#Fallen from grace beyond redemption | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chuuyrr · 2 months

Text

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 LET THE FEAR YOU HAVE FALL AWAY, I'VE GOT MY EYE ON YOU — FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY .ᐟ

𐀔·˚ CW(s): f! reader, bsd chapter 112 & 113 spoilers, religious themes, angst/comfort, reader is hinted to have an angel-like ability, poetic-ish writing

𐀔·˚ SYNOPSIS: like lucifer's descent from heaven's height, he fell and you followed

𐀔·˚ NOW PLAYING: say yes to heaven by lana del rey

in the grand halls of the museum, where the walls were adorned with masterpieces of art from centuries past, you first caught sight of him—fyodor dostoevsky, with his magnetic presence and mysterious aura, stood before a painting, his gaze fixed on the canvas as if it held the secrets of the universe.

amidst the splendor of renaissance masterpieces and timeless classics, you stood, a vision of innocence and wonder, your eyes drawn to the enigmatic figure across the room.

despite the warnings whispered by your intuition, you couldn't resist the urge to approach him, couldn't ignore the magnetic pull that seemed to bind you to him amidst the strokes of paint and layers of history.

fyodor continues to gaze upon the famous religious painting that hung on the far wall, depicting the fall of lucifer from heaven's height, "it's a hauntingly beautiful piece, isn't it?" you muse, your eyes lingering on the intricate details of the canvas.

he nods, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips, his eyes not leaving the painting, "indeed, it is. it captures the tragedy of lucifer's descent, his fall from grace immortalized in paint and canvas."

"and yet," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, "i cannot help but feel a strange kinship with him, with the fallen angel who defied the heavens for love."

fyodor's gaze shifts from the painting to you, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of curiosity and understanding as you continue speaking, "you know, love has a way of defying the rules of the universe."

he murmurs his response, fyodor's voice carrying a weight of experience beyond his years, "it can lead us to places we never imagined, make us do things we never thought ourselves capable of."

you nod, captivated by the intensity of his gaze, "and yet, it can also lead to our downfall," you reply softly, a hint of sadness tingling your words. "like the fallen angel, we may find ourselves cast out from the heavens, destined to wander in the darkness for eternity."

"but perhaps," fyodor muses, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet carrying something heavy in it, "it is in the darkness that we truly find ourselves; in the depths of despair."

you are silent for a moment, lost in thought as you contemplate his words, "say, do you believe that we can find redemption, even after falling from grace?" you ask, your voice hesitant yet hopeful.

your question hangs in the air, a weighty silence settling between you and fyodor. his gaze, once warm and reassuring, now holds a hint of uncertainty, as if grappling with the complexities of your inquiry.

"redemption," he repeats, the word tasting bitter on his tongue, "a concept that eludes even the most devout of believers. for who among us can claim to be free from sin, to be worthy of redemption?"

you listen, your heart heavy with the weight of his words. there is a darkness in him that you cannot ignore, a shadow that clouds his every action and motive.

"and yet," fyodor continues, his voice softer now, almost pleading, "i cannot help but believe that there is hope for us yet. that despite our flaws and failings, we are capable of finding that salvation.. don't you think so, dear?"

you want to believe him, to cling to the flicker of hope that he offers, but doubts linger in the recesses of your mind. can redemption truly be found in the embrace of someone so steeped in darkness?

as you wrestle with your doubts, fyodor reaches out, his hand gentle against your cheek, his touch cold as ice, yet inviting like snow, "together," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm against the turmoil in your soul, "we can redeem ourselves, and find peace."

his words are a siren song, luring you deeper into the abyss. and though a part of you knows that following him will only lead to further darkness, you find yourself unable to resist.

for in the presence of this stranger, you feel a sense of purpose, and so, with a heavy heart and a mind clouded by doubt, you choose to follow him into the unknown, clinging to the hope that somehow, you will find the light at the end of the tunnel.

fyodor knew, as he gazed into your eyes, that you possessed a power beyond measure. it was an ability born of innocence and purity, yet tempered by the trials of the world. he saw the light that radiated from your soul, a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded him.

and you, in turn, sensed the darkness that lurked within him, the shadowy depths of his being that he kept hidden from the world. but despite the warnings whispered by your intuition, you couldn't resist the pull of his presence, couldn't deny the longing that stirred within your heart whenever you were near him.

in shadows deep, where whispers weave,

two souls entwined, in love's deceitful sieve.

you, the angel with wings of gold,

he, the fallen, his secrets untold.

despite the warning bells ringing in your mind, you find yourself inexorably drawn to fyodor, like a moth to a flame. his charisma and conviction are like a siren's call, beckoning you deeper into the abyss of his twisted ideology.

as he speaks of blessings for the children and happiness to the world to your ears, you can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine. his words, laced with honeyed deceit, cloak the darkness of his actions in the guise of righteousness.

and yet, when he speaks of god and his desire for perfection and harmony, there is a fervor in his voice that is hard to ignore. he paints himself as a righteous crusader, a chosen vessel for carrying out the lord's will in a world plagued by sin.

but beneath the facade of piety lies a darkness that you cannot reconcile. you see the cruelty in his actions, the pain he inflicts on innocent souls in the name of his twisted version of salvation—from the rats in the house of the dead to the decay of angel. all of it.

his words offer a glimmer of hope in the darkness that surrounds you, but deep down, you can't shake the feeling of unease. you've witnessed the cruelty he inflicts upon others, the pain he causes in the name of his twisted vision of righteousness, along with the lives he took from others.

"what about those who suffer because of your actions?" you press, your voice quivering with emotion as your feathered wings of an angel folded behind your back, red splattered on white as if it was red blood and white snow, "do you believe they can find redemption too?"

fyodor's expression darkens for a moment, a shadow passing over his features before he regains his composure, "sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good," he replies, his voice cold and distant, "it is a small price to pay for the salvation of humanity."

you recoil at his words, the weight of his callousness pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. despite your doubts, despite the whispers of your conscience urging you to flee, you find yourself unable to turn away from him.

feeling the weight of your doubts and fears, fyodor's expression softens, and he reaches out to gently take your hand in his. his touch is cold, a strange yet comforting contrast to the warmth that had settled over your soul.

"my dear," he begins, his voice gentle and reassuring, "i understand your concerns. it's natural to question, to doubt, in the face of uncertainty. but trust me when i say that everything i do, i do with the utmost conviction, with the belief that it is for the greater good."

his words soothe the turmoil in your heart, if only for a moment. you find yourself drawn to the sincerity in his eyes, the earnestness of his conviction. despite the darkness that surrounds him, there is a flicker of something genuine within him, a spark of humanity that refuses to be extinguished—his love for you.

"and as for those who suffer," he continues, his voice filled with compassion, "know that i carry the burden of their pain with me always. it is a heavy cross to bear, but i do so willingly, in the hope of bringing about a better world."

as he speaks, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, a quiet acceptance of the path that lies ahead. in his embrace, you find solace, a refuge from the storm raging within your soul and as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, you feel a warmth spread through you.

as the warmth of fyodor's embrace envelops you, you can't shake the nagging doubts that linger in the corners of your mind. despite his reassurances, you still can't help but wonder if the path you're on truly leads to redemption or if it's veering dangerously close to damnation.

and then, just when you least expect it, fyodor's gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away, "do you love me?" he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, but it reverberates through the depths of your soul like a thunderclap.

his question catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. you find yourself drowning in the depths of his gaze, lost in the swirling currents of emotion that swirl within you.

it's as if he's pulling you in, drawing you closer with an irresistible allure that you can't resist. like a fallen angel tempting a pure soul yet to succumb to darkness, he wraps you in his embrace, his touch setting your heart ablaze with a fire you can't extinguish.

speechless at first, you find yourself caught in the gravity of fyodor's deep gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from his. his words echo in the caverns of your mind, stirring a whirlwind of emotions that threaten to consume you.

but fyodor doesn't wait for your response. instead, he continues, his voice a soothing melody that wraps around you like a comforting embrace.

"let your fear fall away, my love," he whispers, his words a gentle reassurance against the storm raging within your soul, "i am here for you, always. trust in me, trust in our love, and together we will rise above the darkness that threatens to engulf us."

his words are like a lifeline in the midst of a tempest, offering you solace and strength when you need it most. and as you gaze into his eyes, you feel a sense of calm wash over you, a quiet acceptance of the path that lies ahead.

"do you love me?" fyodor asks again, his voice filled with a raw vulnerability that pierces through the facade of his confidence, "say yes to heaven, to us. say yes to me, my love."

his words hang in the air, a silent plea that tugs at your heartstrings. and in that moment, as you stand on the precipice of uncertainty, you know that you have a choice to make. you can cling to the safety of your doubts and fears, or you can take a leap of faith into the unknown, guided by the hand of the one you love.

with a trembling breath, you meet fyodor's gaze, your voice barely above a whisper as you utter the words that seal your fate.

"yes," you say, your heart pounding in your chest, "i love you. i say yes to heaven, to us."

beneath the moonlight's gentle glow, fyodor draws you close, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that ignites a firestorm of passion within you. it's a kiss that tastes of forbidden desires and whispered promises.

as his lips press against yours, you feel a surge of electricity coursing through your veins, a sensation so intense it threatens to consume you whole. it's a feeling you've never experienced before, a heady mix of longing and surrender that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

in that moment, you realize that you are no longer the innocent angel you once were. the blood of the lives you took stains your feathery wings, a reminder of the sins you've committed in the name of love. and yet, as you wrap your wings around fyodor, drawing him closer to you, you know that you wouldn't have it any other way.

for in his embrace, you find redemption, a sense of purpose that transcends the boundaries of morality and reason. and as you lose yourself in the intoxicating embrace of his kiss, you know that you have chosen your path, for better or for worse.

like a fallen angel corrupting a pure soul, fyodor has led you astray, tempting you with the forbidden fruit of his love and yet, as you surrender to the darkness that consumes you both.

as the helicopter carrying fyodor descends towards the building, panic grips the air. dazai and chuuya watch in horror, their voices drowned out by the deafening roar of the crashing metal.

nikolai, the ally of your love, tasked with keeping you restrained for your own safety, struggles in vain to keep you chained, but his efforts prove futile against the strength of your resolve.

with a defiant cry, your white, feathery, angelic wings unfurled with a majestic flourish. the chains that once held you captive fall away like brittle twigs, unable to withstand the force of your determination.

with a powerful flap of your wings, you launch yourself into the air, soaring towards the burning wreckage with a sense of urgency that borders on desperation. the wind rushes past you, whipping through your hair and stirring the feathers of your wings as you race against time to reach fyodor.

as your heart heavy with determination, you set your sights on him, your angelic wings carrying you towards the helicopter where he lies bloodied and impaled.

fyodor's surprise is evident as he sees you, freed from the chains that once bound you, rushing to his side. but as you reach out to save him, the flames engulfing the helicopter grow stronger, fueled by the chaos of the moment.

as you rush to fyodor's side amidst the chaos and flames, his surprise is palpable, "what have you done?" he gasps, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of desperation, "why did you come after me?"

but you meet his gaze with unwavering determination, your voice steady despite the turmoil surrounding you as tears blur your vision, "because i'm longer afraid," you reply, your words a declaration of your unwavering love and loyalty, "and i said yes to heaven, to you. i love you."

fyodor's expression softens, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes as he takes in your words.

the flames of the crashing helicopter engulf you both, fyodor's mind races with disbelief. never in all his years, through all the eras he has traversed, did he imagine that someone as angelic as you would follow his descent into darkness until the very end.

despite your efforts, you realize with a sinking heart that it's too late. the flames rage around you, the turbulence of the crashing metal making it impossible for you to fly any longer. and in that moment of desperation, you know that your fate is sealed, bound together with fyodor's in a tragic twist of destiny.

dazai, chuuya, and nikolai can only watch in horror as the helicopter, carrying the two of you, descends into the inferno below, and it's a scene straight out of a nightmare, the fall of lucifer from heaven's height mirrored in the downfall of fyodor with you.

but in that fleeting moment before oblivion claims him, fyodor felt a surge of gratitude mixed with sorrow. gratitude for the love and loyalty you showed him, despite the darkness that consumed him.

sorrow for the tragedy that befell both of you, a consequence of his own actions and the twisted path he had chosen.

the world around him fades into darkness, but fyodor's thoughts still linger on you, his angel who chose to follow him into the depths of hell. and in that final moment of clarity, he finds a small measure of peace, knowing that even in death, you loved him, and he loved you.

as the heavens wept with auburn for your tragic tale, you danced on where shadows prevail. for he was both god and devil, intertwined, and you, his angel, forever confined.

and in the echoes of your love's demise,

you cherish the moments, beneath starlit skies.

for in his darkness, you found your light,

a love that burned, fierce in the night.

