furious lips as a lie. The trick is to learn which is meant to wound and which is meant to enlighten.

We all have out burdens... Just some of us have the ones that strike to kill us vindictively

If you want to see exactly how angry someone can get, tell them to calm down when they're already pissed off!

Don't be afraid to love. Yes its a weakness, but it's a source of greatest strength you'll ever know.

Because you are taking the most important parts of me with you, ___..... My heart and my soul. You are not just my wife. You are what sustains me.

Talk is cheap. Pain is free and I'm peddling the shit out of it. So you come and get some.

Why be difficult when with a little bit of effort you can be impossible

The lies we tell ourselves to survive seldom bring peace to our hearts

Destruction is good for my soul, but it sucks to be you

Family isn't perfect, just perfectly ours

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Waking Up in Vegas--Ch. 9

Chapter 9: Now We’re Partners In Crime

Dean, The Night Before, 5:00 AM

           She has the most beautiful laugh. I think I could spend the rest of my life listening to it. The sound ran through my body like an electric shock. The look on her face was more beautiful than the most priceless art. God knows I thought she was the most exquisite thing I’d ever laid eyes on.

           She yawned just as we stumbled in the door of her hotel room. Everything about her was tousled and soft. There was something innocent and fragile about her in that moment.

           “Time for you to go to bed,” I said, surprised at how lucid I sounded. I’d been up for twenty-four hours and could feel the exhaustion starting to settle into my limbs. Passing out next to her sounded like a dream come true.

           Mera looked up at me with a hazy smile. “You’ll stay,” she said. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a question or a demand, but I didn’t care.

           I smiled and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Yes.”

           Shyness slipped over her as she looked around the room, took in the single Queen bed. I brushed my fingers along her jaw, watching her sink into my touch. Heat flooded into my blood at the sight of her, the knowledge that in a few moments she would be pressed up against me, wrapped in blankets and my arms.

           “Go on in the bathroom and get changed, darlin’,” I whispered, trying not to let the heat rushing through me latch on to the desire to do more than just sleep. “I’ll be right here waiting.”

           She looked back at me over her shoulder as she slipped into the bathroom. As soon as the door shut, I let loose a breath that had grown stale in my lungs. There was a sudden anxiety blistering in my entire body. My thoughts could barely get past the idea of holding her tight against me, skin on skin, the sound of her sighing my name as we became man and wife in truth.

           It was all I could do to will away a hard on as I stripped down to my boxers and climbed into the bed. The sheets were crisp and cool. I imagined them wrinkled and warm with body heat.

 Mera, Afternoon, 1:45 PM

           Dean’s arm held me close against his chest. His heart beat a steady drum beneath my ear, soothing me to near euphoria. I luxuriated in the feel of his body next to mine—the solidness of muscle, the rough rasp of calloused skin, the heat of his limbs. It was like being lost in an infinite forest with the sensation of the earth all around—this grounding, central thing that was everywhere and nowhere at once.

           “What happens now?” I whispered.

           His chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Whatever you want, Mera.” His fingers slipped through my hair, nails scratching my scalp. I let out a faint purr of happiness. “We can stay here in this bed all day, have room service, and then disappear until the next show. We can do anything.”

           I let my mind linger on the idea of staying in bed with him. The chance to explore the body of the man who I now called my husband was more than appealing. Electricity spiraled up my spine as I thought about the possibilities.

           Dean sat up, his back resting against the padded headboard, dragging me with him. The next moment found me straddling his lap, only the thin material of the sheet between us. His blue eyes turned sapphire and navy as they traveled over the length of me. My hair fell over one shoulder, and he tucked it behind my ear. The way he looked at me, his hazelnut locks mussed, his gaze like a physical touch, it made me weak inside.

           “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, his palm settled against my cheek. His thumb brushed the fullness of my bottom lip, dipped along my chin, beneath my jaw. There was something in his gaze that was haunting and wonderful.

           “Dean…”

           He shook his head, quieting whatever I might have said. Silence settled for a moment, then shifted with his bright smile.

           “Get dressed. I want to show you something.”

           I quirked a brow, leaning into his touch.

           His lips turned upward in a smirk, his dimples showing. “Don’t ask. It’s a surprise.”

 Dean, Afternoon, 2:20 PM

           I gave the cab driver an address in one of the neighborhoods outside the tourist-ridden part of the city. My leg bounced with anxiety as we sped away from the hotel, Mera sitting next to me, our fingers entwined. The further we got from the strip, the more I mulled over the reality of our situation, the more I let the truest parts of me come through. There was the Dean Ambrose everyone saw in the ring, and then there was the one who was just a messed-up kid from Ohio.

           That was the man I was as I sat next to Mera in that cab. The man who had once been a boy afraid of being abandoned, who scratched and clawed to just make it out of the neighborhood alive. I hadn’t even finished high school. She had two degrees and carried herself like she came from something safe and wholesome.

           The man that I was grew more terrified with every moment. I loved her with every fiber of my being. Since the moment I’d laid eyes on her, there was nothing I could do to get her out of my mind or to keep her out of my heart. Even when she had been off limits—the woman on my brother’s arm, his childhood sweetheart—I hadn’t given up the love I felt for her. I’d held it inside, let it drive me through every breath, a desperation to make myself into a man who deserved her—even if I could never have her.