𐀔·˚ TAGGING: @aureatchi @soleelia @little-miss-chaos @cheriiyaya @himikoslove @atzuhi @enjisthings @chizenn

𐀔·˚ A.N.: this is my first ever fyodor fic, hopefully he wasn't too ooc, and as for the plot? the start where you and him meet was inspired by @/aureatchi or reverie with her fondness for fyodor and museums. it felt so so fitting !! also the angst and comfort of the plot was very intended ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

#fyodor x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x you #bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #bsd fyodor #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bungou stray dogs x reader

296 notes · View notes

villainsimpqueen · 27 days

Text

Echos in Paradise Lost

Adam x readerx Eve

Reader is intersex

(All my fics are 18+)

Chaoter 6.

Chapter 6:

The judgment came too quickly for the humans, Yet it had been a long ordeal for the truly blessed ones.

an argument back and forth between them as their following assistants watched and only could help aid them with visuals of what had happened, to aid in the debate on what the punishment for the humans were to be as well for the traitors of heaven.

It had taken them a great while to come up with the decision, but once had been made following after the most holy ones lead of what the true father may have wanted.

It had been Michael's judgment to cast out the deceiver and fallen Lucifer out of the realms of heaven and the gardens, banishing him even from the realm of earth to somewhere far below into the unknown where Lucifer light would not shine. The traitor of heaven's wife had joined him, where to stay in that eternal darkness, Where neither will see the light again. He also had no mercy for the other created humans as he believed they too should be banished to such a place as heaven would not allow the damned to taint its unity as well the sacred Gardens of their mother who had become one with the galaxies that extended through the great beyonds above.

It had been Uriel's wisdom that influenced the other holy one's judgment to send the humans who had been tricked into sin to the new realm they had been creating. Earth.

It was her wise proposition to send the humans who had partaken in the fruit of the forbidden tree to be banished from heaven's grace and the safety of the Gardens to earth. Where they would face many trials and temptations in their remaining days and shall they resist them, they may prove that they were always loyal to heaven and at the end of their days they may be allowed to come back to their original blessed home.

As all the holy siblings bickered back and forth it was Raphael who brought up another issue that would have arrived, what to do with you.

"By our command, they were wrought into existence, fashioned to accompany Adam and Eve. As the young seraphims assembly, still pure as holy light, shall we punish them for the deeds of their partners? Do we comprehend the consequence should they be sundered from their counterparts?”

As he did not see reason for you to suffer for actions you did not commit, and what would your divine purpose be once the damned were removed from the gardens. Could a soul like yours even survive without your original purpose? His words only spurred a longer debate as others could only make assumptions, until all faces were turned to one in their union.

Azrael had leaned forward from their balcony in the court staring at the other faces of their siblings as they inhaled before exhaling wispful smoke from their lips.

"Verily, they would languish in torment, for 'tis the love betwixt Eve and Adam that binds them so. Their presence, their unyielding devotion to each other, sustains their corporeal form and tethers their souls. Yet, to cast a pure soul into a realm tainted by sin and darkness would cruelly rend its radiance asunder.” They spoke to the court smoke leaving their lips in small huffs as they placed their hands on balcony counter interlocking them as their silver white eyes glowed from the shadows of their veiled face

“Let us recall our pact: Eve, condemned for eternity for her transgression in partaking of the forbidden fruit, yet carrying within her womb a sorrowful child of heaven. And Adam, still bearing the promise of redemption to tread once more within heaven's gates.” They continued watching the faces of their siblings and even their appointed underlings, their eyes falling to one who scribed away at the meeting's contents to be stored in high security to be records of their final divine judgment. Azrael knew that their siblings, while always respectful, were wary of what they brought forth, what their divine purpose was in their fathers great work.

They brought death.

though death did not need to be cruel.

And Azreal had no ill will towards you, a being that they see to be a victim in all.

“Therefore, we must ponder: Do we dispatch Y/n to endure a protracted agony upon the earth, to wither before their beloved in anguished disarray, risking the erosion of Adam's devotion and steadfast faith? Or do we, in mercy, claim their life ourselves, sparing them the anguish of dissolution after banishing their spouses from the gardens?”

There was silence, besides the scribblings of ancient symbols on holy parchment before that too ceased in sound.

"We abstain from taking life, thus any course must tread delicately, so as not to affront the efforts of the Almighty. Having heard your deliberations, I propose a novel solution." The soft but yet firm voice of their sister metatron Spoke up her voice an echo of many as she commanded her siblings attention, her hand moving the feathered quill against the parchment she so Devotedly scribbled her words down as well of their reactions, her eyes prying key to detail.

“Let us conceal Eden from all eyes, ensconcing it in a realm of tranquil repose where Y/n's soul may find solace, shielded from the anguish of separation from their beloved.” Her words echoed through the courtroom, up the grand pillars that held it high. Her quill hand never ceasing as she took in the court guests' reactions to her words.

“There, let them slumber undisturbed, their souls unscathed by the torment of earthly parting. Permit their consciousness to wander, beholding the memories of their spouses through their eyes, so that their soul may never languish in solitude. Thus, poised betwixt life and death, their essence shall endure, harmoniously entwined, neither fading into oblivion nor sundered from existence.”

Her proposal backed by Uriel and Raphael nearly immediately and after details of how to make such a thing happen Azreal had brought forth a method to keep your soul in a soundless slumber between life and death.

A coma.

The angel of death had named it.

The holy siblings devine decisions of judgment had been made.

And young angels were sent to announce said judgment

The morning light had just started to rise when the air of the clearance of the forbidden tree was suffocated in its sudden combustion.

The noise of splintering wood and the feel of a heat of a million sourcing suns caused your eyes to fly open along with your wife and husbands.

Adam had reacted first, flying up and covering Eve's body underneath him as his golden eyes took in the blaze that consumed the forbidden trees.

The sound of batting wings came soon after

As Adam was pushed away from your and Eves bodies allowing you and your wife to scramble up to take sights of the flame engulfed tree as well the holy bright light swarming around figures concealing their faces from your eyes.

It was only the familiarity of them being the ones that created you was all you had to know what they were.

"You have defied the will of the Almighty and brought sin into this sacred place.” A voice of femininity spoke down to the three created humans, The other Angels following their lead stayed in the air above, witnesses to account the banishment and peaceful slumber was smooth and seamlessly.

The young Seraphim stared at the humans who one looked up with wide wondrously pure e/c eyes, the other two of corrupted gold.

She had taken hand at physically creating all three humans below, but she avoided looking at the one she had solely worked on alone, perhaps making his eyes.Reminding herself that he was not a child of hers, she had only made him, and he had failed heaven.

“"Disobedience hath marred the purity of this paradise. Henceforth, Eve, thou art banished from the Garden of Eden, forever estranged from its splendor and plenty, deemed a threat to the heavens, never to tread its sacred ground anew. Adam, likewise, art banished from these Gardens. May thy soul seek solace or be condemned alongside thy wife. Let the consequences of thy deeds serve as a solemn reminder of the dire ramifications of defying the Creator's decrees.”

Young Sera announced The holy one Divine Judgment that was written down and delivered to her by the Gabriel one of the younger of the holy ones for her to be bestowed the responsibility of announcing the Judgment and punishment towards the humans and to watch over to ensure the Banishment went without much resistance and that your peaceful rest would not be delayed a second after Adam and Eve's souls were casted out of the gardens.

It went as she expected it would go. and she turned her head away from the sight of the other angels forcing Adam and Eve away from you, angels holding you from running towards your spouses.

"RELEASE THY HOLD! PERMIT ME TO DEPART! ALLOW ME TO ACCOMPANY THEM! I BEG THEE, LET ME ABIDE WITH THEM! ADAM! EVE! I BESEECH THEE!” Your shrieks cut through the gardensas the other humans' screams did.

Adam fought back against the angel's much like how Sera would have thought he would, it was his purpose afterall to protect those he was married to, such a strong instinctive drive she made him have.

"Unhand them! Unhand my spouse! Grant us our beloved spouse!” Adam shouted, demanding what would have been his entire right if the holy ones had not come up with their decisions.

Sera had turned her head to sounds of your and Eves screams watching as the other angels finally managed to throw Adam off a cliff falling into a portal that would have him descend into the new realm Earth.

Your screams of pure terror left you as you tried struggling out of the other angels arms.

“ADAM!” your shrieks came with a heart shattering tone, You screamed and bucked in the angels hold as you watched them shove your wife down from the clift another shriek leaving your lips and it was as if Sera was seeing you began to unravel immediately.

“EVE!” Your high pitched scream echoed and you collapsed onto your knees a sob breaking from you quickly as your body began to tremble the hastily smoothed over seams of your flesh started to appear and began to split open making you scream more in agony as you clutched your chest screaming for Adam and Eve, your wife and your husband.

Blood seeped from you as you began to fall apart much like how it was predicted.

The angels moved quickly unveiling a blue powdery substance made by holy Azreal and blew it into your face. You choked on it, tears falling from your face before your eyes rolled back into your head, a deathless sleep coming over you. Sera let out a breath she did not know she held as she moved to you, watching the angels clean your body from the blood and smooth your skin back over your flesh to hood you together again.

They washed you clean before levitating your sleeping form up to take back to the small cave you humans had shared.

Sera had taken pity on you, gathering the fur you had covered yourself with and dusting it off before spreading it out over you like a blanket, she felt something hard in a pocket and pulled the object out seeing a seed.

Perhaps it was the empathy she had for your fate because she did not destroy the seed like they had been ordered to destroy the forbidden tree, instead she had placed it in one of your slumbering hands allowing you to hold it onto your chest.

She had stayed by your side as they moved you to your once shared home, shared caverned and laid you down in the furred bedding that still smelled of your husband and wife.

Once you were placed they all left the gardens of eden, Not one of them turning back as the Gardens vanished, the holy ones blessing to make it where no man, nor angel shall ever find it and disturb your rest taking effect immediately.

She had ignored the tears that streamed down your cheeks from closed eyes.

The first experience humans ever had on earth was a treacherous one. It had been cold, wet and surrounded by an angry storm that they were unequipped and unknowledgeable to be thrown in such conditions so quickly. Frigid cold rain pelted against their delicate skin harshly causing a sting as bitter icy winds burned past them. Adam and Eve had fallen into an area that was experiencing one of earth's firsts and many more to come hurricanes.

The wind was harsh, knocking them over causing them to fall into the mucky nature floors covering them in mud and other unknown substances. Lightning struck down harshly flashing the dark night around with a horrifying display of shadows of the unknown enough to throw them both into heuristics. Eve had kept screaming, she clung onto him tightly and Adam clung back to her Desperately as he tried to guide his wife to any form of safety.

The storm wasn't just the worst part of the night,

It was the feeling of being surrounded by Eyes.

So many eyes focused on them both, watching, judging, fueling their paranoia.

He had never felt so seen in a way that made him want to curl up and hide. A deep shame filled into his lower stomach and a nonstop dreaded feeling filled his chest on top of push aside mourning as he stumbled through the unknown lands with Eve right behind them.

He didn't even feel relief when he managed to find them both a measly shelter, a whittled down old tree with a hollow center. He had guided Eve inside of it first, letting her get into the deepest spot of the tree that managed to stay somewhat between damp and dry but kept her out of the cold unforgiving rains. He had taken the position nearest the opening having his back exposed and continued to be rained on and hit with cold bitter winds. He could only look down at his wife's face who hid into his chest, her arms clinging to his chest as she sobbed, something he wanted to do but wouldn't allow himself to.

He needed to be the strength between them, someone needed to be strong.

He couldn't allow himself to be weak, not in this unknowing yet cruel place.

when they were safe, truly safe, then he would cry.

So he squeezed his burning eyes shut and focused on his breathing, trying to ignore the harshness of the storm pelting on his back, or how his body trembled from the cold, focusing more on how Eve's body trembled against his not just from her sobs Either.

He moved his arms trying to cover her, stroking her back and arms to build heat from.his own freezing body to warm her own.

Every crackling of lightning and thunder making them both jump, small screams leaving his wife's lips as she clung to him more, he only would tighten his grasp around her tightly, each time he felt how his heart seemed to get stuck in his scratchy throat pounding, hoe his chest would heave as the palpitations of his heart grew so did his need to breathe more quickly.

He was thankful the angels had spared you from this cruelty.

Eve clung onto Adam, burying her face into his chest as she cried, he was the only thing of familiarity and comfort she had here. She did not understand how the Angels could be so cruel. As the treacherous night continued they both could hear sounds of animals stalking through the storm, she felt how stiff Her husband grew as wretched calls neared their tree. He had turned from her, his back facing her as he peered out of the hollowed tree, his eyes watching through dense thick rain and dark shadows that would be flashed with bright light by those awful crackling noises. Eve would have never seen Adam so tense, his chest heaving so quickly, between the lightning flashed she saw how his hands gripped at the hollow tree entrance, how his knuckles drained of all color of his tanned skin. Another thought had crossed her mind and her chest was frantic with pain and worry.

You had always helped Adam take part in protecting the three of them, and that the gardens never had true danger except those who loved to deceive.

Adam had known every potentially dangerous animal in the gardens and even then they understood why he needed to hunt them, they never sought out to hunt them back.

But here,

It seemed the animals siblings did indeed want to hunt them back.

Another hellish sound other than the storm echoed and about hundreds more followed after making Adam take in a sharp inhale.

"Coyotes... They search for us…” Her husband wheezed out in realization. He took steps back pushing her deeper into the hollow until her bare back dug into the harshness of the hollow bark and despite this her husband was still more exposed than she.

She shivered against his freezing backside, tears burning her eyes as they fell, she wanted to seek out for more comfort but she knew she would not receive anymore from Adam that night. Her heart burned and ached as she longed to be buried into your arms, hearing your saccharine words of sweet comfort, that your shared husband would keep her safe and that you would as well.

she could no longer have such comfort from you and she blamed the angel's for that.

When morning light came, it should have brought peace, but it didn't, as both of them felt the true need of thirst and the pains of hunger. Their throats ached for clean water, their stomachs felt as if they were tearing through their other organs to satisfy its needs. Their skin felt extremely itchy from the dried muck and mud that were on their skin. Both felt true exhaustion start to take place, heaviness in their eyes from the first night of no sleep. Their bodies were already aching as they left the whittled old tree hollow into the seeming bright day.

The earth's lands had transformed into one of horrors to one of beauty in the sunlight which had been a slap to both humans sleep deprived faces.

Both had not spoken a word to each other, Eve merely following After Adam as he lead through the unknown land, it had not taken him.long to find animal trails that lead them to a river, the sight of clean rushing waters relieved them both as they moved towards it cupping their hands into the water and bringing it to their lips over and over gulping the water greedily. Both had taken the liberties to wash their bodies with the rushing waters clearing the muck from their blemishing skin.

Eve had turned watching Adam as he washed his hair, how dark circles rung around his tired eyes, she had never seen him so worn down, not knowing that this would be a common sight of her husband for her to lay her gaze upon.

Even with having time to allow relaxation to hit them, she watched as he did not allow it to come, he immediately worked on crafting a spear and a blade, to her surprise when he handed her a carved blade of her own. She had taken it and looked up at him with wide honey eyes for the only time she ever needed a blade was when preparing a meal shared between three.

He did not comment on it.

Merely handing her the blade and moved on,The first day Adam did not speak to her much, other than simple commands

“Come, wife.” when he moved forwards into the unknown land

"Stay thou here.” when he was unsure if a certain area was safe for them both to travel together.

She did not dare complain, even when her stomach was gnawing through her, because She knew well that he was too and yet he focused on finding them somewhere safe to stay.

A place he did eventually find hours after the first strokes of morning light as the sun hit noons peak. The cave he found brought familiar comfort as Eve moved inside of it with him, her eyes taking in the bare cave that's flooring was covered in small gravely stones and dead plant matter. She moved to start cleaning away at the cave's floor,quietly as she heard Adams command of her staying here and he turned and left.

To hopefully provide them a meal

She silently prayed as she focused on her task at hand.

He had not.

Instead of rushing to find food Adam had prioritized another concern, as Eve was greeted with him dragging logs back to the cave, as well vines wrapped around from his beholder to hip.

She watched as he began to stack the logs over the caves entrance before moving vines through them, weaving had never been her husbands strongest and she moved from the caves flooring to help him weave them through, she expected some words as he never did like being corrected, she had prepared praise on her tongue for him to soothe him.

But Adam had merely stayed quiet.

Accepting her help without a word, and with all the change they had been thrown in, Eve found herself wanting to hear her husband's typical complaining at not needing her aid.

The woven structure he made closed the caves entrance, she believed it was for added protection.

Which she would have been correct as Adam did not know what may come hunting after them now that their scents were all over the forest and lands. Letting predators know of a potential new prey to hunt and feast upon.

But it was also to hide away from the eyes that plagued him.

watched him, stared at his naked body relentlessly.

Inside the enclosed cave, he finally felt as if the eyes were off of him, allowing him peace and privacy only to bombard him again when he left the cave to gather clay from a nearby creek gathering it on a large rock he could pick up and carry back, quickly as he entered the cave he felt that lingering gaze on his body leave letting him shutter as he moved to the cave floor laying the cave down and started building it upwards until he had to leave for another gathering of clay trip and soon wood. The heat of the day grew and the sun beating down on him caused sweat to form against his hairline as he moved about underneath its gaze. Yet it meant the sun was hot enough to lay wood outside of the cave for it to dry so he could light a fire to keep his wife and himself warm when the harsh heated sun fell down for the moon to dance in the sky.

By sun down, they had a new home, they had a fire pit alive with a crackling fire, He had a spear and they both had blades, a place to gather clean water to drink and wash their bodies from.

And fish.

After a long day of work He still hunted even if he felt as if his body was going to collapse.

Adam after eating the smaller fish out of the two he had caught for Eve and him to eat upon that night he moved, falling onto a bed of leaves Eve had put together.

He felt her join him moments later.

"It is but little, I do apologize.” She softly spoke to him as she laid beside him, not joining on his chest, merely beside him. He did not complain as his body ached too much to have any added weight, his heavy eyelids already fighting to stay open as he turned his head to look at her.

“Thou needest not apologize, this sufficeth.” He gravely spoke, feeling the soreness of his throat now focused on it made him dry cough and move a hand to rub at the lump that stayed there. It had not yet left him, but he hoped it would soon if he drank more water to wash it away from.his throat.

Eve had spared him.a withering smile before looking at the ceiling of the cave, silence taking over them both momentarily.

“Dost thou reckon they art safe?” Eve softly whispered, making his ears slightly rang and his chest throbbed as he was forced to acknowledge your missing presence.

He had inhaled sharply beside her.

"In paradise they dwell, Beyond mere safety they reside.” He spoke, reminding Eve at how peaceful and safe the Gardens had been. He knew you were safe as long as you stayed in those gardens. Eve had gone quiet for a few moments only speaking once his eyelids had dropped, almost allowing him sleep, almost.

"Dost thou believe they shalt replace us, as did thy former wife?” She asked, it had made him freeze his eyes open as he turned to look at her.

She watched as Adam opened his mouth to speak before it fell closed, a new kind of pain moving through his eyes. Yet he did not speak any words.

Had he not thought of such things?

tears brimmed her eyes as she took one of his hands.

"Shall they forget us once a new pair of spouses doth grace their lives?” She weakly asked him, feeling how he squeezed her hand tightly a hitched breath taken in by his lips. She saw how his eyes began to water before he squeezed the shut turning to face the ceiling. She had suddenly felt cruel for asking such as she felt a tremble of his hand form.

He had not answered right away.

"They are our spouse, woven into our very being... They... They vowed to love us until their final breaths... Nay... My echo, our beloved, would not entertain the thought of another wife... nor husband. Our love endures, unyielding.” He spoke, a sting of uncertainty in his tone and yet a whole lot of beloved faith.

It had been his faith in you that made her cry silently as a wave of relief washed over her.

"Shall we ever behold them again?” she gasped out through hitching breaths. Adam had squeezed her hand pulling it up to his lips where he pressed it against them before he turned and looked at her with merely broken golden eyes.

Yet still so faithful

“"Thou canst not fathom the lengths I would traverse to ensure our reunion. I vow to make it so, my dear Eve.” His words broke and rebuilt her heart, and Eve decided if she was ever to have faith in something it was that promise.

Adams promised for you all to be together once again.

She would face whatever was thrown their way if it meant for you all to be in each other's embraces again.

she smiled at him, moving a hand to his cheek watching how his tired eyes fluttered close at her touch.

“"I harbor no doubts thou wouldst falter in such a pursuit.” She whispered. whispered her faith into him, into his promise, into the hope of once day of being with you together again.

It had taken them months to understand the new lands, months to build a simple mockery of the home they once shared, the missing of one's presence started to take its toll on the one who didn't allow themselves to mourn.