           “Dean?” Her voice came from somewhere far away. She came into focus, looking up at me with those haunting eyes with worry creasing her brow. “Are you okay?”

           I forced a smile, drew her hand up to my mouth, let my lips linger over her knuckles. “Just thinking.”

           She opened her mouth, closed it again. Warmth radiated from her body as she curled against my shoulder. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” she stated plainly, sweetness in her tone.

           A genuine smile settled on my face. Somehow she knew what to say to assuage the fear that gripped my heart. It was as if this woman had been formed for me—the softness for my ragged edges, the care for my recklessness, a guiding star for my nomadic soul.

           “We’re here,” I said before I could delve too deeply into the thoughts crowding my mind.

           I paid the driver, spilled out to the sidewalk. The Nevada sun was high overhead, bright against the concrete and stucco. Heat shimmered above the pavement. It was the dry heat of a desert day, broken only by the oases of shaded porches and in-ground pools. Mera slipped her hand into the crook of my arm as I lead her up a narrow driveway to a two-story house set back from the road.

           The house was made of sand-colored brick with a red terra-cotta roof. A balcony edged in white banister looked out over the street. Verdant grass and a dotting of palm trees made up the front lawn. The double garage was shut tight.

           I dug a set of keys from my pocket as we walked up to the door. It was painted burgundy with a brass knocker, white decorative shudders on either side. My breath hitched in my chest as I turned the key, pushed the door inward. Before I could let myself think twice, I swept her from her feet. Her arms went around my neck.

           The question was clear in her eyes. I took a breath, grinned sheepishly.

           “I closed on it last week.” My feet moved, carrying us both over the threshold. “Welcome home, Mrs. Ambrose.”

           She looked around the foyer. The house was devoid of furniture and had the sharp scent of fresh paint. There was new carpet, hardwood, tile. A remodeled kitchen and a new wall around the back garden with its patio and pool. It was the kind of place I imagined living the rest of my life in, growing old within these walls. And I wanted to live those years with her.

           “That is… if you want it to be.”

 Mera, Afternoon, 2:41 PM

           It was bare, but beautiful. Everything about it radiated the same aura that came from Dean. There was nothing extraneous… even if it had been fully furnished, I had the feeling that everything would be just like him. Laid back comfort without a desire to be glitzy or overdone. After all, for someone who made the kind of money he did, the place was downright small.

           Silence stretched out, my eyes taking in every part of the house that I could see from Dean’s embrace. It was so light and airy inside, the walls painted with a color that seemed somewhere between off-white and faint grey. The carpet in the front room was watered slate and looked brand new. Polished hardwood led off down the hall toward what I assumed was the kitchen. A set of stairs led up to the second floor behind a long wooden counter, shelves sitting empty behind it.

           “You don’t have to… I know it’s a lot…” Dean stammered. I could feel his hummingbird heart against my chest.

           I took a quick inventory, began making a mental checklist. “It’ll take us forever to move in here. We’re on the road so much and my stuff is all in Florida. And how much space is there upstairs? Coordinating all of our furniture… it’s going to take months, Dean.”

           Slowly, he lowered me to my feet. He brushed his fingers along the side of my face, tucked my hair behind my ear. Hope burned in his bright blue eyes. Dimples popped into being as he smiled.

           “You mean it?”

           I met his grin with one of my own. “It’s you and me against the world, remember?”

Tag List

@bethany99stuff-blog @houndsofjxstice @lunatictoosweet @xbutterflius-effectusx

[gloieee]

(Belated and unfinished thoughts on) Mistakes

I don’t do regrets. It’s what I’ve said about myself for as long as I can remember. I torture myself over decisions, interrogate myself, hold on until its unbearable, “because” I don’t do regrets. Thinking about it like this makes me chuckle, because it’s abundantly clear that there’s something wrong with that statement. This is a digression though. What’s clear is that I’ve always made decisions carefully, often erring on overthinking and internal agony. I guess the true reason I haven’t regretted my decisions is because I hold onto decisions until it’s clear that I have no choice but to finally choose. At that point, I’ve beat the dilemma to the core. I can’t regret because I know I exhausted myself, and that I drove myself to a point of no return. Regardless of whether it’s the right decision or not, I know that whatever I chose was inevitable.

I’ve made a lot of decisions these past few years. I suppose all decisions are somewhat related to your circumstances, but I feel as though I’ve made some active decisions over the past few years. I guess it feels more like “active” decisions because many were decisions that not many supported. I’ve always gone against the current, but not in any kind of romantic, rebellious, edgy way—I find no delight in defining myself as ~alternative~ or a free soul or some bougie highbrow connoisseur of life. I literally hate that shit, perhaps because I feel indignant. I feel like more of a farce than some open-minded intellectual artist type. Ultimately, I want the plainest, most generic things in the world—revel in security, love the suburbs, love benefits-eligible positions and dream of being a homeowner—but yet, I seem to choose the hardest route to that goal. It looks like I’m purposefully trying to find the most difficult path, like some ego-driven power tripping junkie, which makes me let out an empty chuckle and feel despair at the same time.  