And Eve watched the cracking of your shared husband.

He had prayed everyday, still being so hopelessly devoted to the ones that abandoned them here.

He had given offerings to prove that they were still loyal followers.

Every day, every night, every meal, Adam prayed for them both, but it wasn't the same as praying in Eden. Where the sun would grow brighter after a prayer, the stars twinkle and rocket across the sky.

Here, Prayer seemed meaningless to Eve. As each time she saw how her husband would stare up to the heavens hopefully, ever waiting for something.

Something to show that they were being heard.

Yet nothing ever showed.

Frustration came from him as he hunted better offerings, he even aided in binding them clothing from what he hunted to cover them both up entirely, modestly, even offering some of her best workings to the heavens.

Until he became unmoving.

His skin dullen with his hair and nails.

His eyes drained from the scorching light in them, if he even had energy to open them.

an illness taken over him so quickly and no matter what herbs or mixtures Eve crafted to heal Adam, none deemed to work.

At night when perhaps he thought she was not awake she could hear his shuddering breaths, muffled painful weeping that came from him.

She could only hold him tighter pretending that shenwas in deep sleep, How his trembling arm would hold her so tightly as if he feared she too would be taken away like you had to both of them.

it hurt to know that she had once before.

This sickness consumed Adam, and she grew worried for him with each passing day as he went longer and longer from waking up. Her gentle shakes had begun to turn to panicked rushed ounces, her eyes brimming with tears of relief when he would finally make a sound and open his dull ringed eyes up to her honey ounces.

She wished for something that would heal her husband, to make him strong as he once was, to rebuild the dying hope into him.

And for the first time since her banishment with Adam, she had prayed. Sitting outside of their home on her knees as she could hear the soft intakes of shaking breaths that echoed in her ears of Adams' breaths, she leaned forward placing her hands in front of her palms flat onto the ground and prayed.

Prayed to anyone that would listen.

"I beseech thee... do not sever him from my side as well... grant Adam the vigor, the radiance to recover... I implore thee, withhold not him from me... I shall do all in my power... I beg of thee…” She whispered, she repeated over and over hoping to feel something, anything that she was heard, that her pleading words would be granted.

but she felt nothing.

It started with laughs leaving her lips, before she clawed at the ground sitting up and throwing whatever was in her hands around her, she screamed at the starry heavens.

"HAVE WE NOT ENDURED ENOUGH PUNISHMENT!? WHAT DOES HEAVEN REAP FROM OUR AGONY?! WHAT MEANING LIES IN FAITH IF THOU ABANDON US SWIFTLY?! HEAVEN'S LOVE, IT IS SAID, KNOWS NO FALTERING! YET THOU HAST FORSAKEN US AT OUR FIRST ERRORS! WHY ARE WE DENIED REDEMPTION WHEN THOU THYSELF ART CONSTANTLY IN FLUX?!” She screamed, a wail breaking from her lips as she clawed at her eyes.

"Pray, I acknowledge my transgressions, the anguish I have wrought. Even if thou shalt disregard me, if I am deemed unworthy of redemption in thine eyes, do not mete out such cruelty upon him. He is steadfast in his devotion, and thy averted gaze weighs heavily upon him. Thou art draining the life from him…” She pleaded, she cried the entire night, only joining back to Adam's side in the early morning's light where she held him close to her, her trembling fingers moving through his dull and brittle hair gently.

She weeped as she buried her face in his hair, hearing rasped breaths from him.

"Oh y/n, what wouldst thou do to mend our husband? To halt this unraveling?” She muttered as her tears soaked his hair, her eyes growing heavy for sleep at once and she feared when she awoke she would truly be alone.

Yet her dreams brought her peace, she was not in the realm of earth but back in paradise at the beautiful pond which the angels had blessed her and Adam with you.

She could hear laughter and she walked closer hearing splashing of water.

Her sights took in you and Adam in the crystal waters, your delighted shrills as you fumbled around with a fish in your arms, unsure of what to do as Adam clutched his knees laughing at your attempts of fishing.

"I do not joke, aid me! Husband!” you shrieked at him only making Adam laugh at your misfortune more, the sight bringing a wide smile to her lips as she neared the waters watching how Adam finally aided you in moving the fish to the shore banks with a small pile of four.

"Is this not an excessive burden?” she asked as she saw how your precious e/c eyes snapped to her, how they brightened with so much love and affection as you scrambled out of the waters to engulf her in your arms adoringly.

"My beloved wife, it is simply too much! Why dost thou walk in thy condition? It shall exhaust thee so. Permit me to carry thee back.” your tender loving words had shooker her and she pulled from you in confusion.

"Art I truly well?” She questioned hearing your soft giggles, Adam soon by your side his bright eyes burning strongly as he looked at her, concern forming on his face for a moment before a grin forming.

"Speak not so lightly, my beloved wife. Allow them to attend to thee. Our cherished spouse is filled with nothing but the purest joy at the prospect of the little one thou shalt bring unto us.” Adam spoke to her gentle words with a firmness she didn't quite understand.

little one?

Her hands moved against her own self aware thoughts to rest upon her stomach, which was slightly swollen. Shock seemed to burn through her distracting her as your arms moved under her knees around her back before she was picked up and pulled flush against your chest.

"Art thou hungry, my sweet wife? I shall gather thy favorite fruits.” You spoke to her as you walked down the familiar path to their beloved home the three of you shared, their true home.

“I…” Eve could not speak, her eyes falling over your shoulder to see Adam, a look of concern on his face, a look of pleading, to follow, to not question.

She broke their eye contact turning to look at you seeing how concern filled your eyes for a moment, how the world around you both started to seem as if it was fading.

“Yes! “ She spoke in a rush breathing thickly as she watched the world brighten and sharpen it its detail and color, she watched how your face changed to one of happiness*

You had placed her down on a thick fur mat during the fire, your hands moving into a bowl of cherries working on pushing a blade through them to remove the pits. Adam on the other side of the fire roasting the fish you both had caught. You and his chatter echoing over the fire and around the cave.

She watched you both.

Her hands rested on her stomach.

how it seemed to be real.

The fish had been heavenly, and the cherries sweeter than they ever had been on her tongue.

Everything seemed so perfect. blissful.

Your smiles had been bright, your words lovingly and tender as always.

Yet she felt pain, Eve still felt pain in this paradise…because she knew..

it could not be real.

She and Adam were banished.

You had been taken from them and them from you.

and Adan was slowly dying beside her.

Her thoughts had darken but she felt a hand on hers making her look up into bright e/c eyes, a soft sadden smile on your lips as you moved forward kissing her forehead so tenderly and softly.

"Thou must awaken now. Thou must seek sustenance for thyself and the little one.” you spoke so softly to her making her look at you in bewilderment, her eyes flicking over to Adam who seemed busy on doing something at the moment.

she felt your soft fingers against her cheek making her look at you.

"He shall press onward. Our beloved husband is resilient; this illness shall not claim him, my sweet wife. Thou shalt witness it soon, but thou must awaken.”

Your words drifted around her and the world was fading, she had desperately tried grasping onto you.

“Wait…” she gasped, feeling your hands slip from hers once again.

“Awaken.” Your words had echo.

Eve woken sharply sitting up breathing heavily, sweat pooling around her skin as she heaved, her hand moving to touch Adam's arm for comfort only meeting furrs instead. She turned, finding the furrs empty and a spout of worry formed in her soul as she scrambled up from the furrs moving to the cave entrance, shoving the thick logged door away.

“ADAM!?” She screamed in panic , filling her. She nearly screamed for him again until arms wrapped from behind her.

“I am here, beloved wife.” His words brought a tremendous comfort and a wave of relief as she turned to look up into his dull eyes, the rings around them seeming to forever stay there, but he looked at her softly.

She had so many questions and yet when she thought of them, she couldn't remember what she was going to ask. She only knew she had an experience unlike any other, she looked back into his eyes wilder on her own. She only felt his fingers find her chin tipping her face down so his lips pressed against her forehead. A sense of familiarity hit her even if she did not know why but she looked up at Adam as he pulled away a soft smile on his lips.

"All shall be well, my sun.” He assured her confidently, in such a way that was like his old self, that she could not have any other beliefs other than that everything will be well. She smiled at him as he led her back to the cave after she followed him to where he was skinning and cleaning rabbits. She watched as he shooed her away from taking over to cook the meat, watching how he stabbed the rabbit's flesh on sharpened skewers he had made and rested them over the fire pit he had built for them to roast the meat himself.

It was a tender feeling that took her as she watched Adam cook for her, a warmth filling her heart as she watched him lovingly.

Her hand unconsciously fell on her stomach as she focused on him.

His golden eyes finding her, dilling to her hand before looking at her bright honey eyes, he did not know why that sight was suddenly so important to him or why his head was filled with tender loving words of your voice, he just knew that for the first time in so many months he awoken feeling at peace, when he saw Eves tried and worried sleeping face he wanted to wash away her worries, that he felt as if they continue something tragic would happen that would make it feel as if everything is lost. So he had gotten up, washed himself from the creek and drank a fill of water before he hunted feeling light.

Feeling hopeful.

His catch was successful and he watched Eve eat the roasted meat with a sense of pride filling his chest as he ate his own much smaller portion.

And as the months continued with Adam's speedy recovery of such an illness, A new discovery made way to both his and Eve's knowledge, and Eve watched at how Adam took her in with so much pride and hope. Even as he returned from a hunt and fell to his knees in front of her his hands wiped clean on his robes she made from the leather and hide of animals to rest on her swollen stomach. scorching eyes looking at her in utter devotion as he placed his lips against her robed stomach.

His wife was creating new life.

Life that would be of you.

He pulled away a grin on his face as he looked up at Eve lovingly.

"I am so proud of thee, my beloved wife. Thou hast bestowed upon me great blessings.” He so adoringly spoke to her, making her heart warm.

No matter the outcome, love them as if they are mine own, As thine own, and thou shalt always feel my love beside thee.”

your words had echoed in his head.

chp 7

#hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #adam hazbin x reader #adam x reader x eve #eve hazbin hotel #eve x reader x adam #eve x reader #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam

46 notes · View notes

ladylvndr · 2 months

Text

Elder Scrolls Online: Isolde Silvercrest

Snow Elf | Ebonheart Pact | Magicka Warden

Isolde’s lineage traces back to a group of proud Snow Elves, who rejected the Dwemer’s offer of asylum, opting for seclusion in a region of Tamriel’s unforgiving wilderness known as the Reach. Generations endured solitude and hardship, hidden from history’s gaze until Isolde’s parents were pursued by the savagery of the Reachmen’s hostility. Desperately wanting their daughter to survive, they entrusted Isolde to the sheltering embrace of a secluded cavern, concealing her amidst the shadows as they departed. Miraculously spared by the whims of chance, Isolde was found and adopted by a young Nord couple who had been sneaking through Reachman territory.

Raised in the warm embrace of her adoptive kin, Isolde discovered they were harboring a dark secret. Generations ago, Isolde’s adoptive family was disgraced by the actions of their ancestor, a once-prominent figure whose heroic deeds had earned them praise and admiration. This ancestor, who had fallen far from grace, grappled with feelings of shame and desperation, yearning to reclaim the fame and glory that had been lost. For this reason, the ancestor sought solace and redemption through the most unlikely of avenues: the Dark Brotherhood. Sworn to shadowy contracts and steeped in the art of assassination, the Dark Brotherhood offered the disgraced hero a chance to find praise and glory in the shadows, away from the judgmental eyes of society.

As the years passed, the stain of disgrace continued to haunt Isolde’s family, shaping their identity and destiny. Raised within the shadowy halls of the Dark Brotherhood, each successive generation came to know only the ways of the assassin, their upbringing steeped in secrecy, violence, and intrigue. Despite their longing for redemption and a return to glory, Isolde’s parents found themselves unable to escape the shadow of their tarnished name.

For Isolde, growing up within the embrace of the Dark Brotherhood was all she knew. Raised amidst whispers of contracts and shadows, she learned to navigate the treacherous world of assassination with a skill and precision beyond her years. Yet, deep within her heart, she harbored a longing for something more.

As Isolde embarks on her own journey, she carries with her the weight of her family's legacy and the echoes of their disgraced past. Driven by a desire to reclaim her family's honor and restore their tarnished name to glory, she sets out to forge her own path, determined to carve a new legacy for herself and her family... no matter the cost.

#this character hit me like a truck #eso oc #elder scrolls online #eso #tes #teso #tesblr #elder scrolls #OC: Isolde Silvercrest #elder scrolls online oc #winter aesthetic #snow elf aesthetic #assassin aesthetic #mine #tes oc

9 notes · View notes

trulybetty · 10 months

Text

Gold Rush | Chapter Five

Pairings: Joel x OFC Warnings: Angst, guilt, seeking forgiveness, alludes to depression and suicide without being explicit. Summary: Old lovers Joel and Charlotte find themselves unexpectedly reunited in the community of Jackson. Struggling to navigate the complexities of their shared history and the harsh realities of their new lives, the pair find themselves again drawn to one another. AO3: Link

Chapter 5

"Perhaps forgiveness is the quality I admire most in humanity.Because it's a grace that seeks us when we don't deserve it,embraces us when we least expect it,and frees us when we believe we're beyond redemption."- Unknown

Charlotte was laid across her sofa in the living room, wrapped in a barely-hanging-on blanket. She had fallen asleep there the night before, her plans to get an early start that morning forgotten amidst the exhaustion. The sound of the knocking of her front door jarred her awake, and with a groan of protest she pulled herself off the sofa and to the door.

Opening the front door she sighed when Tommy appeared on the other side. Charlotte leaned against the door frame as she tried to close the now open door.

"Jesus Tommy, it's too early for this shit." she stated, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Charlotte, please." He put his foot in the jam of the door stopping it from closing. "Can we talk?"

Charlotte's weary eyes were filled with the image of Maria, who had begged her to give Tommy a chance. Charlotte wanted to hate him for everything that had happened, she missed him just as much. It was confusing and overwhelming, and she still wasn't sure if she could find it within herself to forgive him, but she'd give the opportunity to speak finally.

"No promises," Charlotte grumbled, but she stepped back from the door, allowing Tommy to enter. She padded back to the living room on bare feet, leaving Tommy to close the door behind him. It was an unspoken gesture of trust, allowing him into her space, even as the tension between them hung heavy in the air.

Tommy hesitated in the entryway to the living room, uncertainty flickering across his face as he watched Charlotte resume her position on the sofa. She didn't invite him to sit, didn't even look at him. The usual warmth that radiated from Charlotte was noticeably absent, replaced with a cold detachment that felt foreign. But he understood; he had hurt her, broken her trust when he had sworn to her all those years ago he would take care of it.

"Charlie," Tommy began, choosing his words carefully. "I... I owe you an apology. I was wrong, and... and I'm, I don't know how I can tell you how sorry I really am."

Charlotte remained silent, picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt as she listened. Her expression was unreadable, a mask that effectively hid the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. The silence stretched on, a palpable tension building in the room as Charlotte mulled over Tommy's words.

"I don't expect forgiveness," Tommy continued, the weight of his guilt pressing heavily on his shoulders. "But I needed you to know that... that I am sorry."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was only the steady tick of the clock to break the silence. It was then that Charlotte looked up at Tommy, her brown eyes meeting his with a hard, calculating gaze. She was quiet for a moment, considering him, before she finally spoke.

"I'm willing to listen," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.

Tommy nodded, grateful for even that small concession. The road to rebuilding their friendship would be a tightrope, but Charlotte had given him a chance, and that was more than he could have hoped for

"That's all I'm asking," Tommy said, his tone sincere. "Just to listen."

Tommy once believed that the worst thing he’d ever have to apologize to Charlotte for was his behaviour when she and Joel first became a couple. His behaviour borderline obscene hiding the fear of possibly losing his brother, his father figure, to this woman who had come in and stolen his brother's heart. He also remembered the multiple times he drunkenly got himself locked up for public intoxication. There were more than a few nights when Charlotte had to navigate legal jargon with the sheriff to secure his release, followed by his hungover apologies the next morning, promising to repay Joel and Charlotte for the cost of his bail money.

He tried to push back the memory of the night of Joel's birthday twenty years ago. The whispers of guilt at his ear threatened to pull inky black tide of self-recrimination over him. The 'what ifs' never really went away; he just got better at ignoring them. But now, looking at Charlotte, her elbows propped on her knees, her head in her hands, and a shell of the woman he'd known for the better part of a quarter century, he couldn't help but wonder.

Wonder if he hadn't turned Joel's invitation to come home with him for a drink.

Wonder if he hadn't taken that swing that night at the bar.

Wonder if he hadn't mouthed off at the cop who had been called to the bar.

Wonder if he hadn't called Joel late at night, begging for bail money and Charlotte's legalese to get him out of the county jail to avoid being stuck there for the weekend.

Because if any of that hadn't happened he was sure, no convinced, Sarah would still be with them. The catalyst to everything that happened to the three of them after the outbreak. There were nights still, in the echoes of his dreams that he heard the gunshot that killed Sarah and the gunshot that almost took Joel. If he was asked he could still name both of the guns that pulled each bullet, his military background had seen to that piece of persistent memory. The guttural roar that he didn't know Joel possessed, as he rocked Sarah pleading with whatever entity that would listen to ward off death with his cries and shouts for his daughter to just stay with him. The haunting screams of Joel's name off of Charlotte's lips, watching her scramble to find purchase on her feet as the sound of the gunshot echoed off of the walls of the house they'd barricaded themselves in rang out.

Because after all, in Tommy's mind, if he had simply come home with Joel that night they'd have all been together. Would have heard the news stories earlier, wouldn't have left Sarah alone and they all would have had a head start in getting out of Town. Charlotte would have her Joel, they'd be happy just like they had been, her the sun to Joel's moon.

Most of all, they'd have had Sarah.

Guilt tightened its knot in his stomach threatening the bile in his stomach to rise up as the nausea filled him with a sickening remorse. Those in Jackson knew Charlotte as a happy and situated member of the council, willing to help where she could and a bright light to distract from the terror that lay outside their walls. Tommy wished he had that luxury, he knew the real Charlotte and saw that brightness never reached her eyes, that her role on the council and need to help everyone and all was to keep her hands busy, keep her distracted.

Tommy shuffled into the room, he paused at the ratty green couch where Charlotte sat. Taking a deep breath he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and folded himself into the surprising plushness, of the decades old couch.

"I didn't know when I left Boston if I was ever going to see you or Joel ever again. Then one night, there's this mass panic of raiders and we still hadn't finished the north wall and it was all hands on deck. Then there was Maria saying there was a woman who'd convinced Marcus to bring her back to the settlement, that they'd placed her in the banks lock up,"

Charlotte remembered that night, one of many committed to memory whether she liked it or not. Her journey west with the Fireflies was hard and taxing. Not all the Fireflies were as ideologically driven as Tommy, and as the months wore on, their ranks started to thin out.

Disputes broke out over rations, routes, and their final destination, causing division and unrest among them. Eventually, the large group she had started with was reduced to just three - Charlotte, and two men, Alec and Justin. Despite the circumstances, they formed a tight bond.

They walked through vast, deserted landscapes, remnants of the old world now overridden by nature. They avoided Infected and hostile humans alike, knowing that their small group wouldn't stand a chance against a larger, more prepared force. And then, they stumbled upon a patrol group from Jackson. They hadn't known it at first. They thought they had run into another group of survivors, maybe traders or just folks trying to eke out a living in the post-outbreak world.

But when the group from Jackson took them for raiders, all hell broke loose. Alec and Justin were shot on sight as they reached for their weapons. Charlotte, witnessing the quick and brutal deaths, her last companions, knew she had no other choice. She had already thrown her weapon and raised her hands. Using the quick wit and charm that had gotten her through so many parlous situations in the past, managed to convince them to take her captive.

When they reached Jackson, Charlotte had been in disbelief. It wasn't the ramshackle collection of survivors she had been expecting. It was a town, a community trying to build something more than just survival.

"Maria had brought Marcus to me, getting him to repeat what you had told him." Tommy looked to Charlotte, she had now sat up, her hands folded on her lap. "That you were just trying to go west to find your brother in law, that you'd left from Boston and were no threat to anyone."

"I remember tearing into the bank, I needed to know if it was you, and there you were - our Charlie."

Without missing a beat, Tommy had pushed through the now open cell door and pulled Charlotte into a tight embrace. They clung to each other, Charlotte sobbing uncontrollably. Two lost souls finally finding a piece of their shared past. Their reunion was marked by tears, laughter, and a heart-wrenching sense of longing for what had been lost.

For Charlotte, seeing Tommy alive, there, in this new place, it was like finding a piece of home.

A piece of Joel.

And it had been more than she could have hoped for.

He looked at her now, his eyes filled with more remorse at what had come next, "Maria, and the council, already had been firm that Jackson would stay off the grid. We stayed within the walls of the commune only leaving for supplies and patrols, and we didn't use the radio. If wanted to stay alive we stayed quiet." Tommy sniffed, "But I didn't listen. You were there, you who were supposed to be in Boston and I needed more than ever to know if Joel was okay. It took a couple of days, but I got a message back, he was okay and that was that."

He ran a tired hand over his face, feeling the weight of the confession he was about to make. "I wanted to tell him you were there, and I was going to when I finally got him on the radio myself. He spoke first, and I kept waiting for him to ask if you had made it to me, but it never came, and..." he trailed off, swallowing the hesitation in his words. "I remembered all those nights in Boston, the arguments you thought I didn't hear, the way he treated you in his grief that we both knew he had no way of getting out from under. All that you told me those first nights after you arrived, how completely shattered you were, and I just... I thought I was protecting you. I thought that I could help you move forward."

"I should've told you, I had so many chances to do so, but it was easier to push it off to the next time," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "But I didn't know how. I was a coward."

Charlotte studied him for a moment, despite there being barely a year between them, Charlotte being the older of two, throughout their entire friendship she had always felt much older due to her protectiveness of the youngest Miller. She supposed it was because he was Joel's younger brother and she adopted the role through him. Charlotte had had no younger siblings, and Tommy was the younger brother she never had.

But looking at him now, she saw that he had matured in ways she hadn't realized. He had assumed the role that Joel once held, taking care of her and providing guidance. He'd made sure Charlotte was taken care of and helped her continue her marksmanship tutorials. He taught her hand to hand combat that the military had taught him and brought Marcus in to assist. He had become a pillar of support without adopting Joel's domineering 'I know best' approach. Tommy had learned from the consequences of that behavior, even though he found himself inadvertently mirroring it now with her.