Anyway back to decisions. I guess it comes with the territory of “adulthood,” which must stay in quotations, because I most definitely don’t feel like an adult. I certainly don’t have the self-sustainability that I associated with adulthood, that I hope to have at this point in my life. Under this definition though, I do wonder whether I’ll ever really be an adult in the sense that my parents appeared to me as a young child. I doubt adulthood comes automatically with becoming a parent. At least not for our generation. Yes, many of my even my active decisions, have (perhaps) inadvertently led to suffering on my end, lots of pain, turmoil that most would label “unnecessary.” Yet, despite all that, I have never quite regretted my decisions. Partly because I was convinced it had to be so; partly because I did really value those experiences. I valued learning from suffering. I wasn’t as idealistic or passionately aesthetic enough (or, lacked in painful experiences enough) to ever see the beauty of suffering, as the deepest realization of the human experience. But I suppose I was open enough to see the value of experiences, of difficulties. “The world/ gives you/ so much pain/ and here you are/ making gold out of it –there is nothing purer than that.” I guess this was what I felt. This is certainly in the the past tense. It’s a pessimistic reading of my present state, because it implies that I am currently in a place where I can’t even appreciate some of the rather deep experiences of life, to embrace the ups and downs that have been thrust upon me. The alternative reading is a pessimistic, or even tragic reading of my past, in that maybe I felt that way back then because I had no choice. I was in such despair and pain that it was all meaningless, if I didn’t convince myself that I was “learning” from it, it would’ve broken me. And God knows there’s nothing that gets my ego and survival instincts going like the thought that something could “break me.” That’s definitely why I’ve made some of the most foolhardy decisions of my life, which have been many. Someone softens, and says that sounds too hard, and I balk, and go ham cause I can’t break my streak. I think I’m pretty humble, or at least, I’ve never been a humble bragger, but I have a weird protectiveness about being “strong.” But again, a part of me feels like it’s definitely a defense mechanism. 

I fell in love with Andre 3000 this winter/ spring—in Boston, is there really a difference at this point? On the surface level, his lyricism, the way he literally plays with language, has made me see how rap, in its truest form, is the most exulting and perfect form of poetry. It’s perhaps been the only form of aestheticism and beauty that I’ve been able to appreciate as of late. And of course, his obsession/ fascination/ fear/ disillusionment with love is something I’ve always resonated with. The unshakeable tone of resignation, the empty but deep sense of pain in Andre’s recent solo bits pulls at my heartstrings.  The profoundly real sentiment of emptiness comes across regardless of the content (T.I- Sorry).

I'm a grown-ass kid, you know ain't never cared about no damn money Why do we try so hard to be stars, just to dodge comments

And this that shit that'll make you call your baby mama When you gone on half a pill, don't know why but that I did Then you take a flight back to the crib, y'all make love like college kids And you say all the shit you gon' do better, we can try this shit again 'Round the time the dope wear off, you feel stupid, she feel lost That's that dope, I mean, I mean dopamine you think Cupid done worn off

Maybe should have stayed but it ain't yo fault Too much pressure, I fell off, I'm sorry Was young and had to choose between you And what the rest of the world might offer me, shit what would you do Well I'd probably do it differently if second the chance Only if some cool ass older man would've let me know in advance

This, this quarry, that is dug so deep in a father's chest When he feel that he's broken up his nest And he figured shit he was just doing the best that he could Which end up being the worst that he could

Regrets. You really see it here. True regrets are admitting you “would’ve done it differently,” but knowing you can’t go back and fix it. Even the hypothetical second chance is qualified: “Only if some cool ass older man would've let me know in advance.” But there was no cool ass older man back then, there’s just Andre now (props for his humble brag here, which he also does so well in “Walk it Out”—a glimmer of hope for Andre despite the sadness of his recent songs). It can’t be fixed at this point. It’s not about the people or the individual parts involved that could change the situation. Him getting back with Erykah Badu (who he’s most likely referring to) and raising Seven together at this point wouldn’t make it right.  The “second chance” can’t ever come. You can hear the “quarry,” dug so deep and hollow in Andre’s chest.  

Well, sitting here sad as hell Listening to Adele, I feel you baby Someone like you, more like someone unlike you Or something that's familiar maybe

The emptiness. You know you’re sad when you’re a man at a strip club but being “saddened” by the injustices of the pecking order of strippers (“All of them ain't all equipped/ And this saddens me, I see the pecking order/ Quote-unquote "bad bitches" work the whole floor/ Those that get laughed at sit off in the corner/ Like a lab rat nobody want her). “Someone like you, more like someone unlike you/ Or something that's familiar maybe” is such a biting analysis of how people feel post-break up. More often than not, we may want “someone like you” in the sense that we want someone we could share the intensity, the emotion with, but it’s “someone unlike you” that we actively seek—someone who won’t cheat, won’t treat you like shit, who will  accept you for who you are, won’t make you feel small, who’s stable, who’s fun, who might last—but yet, we often end up finding someone “familiar.” It’s a disenchantment. A sly peak behind the curtains to uncover the truth (Drake- The Real Her). Familiarity is covert—it’s not active, it’s not conscious, it’s a sense, a shadow, a feeling you can’t put your finger on. We don’t want to think we’re dating someone because they’re familiar, we want it to be fate, unique, the one.