Her gaze softened, and Tommy felt the release of breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I was afraid," Tommy confessed, his voice barely audible. "Afraid of what you would think... of what you would feel. I didn't want to pile on more pain, more hurt on you."

"And yet, that's exactly what you ended up doing," Charlotte replied, her tone not harsh but matter-of-fact

He pulled his hands from his pockets, feeling suffocated all of a sudden. "I still should've told you. I had no right to make that decision for you."

Charlotte sank deeper into the worn cushions of the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. "No, you didn't," she affirmed, her voice a soft murmur in the room.

"I left Boston..." she began, her voice faltering as she stumbled over the memories. Her arms tightened around herself, as if physically holding herself together. "I left because it felt like there was nothing left there for me. Marlene had sold me out, Joel was - well, Joel. Everything was crashing down on me; it was like everything from that moment since that night all started just caught up with me. What was there left for me to do?"

She paused, a ghost of a smile twisting her lips. "Marlene handpicked a group to tail your crew... I honestly didn't think I'd even make it to Pittsburgh. The odds were against us from the start."

She let out a humorless chuckle, more to herself than for Tommy's benefit. "You know the funny thing? I think I was almost at peace with that. With the thought of just... not making it," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper, a raw admission of how close she was to giving up back then.

He took a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat, before finally managing to speak. "Charlotte...I..."

"I know it's not what you want to hear. But it's the truth," she said, her voice eerily calm. "I was at the end of my rope. I didn't care if I lived or died. And maybe... maybe part of me even wanted to die."

A heavy silence fell between them, the air thick with unspoken words and regrets.

"I didn't know," Tommy finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't know it had gotten that bad."

Charlotte shrugged, a small, humorless laugh escaping her. "No one did. Because I didn't want you to know. What good would it have done?" she gave Tommy a wry smile, "we've all just been trying to do the best we can to survive, and that was my way of doing so. It all just caught up with me in the end."

The silence stretching out between them was broken by Tommy. "I'm glad you made it."

Charlotte glanced down at Tommy's hands, the rhythmic tap, tap, tapping of his fingers a poignant reminder of Joel's habit. She sighed, and when she spoke again, her voice was steady.

"Yeah, me too."

"I'm truly sorry, Charlotte," he said, his voice shaky with the depth of his regret. "I just hope... hope that you can forgive me someday."

Charlotte raised a hand to stem the flow of words; he didn't need to say any more. Reclining back onto the sofa, she gazed up at the ceiling, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. Her voice wavered on the precipice of tears, echoing the turmoil that had been looping inside her head for the past two months. She voiced the thoughts that had kept her awake at night, the fears that had gnawed at her over the last two months.

“It's alright, Tommy," she exhaled, her words punctuated by an undercurrent of sorrow. "Somedays I almost wish you had mentioned those messages. That it might have given me an opportunity to confront him with the reality of his actions."

Charlotte pursed her lips as she shook her head, "But perhaps, maybe it's a good thing you didn't. Because I think... I think it could have just pushed me over the edge. Partly because of his indifference, but mostly because... if something were to have happened to him..." Her voice caught in her throat, and the words hung thickly in the air. "What could I have done? Nothing... And that, that feeling of helplessness might hurt more than anything else."

Charlotte was silent for a moment, her eyes thoughtful as she processed everything. She finally sighed, a weary but understanding look on her face.

"Honestly, Tommy, I don't know how to feel about all of this right now," she said gently. "But I'm willing to try and move past it."

"Yeah?" Tommy felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. A gentle smile grazed his lips as he gave Charlotte a single, reassuring nod. "One day at a time."

"No more secrets, Tommy." Charlotte sniffed, "If we're going to move forward, we have to do it honestly."

"No more secrets," he vowed solemnly.

---

The crowded woodland was starting to thin out, the early afternoon sun was warm and the open expanse in the distance as the last icy remnants of spring were giving away to the coming summer months. Through a clearing the open expanse of land they needed to cross before they would reach the gates of Jackson came into sight.

Even as the rustic buildings of Jackson started to form on the horizon, Joel's mind was elsewhere. The wide open spaces of Wyoming did little to distract him from the turmoil inside his head. Each step forward felt heavier than the last, even though they were bringing them closer to a new life. A promise of something resembling stability, but for Joel it was akin to walking back into a storm he'd been avoiding for far too long.

His decision to save Ellie from the Fireflies had been instinctual, the father in him acting without hesitation. But the lie he'd told her in the aftermath had been a choice, a deliberate action meant to protect her. The weight of that lie felt heavier with each passing mile, a reminder of the lengths he would go to keep Ellie safe.

But Ellie wasn't the only ghost haunting him. As they drew nearer to Jackson, the specter of Charlotte loomed larger in his thoughts. She was an echo of a past he'd done his best to bury, a wound that had scabbed over but never quite healed. The thought of seeing her again stirred a mix of dread and longing in his chest. Charlotte had left him in Boston, a decision that had shaken Joel to his foundations. He'd told himself time and time again that he didn't care, that her leaving was just another casualty in a world filled with them. But that lie, much like the one he'd told Ellie, had done little to dull the pain.

Much like he had done with Ellie on the subject of Tess, he had said the same to Tess, do not bring up Charlotte. Ever.

Tess had rained down question after question to Joel, on the morning after Charlotte's departure of the QZ, she and Joel had argued fiercely. They'd had a deal with Miguel 'Santiago' that needed Charlotte's presence or it wasn't going to happen. He ran the Spanish Quarter, the hub of the Latino community that took over a large part of the northern end of the Boston QZ. They were notorious equally for taking care of their own and their fought over "Sabor de Fuego", moonshine. Charlotte had managed to fall into the enigmatic man's favour inadvertently building a steady lucrative business for Tess and Joel.

With Charlotte now gone, so was their tie to the elusive quarter. Overnight the crew that had taken over the corner of Stillman and Cross were gone, like they'd never been there at all. Not much too dissimilar to Charlotte from Joel's lips.

His past was clawing its way back into the present. The man he had become in the absence of Charlotte was a mere shadow of his former self, fading in and out of existence like a half-remembered dream. His feelings for her, the ones he had buried deep within the pits of his heart, had began to unravel in a tortuous, slow burn since the moment he'd laid eyes on her back in December. The guilt of his inaction, the regret of his harsh words, the sorrow of losing her – they were feelings he couldn’t outrun, not anymore.

But Joel was a man built on resilience and endurance. He understood the weight of the past, how it could both anchor and set a man adrift. He knew that to find peace, he had to face those realities he had long shunned. Joel carried his past, his guilt, his unresolved feelings for Charlotte, not as a burden but as a reminder of the man he was and the man he wanted to be. He recognized the truth, as painful as it was: reconciliation started with confrontation.

As the walls of Jackson loomed in the distance, a sense of finality washed over him. Returning would not just mean facing the past; it would mean understanding it, accepting it, and learning to navigate the heavy waves of regret and guilt. It would mean coming to terms with the fact that his past actions had irreversible consequences, that he was as much a victim of his own decisions as he was a survivor of a world gone awry.

Beside him, Ellie trudged along, her youthful face mirroring his own inner turmoil. The sun glinted off her hair, painting her in a warm glow. Yet, her silence was deafening. She too was stepping into a world unknown, an uncertain future, and a part of him wished he could shield her from the truths that lay ahead.

He had lied to her, woven a tale to protect her from the harsh reality. But he knew Ellie saw through his facade, the cracks in his story. She was perceptive, far too perceptive to wholeheartedly believe his words.

He wanted to reach out to her, to offer comfort and reassurance, but the weight of his deceit held him back. How could he explain the tangled web of choices he had made, the lives he had impacted, all in the name of protecting her? The fireflies, Marlene, the desperate fight for a cure—they were all pieces of a puzzle that he couldn't bring himself to assemble for her.

Joel grappled with the conflict within him, torn between his desire to shield Ellie from pain and his longing for her to understand the complicated choices he had made. But he couldn't find the words to bridge the divide between them that had come as a result of his lie.

As they neared the town, the aroma of freshly cut wood, livestock and the the faint whisper of a cool breeze carrying the scent of the nearby river mingled, grounding Joel back into the present. He took a deep breath, his gaze flitting between the familiar structures and the gates ahead. This was a turning point, the threshold to a new life promising some semblance of peace and stability.

"Think they'll give us the same place?" Ellie finally broke the silence, her voice soft and tentative, pulling Joel from his thoughts.

"Maybe," Joel replied after a moment of consideration. "Don't see why not."

There was a long pause as they continued to move forward, the town drawing ever closer. The familiar structures of Jackson were now clear against the afternoon sky, the outlines sharp and real.

Ellie broke the silence again, her voice barely audible against the rustling of the wind. "I've never really had a home...outside of the school, I mean. This...it's different."

Joel glanced at her, a wave of sympathy washing over him. He knew all too well the unsettling feeling of trying to create a home amidst chaos. "It'll take some time, Ellie," he said quietly, "But it can be home, if you want it to be."

Jackson was a chance for a new beginning, an opportunity to mend the broken threads of their pasts and weave a new narrative for themselves. Joel had seen a significant shift within himself through his journey with Ellie, a warmth had rekindled inside him, a softness had returned that he thought was lost forever. Ellie had become more than just a reluctant task or mere cargo; she had somehow filled a void in his heart, a place where he hadn't dared to let anyone in since Sarah. The thought of losing her was unbearable; hence he had chosen her life over a gamble at a cure. Joel only hoped now, as they tried to settle into a semblance of normalcy in Jackson, that the echo of the lie he had told her, a lie that kept her alive, wouldn't shatter this newfound peace and the familial bond they had formed on their hellish journey.

#gold rush #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x oc #joel miller/ofc #joel miller/oc #joel miller x no age gap #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #hbo the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

23 notes · View notes

it-happened-one-fic · 2 years

Text

What Could Have Been - Dainsleif

Author Notes: I feel kind of bad for Dain. Angst just feels so natural for him that its hard to write anything else. Add that to feeling kind of bummed out and I got this. I hope everyone enjoys it though! Reader is gender-neutral as always.

Type: Angst/pining

Word Count: 539

The stars in the sky seemed rather unimpressive compared to you. That was the thought in Dainsleif’s mind as he tilted his head back and looked up at the darkened sky. But, like all thoughts of you, it brought a slew of others with it.

It had been quite some time since he’d last seen you. At that singularly condemning thought, he let out an almost silent sigh. Whenever you came to mind Dainsleif always ended up pondering his past decisions. Regretting some, affirming others.

He did not regret choosing to stand against the Abyss Order. What they did was wrong. Khaenr’iah had fallen and that was the end of it. There would be no bringing it back. And even if they were somehow successful, how could they say it was worth it? How could sacrificing so many other innocents ever be deemed acceptable?

But Dainsleif’s primary regret would always be you. Leaving you behind had been the right choice if he were to keep fighting against the Abyss Order which meant it was the right choice for the greater good. But as to whether or not it had been the right choice for him and for you…. That he doubted.

Because how could it be the right decision when the ghost of your presence haunted him?

There was seldom a moment where he didn’t think of you or see you in the world around him. Remember your gentleness when he looked at flowers. Recall your grace when he saw the stars. Reminisce about how you made him feel alive when he took the time to notice the skies ever changing appearance.

You were, and forever would be, precious to him beyond all measure. But his would remain a love unspoken.

Unspoken, but recognized. Because he could never hide his feelings from you. He knew this because you could never hide your feelings from him. Not when your eyes had so clearly shown the affection and love you’d felt for him each time you gaze had found his.

Standing so close to where he knew you had at least once lived was a test that was almost beyond his strength. He found himself thoughtlessly turning towards where your house was, where he’d spent many days when he’d last stayed in this area.

But he wouldn’t go to you, for doing that would be beyond cruel. Not when you’d at least had the chance to move on and find a new love. Something he hoped you had done even if the very thought of it brought a sharp stabbing pain to his heart.

And even though Dainsleif did not worship the gods he knew that if he did he would start and end each day with prayer for your health and happiness. That was the least he could do.

Was leaving you the best for him? No. He knew that. But he could hope it was the best for you. This way you wouldn’t live your life with a cursed man who was beyond all redemption.

But Dainsleif knew, without a shadow of a doubt that even eons from now, when he looked up at the distant heavens above he would think of you and wonder. What could have been?

#Dainsleif x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact #Dainsleif #Dain #Dainsleif x you #dainsleif x y/n #Genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #stars #Because Dain is a starry boy #angst #gender-neutral reader #pining #my writings #fic #does this go under Khaenr'iah?#I think this might be my first angst fic that doesn't have a fluffy ending

89 notes · View notes

sunny-days-and-warm-mournings · 10 months

Note

Please I want to know more about your Son Wukong AUs!

OH!!! OHHH!!! So my inbox really is working after all!!

As for my AUs, well, *fixes bones and coffin nails*

SO I have a LOT of Sun WuKong AUs in my folder, some more fleshed out some not. I think I have about 15 AUs in total if I count the other "What If" scenarios that circles around in my noggin, but the more prominent ones that I'll be showcasing in my blog are: Huānlè Jìjié Dà (of course), Kǎishèng Dàshèng, SāngQī Yǒngjiǔ, SāngQī Zhēngdòu, and Qíyuàn Zhízhèng Guān.

As you can see there's a shit ton of em, which may speak about my malaptive daydreaming mind but hey! I may do with my hyperfixations.

For Huānlè I've already explained some bits about the AU here as well as there, and I'll explain more in the future once I'm done with the lil comic I've been working on ;)

The others HOWEVER, they are a little bit more complex and are interconnected with each other in some ways. For now though, I'll explain the list I've included in this post.

1. Kǎishèng Dàshèng is an AU that is related to the Monkey King Hero Is Back (2015) iteration of the Xiyouji, and this AU takes place after Jiang Liu'er died (or implied to have passed away, but honestly even as it breaks my damn heart and the ending was there I know what it meant). Sun WuKong goes on to some type of redemption after failing to protect the little monk, slaying Yaoguai here and there where major trails and ambushes happen.

He can already activate his golden eye bc it unlocked with some of his abilities when he defeated Hun Dun (can't remember the guy's name right) and with some heavenly interventions SWK knew about the reincarnations of the Golden Cicada (I can't get in too much detail but I'll take it to my notes after some research) and the fates that came with it.

Long story short he was hailed as a protector of children AND a War God after much fuss with demons trying to thwart him, all the while fulfilling his failed promise of protecting Jiang Liu'er through protecting kids like him. The process of this is even more complicated and circles around the idea of quasi-exemption bc "I must protect these young mortals because I failed Liu'er" "I was not strong enough to even save him" "I have fallen from grace long before I was imprisoned" and more, it's not really a "an eye for an eye" thing because SWK chooses to protect and look out for children. He wants to not as an obligation but something beyond that, like a higher form concept of promise and the child's death that sparked this fire. The death of his kid wasn't a power up and more of a realization that "I failed so many people, I left, and what did I get from that? What was the answer of my goal in the end? " I can word that much better but I'm running out of time so—

"Sun WuKong always spat out his guts and fangs laced with fire and ambitions, until infant teeth dropped with his gore."

2. SāngQī Yǒngjiǔ is the darkest of my AUs, holy shit, I've taken everything from this man. You know how we set fire to ant hills because they bit us? Yes, that's how this AU ended up in. The story follows just as much as the beginning of the book, he goes to find the immortal, takes his cudgel from Ao Guang, causes some chaos in Di Yu; but Heaven wasn't having any of that. They did not like this monkey one but and ordered for the "exorcism" of the Huagoushan troops, not batting any more of an eye.

It was a full on genocide. No monkey survived in the fire Yù Huáng ordered to be put upon them, and the mountains died with tens of thousands of monkey individuals either curled up in ashes behind the long gone Shuilian cave or is not set apart from the dead earth.

And guess what? This made Sun WuKong so distraught and full of rage (and so much more emotions). He didn't "die" per say, but his stole was taken back again to Di Yu for judgement. The half-dead half-alive monkey razed great havoc upon Di Yu and almost beat the living shit out of King Qin'guang— who wouldn't? When the whole of your household and home are gone? Forget the crown of the Monkey King or his immortality, he was the patriarch and communal grandfather to the Huagou mountains.

It was Buddha himself who intervened the anguished Sun WuKong's war path and struck a deal with him to stop him from killing King Qin'guang off completely and risk upsetting the balance set in Hell, including the mortal souls and the monkeys' souls. They compromised by striking a deal that concerned SWK "dethroning" King Qin'guang for the time being until every last one of his monkey family's souls were set for the Samsara Cycle, otherwise known as the Reincarnation Cycle. If SWK does not accept this deal then he'd face a much, much, worse punishment that if compared to the genocide of his people and what could've been the Five Elements Mountain imprisonment, it would seem like child's play.

Sun WuKong disrupted what peace was in Di Yu, almost completely turning over the Cycle, and there's darker Hell to suffer for that.

So SWK accepted, rotten and burning unlike flesh and maggots but like nebulae and empty enclaves of world-birthing stars, and accepts King Qin'guang's place only for the small comfort of overseeing his monkeys handed to the Cycle.

It is estimated that that lasted for 6,000 years, possibly more. Sun WuKong spent that time suffering and wallowing in his anguish and loss. The genocide and SWK's reaction also sparked something to other Yaoguai that was near then, or in Pūrvavideha continent that felt the sheer force of horror, agony, pain, and everything else that came from SWK. He also does not a face, only a void where it was supposed to be.

(I can't say he got any justice at all. Or comfort or felt the sun on his fur again. I can't say he recovered.)

3. SāngQī Zhēngdòu follows almost the same plot as SāngQī Yǒngjiǔ, but it wasn't a genocide. This one isn't too fleshed out yet but he stayed as Warlord and wasn't imprisoned because of the Havoc in Heaven. If anything, his relation to other Yaoguai solidified some cases that saved him from being put under Buddha's palm.

Let's just say he hates Yù Huáng's guts (they're both mutually exclusive, which is the greatest idea ever that Heaven came up with ever since sending Erlang Shen's army to raze Huagou), and mingles with other forms of Yaoguai more than ever. There are lots of deals and compromises in my AUs and this one isn't an exception. Sun WuKong doesn't back down when his goal perceives what may be the return of some of his troops.

Hints: God of War, white fur and red robes. Ruler of the Yaoguai Kingdom and the allied sworn brothers

4. Qíyuàn Zhízhèng Guān is a little more lighthearted and purely for shits and giggles (which provides as a pit stop from all the bloody angst).

Sun WuKong is a lot more bastardly here and gives Heaven the troubles they deserve. It started on him being bored out of his mind and thought that the best solution for this is to: tell the Jade Emperor he was bored out of his mind and wants another job, and then wanting freedom without anybody's decree of agreement.

Basically he kinda miraculously convinced Yù Huáng to give him a "raise" from his title as The Great Sage Equalling Heaven (that he knew was an empty title, btw) and Guardian Of The Immortal Peach Orchard. Passive aggressively hinting violence if the old Jade wasn't going to cooperate until he got what he wanted.

Which he did! He became a supervisor for some surprisingly religious stuff related to prayer and worship. Archon and stuff that will lead to greater things in that future, which I won't tell you about just yet ;)

There's actually a fic out there for this bit as well as another AU!

Here are the links:

Peaches And Prayers

White Sun | 白日，甚至在子時辰之前

5. (Bonus) White Sun is an AU that explores the idea of rehabilitation of Huagou Mountain and the monkeys, and that Sun WuKong escaped from Buddha's would-be punishment for him after the havoc in heaven just the last seconds. I may rewrite it to be more accurate to the OG classic but is is what it is right now.

——————————————————————

And that settles it! I can explain in it better and clearer ways but I don't have too much time left, so here they are anyhow! A couple of my more than dozens AUs! I hope you like them and keep asking about them still <3

I will make more art and content for these AUs when I have a better schedule and when our tests are done, so please be patient! I know how to write them I promise JDNKSNS

Anyway, it's time for me to go now! I hope you liked my messy explanation @blastflight :)

#jttw #jttw au #journey to the west #journey to the west au #xiyouji #sun wukong #sun wukong au #ask answered

19 notes · View notes

sculptorofcrimson · 11 months

Text

Where Angels Fear To Go

Fandom: Curse of Strahd

Characters: Strahd, Sergei

Synopsis: The ruminating of Pre-curse Strahd

@vampire-chokehold for you!

“I stopped asking for forgiveness 'cause you should know

Only fools tread where the angels fear to go” - Redemption

Even the devils had once admired the angels.

They may rot with their claws and horns and fangs, and hover through sulfur stained shadows where roses grow like cobwebs and brass molds like clay, where the circles are suffering and the sinners rejoice. They may rot within the darkness while the celestials dance beneath the stars and sky, they may watch through envious, lustful eyes of jealous worship at what they could have been, at what they once was, the perfection that had been stolen from their corpses.

Some scriptures say that Lathander had taken their wings when they fell. Some scriptures, my angelic little brother, say that Lathander had torn their wings joint from joint and uprooted their delicate bones from half-divine shoulders. The first demons had fallen, cast down to earth screaming and wailing, weeping amid a storm of their own shredded feathers and corrupted ichor.

Their broken wing feathers can still yet be found. It brings bad luck, certainly, but is it not a marvel as well? The last remnants of their old glory, torn away feather from feather, bone from bone, till they could fly no more than the wretched serpents, sent out to grovel in their misery.

If you were here, my angelic little brother, my Angel, you may have told me that they deserved it. They certainly deserve no better for their sins against your god. But perhaps not. You were always the gentle one, Sergei. The gentry call you the Angel of Barovia, the angel of the morning, the Prince of all that shines. You who could have made Lathander laugh with your joy, and weep with your sorrow. What monster could peer into those shining eyes of such cerulean adoration and turn you away?