Since you been gone I been having withdrawals You were such a habit to call I ain't myself at all had to tell myself naw She's better with some fella with a regular “job”/jaw I didn't wanna get her involved

Even when Andre misses someone, it’s almost as if he’s purposefully comparing her to a drug, to convince himself that it’s just a craving and a literal “habit” (Frank Ocean- Pink Matter). He gives up on her before he even gives it a shot—saying “naw, she's better with some fella with a regular “job”/jaw” (also love love love the play on words here with job and jaw (his protruding, unconventional jaw line), the ingenious rhyming with naw fella and jaw—it gets me every time). This entire song is divine. Soft pink matter, Cotton Candy, majin buu, so genius.

What do you think my brain is made for Is it just a container for the mind? Sensei went quiet then violent And we sparred until we both grew tired Nothing mattered Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh Dim the lights and fall into you, you, you My God, giving me pleasure Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure Pleasure over matter

I’ve rarely heard someone sing so intensely, which is contrasted with Andre’s off-handed ambivalence.  

5.22.2018

[dfroza]

standing in this faith (of the Son) will definitely go against what some people think and believe in this world.

and all that we now face here is temporal in nature, for the truest nature of things is the eternal.

and we are meant to stand, to have courage and to “believe...” by conserving the True message of grace and rebirth which is a form of bravery that also includes gentleness, kindness, forgiveness, grace, and humility. but we certainly don’t have to compromise our faith and hope in Love’s sacred truth just because others may disagree.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 18th chapter of the book of Acts where Paul continues to share his message in the face of opposition, and yet there were some who were persuaded to receive it by believing and being baptized. Paul even had a dream with the Lord speaking to him to keep sharing without fear:

From Athens, Paul traveled to Corinth alone. He found a Jewish man there named Aquila, originally from Pontus. Aquila and his wife Priscilla had recently come to Corinth from Italy because Claudius had banished all Jews from Rome. Paul visited them in their home and discovered they shared the same trade of tent making. He then became their long-term guest and joined them in their tentmaking business. Each Sabbath he would engage both Jews and Greeks in debate in the synagogue in an attempt to persuade them of his message. Eventually Silas and Timothy left Macedonia and joined him in Corinth. They found him fully occupied by proclaiming the message, testifying to the Jewish people that Jesus was God’s Anointed, the Liberating King. Eventually, though, some of them stopped listening and began insulting him. He shook the dust off his garments in protest.

Paul: OK. I’ve done all I can for you. You are responsible for your own destiny before God. From now on, I will bring the good news to the outsiders!

He walked out of the synagogue and went next door to the home of an outsider, Titius Justus, who worshiped God. Paul formed a gathering of believers there that included Crispus (the synagogue leader) and his whole household and many other Corinthians who heard Paul, believed, and were ceremonially washed through baptism. One night Paul had a vision in which he heard the Lord’s voice.

The Lord: Do not be afraid, Paul. Speak! Don’t be silent! I am with you, and no one will lay a finger on you to harm you. I have many in this city who are already My people.

After such turmoil in previous cities, these words encouraged Paul to extend his stay in Corinth, teaching the message of God among them for a year and six months.

During this time, some Jews organized an attack on Paul and made formal charges against him to Gallio, the proconsul of Achaia.

Jews: This man is convincing people to worship God in ways that contradict our Hebrew Scriptures.

Paul was about to speak, but Gallio spoke first.

Gallio: Look, if this were some serious crime, I would accept your complaint as a legitimate legal case, but this is just more of your typical Jewish squabbling about trivialities in your sacred literature. I have no interest in getting dragged into this kind of thing.

So he threw out their case and drove them away from his bench. They were furious and seized Sosthenes, the synagogue official; then they beat him in front of the tribunal. Gallio just ignored them.

At the end of 18 months, Paul said good-bye to the believers in Corinth. He wanted to travel to the east and south to Syria by ship; so, accompanied by Priscilla and Aquila, he went to the nearby port city of Cenchrea, where he fulfilled a vow he had made by cutting his hair. The three of them sailed east to Ephesus where Paul would leave Priscilla and Aquila. Paul again went to the synagogue where he dialogued with the Jews. They were receptive and invited him to stay longer. But he politely declined.

Paul: If God wills, I’ll return at some point.

He caught a ship bound south and east for Caesarea by the sea. There he went up for a brief visit with the believers in the church at Jerusalem; then he headed north to Antioch. He spent considerable time there and then left again, visiting city after city throughout Galatia and Phrygia, strengthening the disciples in each place.

Meanwhile, back in Ephesus, a Jew named Apollos made contact with the community of believers. He had been raised in Alexandria.

Apollos was eloquent and well educated in the Hebrew Scriptures. He was partially instructed in the way of the Lord, and he added to his native eloquence a burning enthusiasm to teach about Jesus. He taught accurately what he knew; but he had only understood part of the good news, specifically the ritual cleansing through baptism preached by John, the forerunner of Jesus. So, when Priscilla and Aquila heard him speak boldly in the synagogue, they discerned both his gift and his lack of full understanding. They took him aside and in private explained the way of God to him more accurately and fully. He wanted to head west into Achaia, where Paul had recently been, to preach there. The believers encouraged him to do so and sent a letter instructing the Greek disciples to welcome him. Upon his arrival, he was of great help to all in Achaia who had, by the grace of God, become believers. This gifted speaker publicly demonstrated, based on the Hebrew Scriptures, that the promised Anointed One is Jesus. Then, when the Jews there raised counterarguments, he refuted them with great power.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 18 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 9th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that points to the birth of the Son known as the Prince of Peace:

But there will be no more gloom for those who knew such hardship. In times past, God humbled the land of Zebulun and Naphtali; later, He will restore the honor and glory to the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee, home of the nations.

The people who had been living in darkness

have seen a great light.

The light of life has shined on those who dwelt

in the shadowy darkness of death.

And You, God, will make it happen. You bolstered the nation,

making it great again. You have saturated it with joy.

Everyone in it is full of delight in Your presence,

like the joy they experience at the harvest,

like the thrill of dividing up the spoils of war.

For as You did back in the day when Midian oppressed us,

You will shatter the yoke that burdens them,

You will lift the load that weighs them down,

You will break the rod of their oppressor.

It’s true. All the fabric of war will go up in flames:

the troops’ heavy boots that stamped us down and their blood-soaked garb

Will all be burned beyond recognition or use.

There will be a new time, a fresh start.

Hope of all hopes, dream of our dreams,

a child is born, sweet-breathed; a son is given to us: a living gift.

And even now, with tiny features and dewy hair, He is great.

The power of leadership, and the weight of authority, will rest on His shoulders.

His name? His name we’ll know in many ways—

He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Dear Father everlasting, ever-present never-failing,

Master of Wholeness, Prince of Peace.

His leadership will bring such prosperity as you’ve never seen before—

sustainable peace for all time.

This child: God’s promise to David—a throne forever, among us,

to restore sound leadership that cannot be perverted or shaken.

He will ensure justice without fail and absolute equity. Always.

The intense passion of the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies,

will carry this to completion.

The Lord has dispatched a word against Jacob;

it will come down hard on Israel.

All the people of Ephraim and the citizens of its capital Samaria will know.

In their pride and arrogance they say:

“Hey! The walls have collapsed, but this gives us a chance to rebuild

better than it was before with the best stones instead of brick.

The invaders may have chopped down the sycamores,

but we will plant cedars in their place.”

But the Eternal stirs up Rezin’s enemies to move against Israel

and arouses all their foes to join them.

They come, these enemies, from both sides (Syrians on the east and Philistines on the west)

and consume Israel, swallowing it whole.

Still, God’s anger smolders.

His hand is raised; there’s more to come.

But the people don’t return to God after all His punishment.

They don’t change their ways and right their paths

To seek the Eternal, the Commander of heavenly armies.

Therefore, He will take them to task.

In a single day He’ll cut off from Israel the head and the tail;

He’ll cut down the noble palm and lowly reed.

The head are those charged with leadership—political and religious—

who used their power in the worst possible ways;

And the tail are the prophets who slur their lies.

These misguided leaders have misled this people;

and those who follow have become swallowed up in their deceit.

Even now the Lord takes no joy in a single one, not even the young.

Mercy has run out for even those without power—the widows and orphans.

For every single person is at fault and behaves badly.

No one thinks or acts as God would have them do.

Every mouth utters foolishness like a wildfire, out of control;

wickedness rages, leveling and clearing briars and thorns;

Forests and thickets burn, leaving the whole a smoking heap.

Still, God’s anger smolders. His hand is raised; there’s more to come.

The Eternal, the Commander of heavenly armies,

sets our world on fire in His fury.

The rotten people become kindling for the fire,

turning against one another until no one is spared.

They slice off what’s on the right and are still hungry;

they eat what’s on the left and still aren’t satisfied.

And in their voracity, they consume their own.

Manasseh and Ephraim devour each other

and turn their covetous eye south, toward Judah.

Still, God’s anger smolders. His hand is raised; there’s more to come.

The Book of Isaiah, Chapter 9 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, june 17 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that looks at the significance of forgiveness:

In the Gates of Repentance it is written: ‎"I hereby forgive all who have hurt me, all who have wronged me, whether deliberately or inadvertently, whether by word or by deed. May no one be punished on my account. And as I forgive and pardon those who have wronged me, may those whom I have harmed forgive me, whether I acted deliberately or inadvertently, whether by word or by deed." Amen...

Yeshua taught us to pray “forgive us as we forgive others," which implies that our forgiveness (of others) is the measure of our own forgiveness. In other words, as we forgive others, so we experience forgiveness ourselves... Forgiveness releases the hurt, the anger, and the disappointment so these feelings do not inwardly consume and exhaust our souls. And yet forgiveness must be self-directed, too, since refusing to forgive yourself denies or negates the forgiveness given from others. Forgiving yourself means admitting that you act just like other people, that you are human, and that you are in need of reconciliation too. We have to move on, past the shame, and to turn back to hope. As a Yiddish proverb puts it, "You are what you are, not what you were..."

It is written, "in many things we offend all," and therefore we must confess our sins one to another to find healing (James 5:16). However the practice of love overlooks a multitude of sins, and if we do not condemn those who offend us, then we will not need to forgive them for their offenses. Walking in God’s love sets us free from the slavery of negative emotions such as resentment, bitterness, anger, unresolved grief, and so on.

I love this affirmation and prayer attributed to Eusebius of Caesarea (c. 263-339 AD): "May I be the friend of that which is eternal and abides. May I never quarrel with those nearest me; and if I do, may we be reconciled quickly. May I never devise evil against anyone; and if any devise evil against me, may I escape uninjured and without any desire to hurt them. May I love, seek, and attain only that which is good. May I wish for the happiness of all and the misery of none. May I never rejoice in the ill-fortune of one who has wronged me. When I have done or said what is wrong, may I never wait for the rebuke of others, but always rebuke myself until I make amends.”

“May I, to the extent of my ability, give all needful help to my friends and to all who are in want. May I never fail a friend in danger. When visiting those in grief, may I be able by gentle and healing words to soften their pain. May I respect myself. May I always keep tame that which rages within me. May I accustom myself to be gentle, and never be angry with people because of circumstances. May I never discuss who is wicked and what wicked things he has done, but know good men and follow their footsteps." Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

6.17.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

June 17, 2021

Reasonable Service

“I beseech you therefore...by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.” (Romans 12:1-2)

For those who would know God’s will for their lives, these verses provide the definitive answer. The key is sacrifice, not conformity. It is paradoxical, but wonderfully true, that real living is dying—dying to the world and living unto Christ! This great theme is emphasized repeatedly throughout the New Testament (Galatians 2:20, etc.).

Whether paradoxical or not, the principle of sacrificial living for Christ is eminently reasonable service! “Reasonable” is the Greek logikos, from which we derive our word “logical.” “Service” is the Greek latreian, referring to service as a priest. We have been made “an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 2:5). It is perfectly logical that we render such lifelong service to the great Friend who laid down His life for us in order to take away our sins and give us everlasting life with Him in the ages to come.

It is also logical that we should not conform our lives to the standards of this present evil world. Why should we imitate this world’s materialism or humanism, in dress or music or morals or anything else? We have far higher and more lasting standards, guided by the Word of God and by minds renewed in Christ.

Our minds once were “blinded” by “the god of this world” (2 Corinthians 4:4), but now they can be guided by “the mind of the Lord” (Romans 11:34; 1 Corinthians 2:16). Here is the key to knowing that good and acceptable and perfect will of God! HMM

[lucimonk]

What America wants but not what it deserves: Steve Rogers as a symbol of protection

I came into Falcon and the Winter Soldier (FTWS) expecting a generic superhero origin story where Sam Wilson encounters a generic threat, does a generic heroic deed, and is anointed America’s next top captain, and that we just need to make do with him as an adequate substitute, with Steve Rogers retiring to Avenger heaven. However, the show has forced me to reexamine the very concept of captain America that I have taken for granted and come up with a new understanding of what that mantle means. Specifically, I look at Steve Rogers’ relation to the WWII era that births his heroism to argue that today America’s drastically different geopolitical position in the global landscape makes Rogers’ symbolism, which centers on a mission of protection, what America wants but not necessarily what it needs. This assertion is probably not only controversial but also unpopular because essentially, I am arguing that someone other than Rogers is better suited to lead America today (as the country no longer deserves him). However, hopefully by the end of my analysis, you will realize my deconstruction of the notion of captain America does not take away from Steve Rogers’s worthiness, only reframing his legacy in a new light.

Steve Rogers’ mission statement is about fighting against, as he puts it, “bullies.” They can be the literal bullies who terrorize his neighborhood in Brooklyn, the Nazis who take over Europe, Loki who attacks New York, Shield/Hydra that “puts a gun over everyone’s head and calls it freedom,” and finally Thanos who threatens the whole universe. However big or small, Rogers’ enemies are of the same type: an external threat to a people’s freedom. As such, Rogers’ primary mission is that of protection -  his shield aptly symbolizes this core value - which is particularly suited to America of the 1940s. America back then has yet to become the world’s only political, economic, military superpower. It has yet actively interfered in other countries in the name of defending democracy. It has not appointed itself world police, spreading its troops across the globe, making a mess everywhere. In short, it has yet to become the world’s super bully. While its history has always been riddled with atrocious crimes against African Americans, Indian Americans, and others, in the international stage, or at least reputation wise,  America of the 40s is still considered relatively “good.” Steve Rogers is born to this era where his government is struggling to lead the country out of a depression, his people learning the virtue of hard work; his fellow Americans are fundamentally good and unproblematic. Their only problem is that they are oppressed, their freedom in danger, and once the external threat is removed, they are fine again. Steve Rogers’ captain America then is motivated by and the direct product of his time as his country requires it: a soldier elevated into a symbol of protection for innocent Americans against outside bullies.

The same thing cannot be said of America today. Its hegemony is felt all around the world in every aspect: politics, economy, military, culture, science and technology. It has the strongest military, the most weapons and nuclear power, and spends the most money in defense spending. It is absurd to say America, the government or people, needs protection, for what bully can be strong enough to threaten it? In fact, in the last decades, America has run out of tangible outside threat it can bomb, so it starts to put a name and face to less tangible ones: terrorism, extremism, radicalism. It wages wars on drugs, poor people, the environment.

In such circumstances, Steve Rogers’ type of heroism centering on protection becomes out of place. As a person and an individual citizen, soldier, or leader, he has much to offer, for a good person always has something to offer no matter when or where he is. However, Captain America has never been only a captain; it is a symbol, which, in the postmodern age where God is dead, has almost reached a form of apotheosis. While it is true that “a symbol is nothing without the man or woman behind it,” Captain America’s symbolic power remains significant beyond the exit of Steve Rogers and becomes susceptible to exploitation in his absence. A true examination of the legacy of captain America therefore must look beyond Rogers as a person and consider the symbolism he engenders, and more importantly, what implication of using that old symbol in the now much changed society: keeping Rogers as captain America today would be equivalent to symbolically suggesting that America is still that younger, much weaker, less implicated country of uncomplicated, unproblematic, fundamentally good people whose only problem is being threatened by a bully from somewhere else. That mentality is at best an indulgence in and nostalgia of the good old days and at worst a delusion, a willful ignorance of the harsh reality of what America has become.  In fact, the latter response is exactly what the MCU American government does. It parades John Walker around as a PR tool to advertise its power and accrue more influence. Before that, it has tried the same to Steve Rogers until he breaks away. This is what I mean when I say Steve Rogers is what America wants, not what it deserves. It wants a pure symbol of a past that has long gone but is no longer deserving of that purity.

Indeed, the evolution of Steve Rogers’s relationship to governments throughout the 3 movies in the Captain America trilogy and Endgame can be interpreted as Rogers’ slowly but surely breaking away from the establishment, which, ironically, hints at his becoming unsuitable for the title he carries - if “Captain America'' is taken to mean a leader of a nation, then it is by definition cannot be disassociated from the institutions that give it its legitimacy. In fact, only the first movie, which takes place in the past, shows Rogers executing his mission statement at his truest: protecting people from Hydra. The second movie is Rogers’s breaking up with the American government while the third is his breaking up with world governments as a whole because these institutions do not share his values. His persistent distrust of and antagonism toward the establishment is indicative of how his individual leadership and the protective symbolism he carries are ideologically incompatible with today’s politics and to a larger extent, the monstrosity that that politics has turned his country into. This perhaps is not the intention of the creators of the Captain America trilogy; I don’t think they ever set out to suggest that America today is too corrupt to deserve Steve Rogers’ wholesome value. But as with God, authors’ intention is dead.

One can argue Steve Rogers only breaks up with the American government. He is still loyal to the American people, and while the government wages wars everywhere, the people do not. However, I argue that FTWS reveals a society that may not necessarily benefit from Rogers’ type of leadership because his staunch moral clarity runs the risk of being counterproductive in a divisive culture.

There is a hint of a viscerally broken society all the way back in Captain America: The Winter Soldier (CA:TWS) where Zola says, “for 70 years, Hydra has been secretly feeding crisis, weeping wars… created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security.” However, the movie never explores this detail. It ends with Rogers foiling Hydra’s one plan, which is written narratively as a conclusive triumph of Rogers against the modern establishment. The movie and Rogers swipe Zola’s comment about the many issues Hydra has sowed under the rug and never pick up on this thread again or mention how the society deals with the aftermath of Hydra. However, in hindsight after FTWS, I wonder if Rogers’ effort is a real victory or just the start of a much longer, more onerous process where the actual hard work of repairing and healing after nearly a century of violence and conflicts has not even begun.

This is where I suddenly realize what Steve Rogers’ mission statement entails and does not entail. Steve Rogers’ unique strength lies in his staunch moral clarity and the inspiration it brings. That clarity works when there is a clear evil. That inspiration works when there is a clear victim. Those are both missing today. What if there is no common, outside bully to fight, no obvious, unambiguous evil to stand up against, no Nazis, Red Skull, Loki, Thanos for Rogers to punch, from whom to take back their freedom. Sure, one can point to the GRC, the stand-in for the establishment, but the GRC is only a catalyst to ignite the explosive inequality and polarization that have always hidden underneath. What is more, what if every side is vulnerable, and there is no clear victim because everyone is a victim from their own perspective. What if the victims the captain is supposed to protect are not uncomplicatedly good, but selfish, angry, violent; what if the obstacle to overcome is not some good old fear that can be solved by a protective symbol, but hopelessness, rage, narrow mindless, tribal mentality. What if the problem is not something to protect against but the fragmented state of the society itself. The crucial question of Rogers’ legacy then is this: once the evil has already been punched, and the immediate danger to the freedom of the people removed, what is his role in the ruined society in the aftermath? Can a soldier of war be relevant in peace?

It is easy to assume that if Rogers did not retire, he would reconcile that deeply flawed, divided society depicted in FTWS. Afterall, CA:TWS puts Rogers in a morally murky situation, and eventually, he is able to identify the real villain Hydra, separate, and destroy it. However, the problem presented by FTWS is different. Instead of a slick enemy hiding among the good citizens, FTWS depicts a polarized community deep in culture wars and fractions divided by economic anxiety. Each side has its own narrative and moral righteousness. Karli Morgenthau is no cartoon evil Zola; the show goes out of its way to make the audience sympathize with her cause. The Flagsmashers are no Nazis or Hydra agents; they are real humans who are at the end of their robes. In such a complex situation, moral clarity is a luxury, or worse, a danger. Afterall, Morgenthau shows a lot of moral clarity - in fact, too much of it; her people worship her cause and compare her leadership to Rogers’, which is not unreasonable: both are willful people stubbornly set in their own moral compass, standing up for oppressed people bullied by governments. The problem with Morgenthau is that her “moral” is too clear cut, her view too narrow, willfully refusing to recognize there are people outside of her community who are similarly vulnerable and oppressed.

It is not a coincidence that the show compares her to Rogers and has Zemo compare Rogers to the Nazis. While Captain America is a leader of the people, Steve Rogers is an anti-establishment individualist. When he was young, he was an outcast; he always fought stubbornly on his own, at one point even facing a whole alien army by himself. When confronted with injustice to individuals, or as he puts it, “a situation going south” (Civil war), he can’t ignore it and will fight a whole government to protect individuals like Bucky or Wanda. While becoming a fugitive to protect wronged individuals may be heroic, a look at the broader picture reveals Rogers’ approach to be narrow and self centered: CW and Rogers do not address the true victims - dead and injured people accidentally caused by Wanda, the same way the he conveniently does not deal with “the world so chaotic” revealed by Zola in CA:TWS after he foils Hydra’s plan. Ultimately, Rogers is a soldier; he comes in, fights, and gets out, leaving the aftermath for others to deal with. What role should he play then when all we have left is aftermath?

The problem with Rogers’ moral willfulness is this: once he recognizes a victim, he does everything to fight for them with a focus too intense it makes him unable to take into consideration others and the larger context. This is evident when Rogers abandons the Accords, which theoretically could be a step toward accountability. Like Morgenthau’s, Rogers’ moral stance at times is too clear cut, his view too narrow, centering on a few instead of the whole, and he does not compromise individual justice at any cost. Rogers is not as radical as Morgenthau, but like her, he would rather leave until justice for the few is achieved than to stay and work toward an acceptable resolution for everyone. Freedom is worth fighting for, but social norms need to be negotiated and constructed. One can’t do that without sitting at the table.

Rogers’ ability to inspire followers is his most valuable strength but also a potential danger. Rogers’ staunch willfulness is often so inspiring that oppressed people follow him because in him, they find the courage to fight, ala the speech in CA:TWS. However, FTWS’s America is much more complex than a generic oppressed people: in FTWS, some communities are radicalized and turn to terrorism to vent their anger (Morgenthau) while others (Walker) are manufactured to be ignorant, arrogant tools of the power that be. I am not sure an individualist, anti-establishment model with inspiring speeches is what these people need. Morgenthau already provides just that - a leader who inspires thousands of followers for a just cause - and what does that lead to? Radical extremist violence. Inspirational leader is dangerous in a polarized society especially when tension is high and divisions are deep because more passion may be counterproductive: it heightens emotion, ignites violence, and reduces the chance for calm, peaceful, productive dialogue. FTWS also provides a more realistic look at what oppressed people need: when a community has become resigned and indifferent to the country that abuses and neglects them (Sarah Wilson), some so exploited by it that they are reduced to bitterness and resentment (Isaiah Bradley), inspiration alone is superficial. Realistically, what they need is counseling and healing, and what the larger society needs is learning to make amends. The last thing a broken society needs is more violence, and that is why an inspirational leader who provokes a tired, traumatic people to vengeance can be very dangerous.

As such, Steve Rogers may have the best of intentions, but he is not what America today deserves or needs: as the world’s warmongering superpower, it does not deserve that moral purity nor does it need his protection; as a bully, it needs a lesson in humility and amend. As an already angry, traumatic society divided unto itself, it does not need more inspiration to stand up; it needs the forbearance to sit down and learn how to cooperate. I do not set out to diminish Steve Rogers’ significance, nor do I think my analysis takes anything away from his worthiness. Yet, I recognize different times call for different leaders. There are leaders who protect and inspire, and then there are leaders who heal and build. FTWS reveals a broken society in need of healing and a militant nation in need of making amends. It is not a disservice to admit that there are things Rogers is not good at, like resolving internal conflicts (he and Tony Stark fall flat on their faces in Civil war), diplomacy (he’d rather be a bearded fugitive), counseling people with PTSD (he is only learning this in Endgame). Steve Rogers has done his service to his country and the world by offering his best, protecting and inspiring. Now, someone else needs to take up the work of rebuilding, healing, and reconciling because it is unfair to expect Rogers to do everything.