You were always the Angel, Sergei.

~~~~~~~~~

“But you keep trying to get too close

Saved myself by turning into stone

So save your judgment 'cause you just don't know

But somethings never change, never change”

You scorn Lathander with your love.

I will not forget the glimmer upon your armor, the very laughter in your words, the genuine joy you could barely contain the moment we had met face to face, the devil and the angel, brothers who were tied with nothing more than blood.

Blood! What an amusement, such a fickle bond to depend upon.

“Brother,” you had called me, holding me in an embrace practically vibrating with your own delectation. And the sheer jubilation in your regard when I had not refused! I have not the words to describe it. Your demeanor is not so unlike the sun, so timidly and so carefully withholding your searing brilliance behind the mists until you were sure you could scald them to oblivion with your smiles and your exultation.

You were like the sun, like the angels and the prophets of the old. You burn like divinity incarnate, so warm that you were scalding, and so brilliant that you were blinding. You were all that I hated yet all that could love me, you who held a charm beyond compare, and devotion beyond reason.

It would have been so much easier if you had hated me, Sergei.

Lathander would have wept his divine tears had he heard of the sins I have partaken upon, the blood that had washed my armor crimson upon the battlefield. Your god holds no power over my atrocities, there is no forgiveness despite what your flowery words and sermons can proclaim. Why spare me now, Sergei, when my hands are already bathed in enough blood to drown in? Why shine your divine grace upon me, when war has already taken all there is for me to give?

You would not want to conceive of a hundredth part of the anguish I have endured. Your words are as empty as the tombs of the soldiers who had fallen in combat, whose corpses were never found, whose souls I had once led into battle the same way you lead sheep to a slaughter. Your words are as hollow as the crypts beneath Ravenloft, yet you are far too inebriated with your own innocence to understand such utter misery. I can no more lead an angel to sin than I can bring you to understand the depths of despair I have long since sunk to.

You damn us both with your ceaseless infatuation. Why do you love me yet, an ancient relic of war and massacres? Is this the childish adoration of a younger brother who has known only of his older brother from his legacy, or is it the unbreakable love of a man too foolish to see he loves a monster? Or perhaps you believe I am someone who deserves to be saved from his eternal misery, someone to be admired and placed upon a pedestal of perfection.

Perhaps you have deluded yourself into believing I would be resplendent when you finally drag me out before the light of your lord, when I finally repent for my sins and suddenly all shall be forgiven, all the atrocities I’ve committed and all the blood I have spilled.

I would tell you that you are a fool, Sergei, but I'm afraid I cannot. I cannot pretend there is nothing honorable about your damnable zeal, your unwavering devotion even I cannot shake. One look into your eyes is enough to tell me you would bleed a thousand ways to love me, you would dare go mad from endless prayers and litanies to see me repent. You would smite down the sun for scorning your most adored brother and I would love you none the more for it.

Sometimes, I try to understand. I try to ponder and wrestle with what strange mind you must have, I try to voice prayers to a god I know will never answer one such as I.

How? I ask myself, How can you love?

How can you love someone like me?

How can you love me, Sergei? How can you look at my legacy of glorified blasphemies and call me admirable? How can you look at the Devil of Barovia, and wrap your angelic wings around his shoulders and comfort him when the sun seems loathsome and its light seems repugnant?

How can you love me, Sergei?

~~~~~~~~~

“Somethings never change, never change,

Redemption never came”

Sometimes, I dare wonder. Is it a sin to hate an angel? Is it the mark of a monster, a beast, to hate the brother who loved me so relentlessly, so recklessly?

Perhaps I am ungrateful, selfish and wretched in my rancor, and loathsome in my resentment. Perhaps I am undeserving of such adoration, of such loyalty, of such loathsome love that it was abhorrent. Perhaps I do not deserve you, Sergei.

I tire of this game where only one of us plays. I tire of your innocence, of your ceaseless adoration, of your forgiveness and your grace. I tire of you, Sergei. You, who are all that I could have never been, you of innocence and youth, you who have never had to slay your own lieutenant for driving a hole through your gut.

I tire of you, Sergei. I hate you, Sergei. I hate your innocence, for all you had and all I could have never been, I abhor your faith(so naive, so impossible), I detest your youth, your boundless enthusiasm of which I cannot compare. But most of all, it is your despicable love, your unbreakable devotion to a brother who could not muster up the courage to completely loathe nor love you.

Answer me, Sergei, I beseech you, Angel of the morning, I beg of you, answer me.

How could you love?

How could you love someone like me?

#curse of strahd #dnd #strahd von zarovich #sergei von zarovich #writing prompts #sculptor of crimson #sculptor's requests

11 notes · View notes

iminaworldofpureimagination · 10 months

Text

write a fictional story of bojack horseman getting overheatdChatGP (OH it generated bojack/mr. peanutbutter)

BoJack Horseman had always been a complicated figure. The once-famous sitcom star had fallen from grace and was now navigating the treacherous waters of redemption. As he worked on rebuilding his life and mending broken relationships, he found solace in the little things—a cup of coffee in the morning, a good book, and the occasional hike.

On a scorching summer day, BoJack decided to go for a hike in the hills surrounding Los Angeles. The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, casting an oppressive heat over the entire city. Determined to clear his mind and find some peace, BoJack pushed forward, sweat trickling down his fur as he climbed higher and higher.

As he climbed, the heat intensified, causing BoJack to pant heavily. He tried to push through, but his body had reached its limit. He stumbled, feeling dizzy and disoriented. Realizing that he was overheating, he desperately sought shade to escape the punishing sun.

BoJack stumbled upon a small grove of trees, their leaves offering a respite from the blistering heat. He collapsed under the nearest tree, panting heavily and feeling the waves of heat radiating off his body. Panic set in as he struggled to regain control.

Suddenly, a voice broke through BoJack's haze. It was Mr. Peanutbutter, his former rival turned unlikely friend. Mr. Peanutbutter had coincidentally been hiking in the same area and had spotted BoJack in distress. Without hesitation, he rushed to BoJack's side, bringing a bottle of water and a wet towel.

"Hey, BoJack! You look like you could use some help," Mr. Peanutbutter said, concern etched on his face. He carefully poured water on the towel and began to wipe BoJack's forehead, neck, and arms. The cool water provided instant relief, and BoJack began to regain his composure.

As BoJack slowly cooled down, he looked at Mr. Peanutbutter with gratitude. "Thanks, Mr. Peanutbutter. I didn't realize how hot it was out here. I guess I pushed myself too hard."

Mr. Peanutbutter smiled warmly. "We all have our limits, BoJack. It's important to listen to your body and take breaks when you need them. You're not alone in this journey, you know."

BoJack nodded, realizing the truth in Mr. Peanutbutter's words. He had often let his own pride and self-destructive tendencies push him beyond his limits. But in that moment, he understood the importance of self-care and relying on others for support.

With Mr. Peanutbutter's help, BoJack slowly rose to his feet, feeling a newfound determination. He knew that his path to redemption would be filled with challenges, but he also knew that he didn't have to face them alone.

Together, they walked back down the hill, sharing stories, laughter, and a newfound camaraderie. BoJack Horseman had learned an invaluable lesson that day—sometimes, the strongest thing one can do is ask for help and accept it with gratitude. And with each step, he felt a glimmer of hope, knowing that he was on the right path to healing and finding his place in the world once again.

#i did this cause man i am hot hot hot air unit would not stay on so the livingroom is blazing rn #chatai fun #bobutter #bojack horseman #i know people dont care for chatai but i have fun with it

7 notes · View notes

norabrice1701 · 8 months

Text

The Duke & The Witch - Ch. 5

Charles Brandon x Fem!OC, A The Tudors Slight-AU fic

Series Main List

Ch. 5 Warnings: Discussion of witchcraft; period-typical attitudes towards everything (women, religion, witchcraft, etc.); fantastical squinty science/alchemy

It doesn’t take much longer for his strength to return. His legs shake as a newborn calf when he finally rolls up to a sitting position, breathing heavily from the effort. A hazy numbness still fogs his brain, and he hopes it won’t last much longer.

True to her word, the cottage is modest in its appointments. The fire embers mostly burned out by the time he finds his feet, and the surrounding furnishings - the large, rough-wood table that she had occupied; a couple of crude chairs; a bed with animal furs in the back corner next to a rough cabinet completed the scene. Except for another table - a taller table to accommodate standing - occupied the opposite wall, next to a wooden lattice and another rough-wood cabinet. None of it bore any obvious signs of witchcraft - no cauldron, no black cat, no pentagrams. Not even a broom that he could see.

As he leaves the cottage behind, her parting words stick with him. Her assumption that he would indeed search through her belongings to find evidence against her still stings. Does she really think so little of him? That he would resort to something so underhanded to ensure her downfall?

Unless divination counted among her skills, she didn’t know about his role in the downfall of Cardinal Wolsey. But if he hadn’t needed to resort to underhanded measures to bring Wolsey down, then he didn’t need to stoop low to see Avian brought to account. And highly doubted that Avian’s crimes are even half as heinous as Wolsey’s. Embezzling the king’s funds. Placing France’s interests above England’s. Plotting with the Emperor and the Pope to see himself restored to power. The man had well and truly deserved everything that befell him.

Mercifully, the rain has stopped as he undertakes the journey back to St. Edmunds. His clothing already bears soiled stains beyond redemption and a thorough soaking would make the ride back to Westhorpe even more unpleasant.

His mind spins the whole way back. He recalls watching her toy with the knife at the table - had she considered using it against him? After all, he does pose a credible threat, and he would have been powerless to stop her if she had chosen to attack. Or if not with the knife, she could have blasted him with lightning - like the unfortunate raven. But curiously enough, she had done neither - in fact, it still stuns that she actually answered a few of his questions.

As much as that feels like a victory, it feels like a trap. Is she just trying to lure him into a false sense of security? Does she present her skills as alchemy to hide the true nature of their origin? God help him, but he wants to learn more. Her bright green eyes held such a vast sea of carefully-guarded truth, and wants to discover all of it.

If he returned tomorrow, would she welcome him?

The thick clouds obscure the afternoon sun when he returns his horse to the Westhorpe stable. Taking the stairs up to the main door, there’s little else that he wants to do other than request Joseph prepare a bath.

“God be praised, Your Grace!” Relief bursts on Joseph's face as he enters the main hall. “We have prayed for your safe return since you left us.”

“That was kind of you, but unnecessary.” Charles says, offering a reassuring smile. “I have not fallen victim to witchcraft.”

“I’m relieved to hear it. More prayers will be offered in gratitude for your safe return.”

“Safe, but soiled.” He tears at the buttons of his tunic. “Have water heated and a bath prepared. It’s been a long trail of dungeons and dirt.”

Joseph’s eyes widen with curious concern, but ever the dutiful servant, he only offers a short bow before moving off to enact the order. Working the tie of his shirt open, Charles moves for the dining room, breathing freer in his relaxed clothing. The pitcher of wine rests where it always does and he quickly pours a goblet-full. It slides with welcome relief down his throat as he glances at the pile of scrolls and missives that have arrived in his absence, reaching to take them under his arm.

The duties of his office never cease.

When the heat of the water has seeped soothingly into his muscles, he leans back against the edge of the wood and canvas tub and reaches for the top missive from the accompanying table. At first, he had found it unusual to just linger in the water without going through the bathing motions, but Catherine had opened his eyes. Showed him how the heat helped soothe aches, clear the mind, and restore the spirit. Of course, her nimble hands had vastly improved the experience. But that’s why, even now, he doesn’t rush his baths.

With a sip of wine, he continues to read. The price of wheat has increased since the last trade. Town elders in Great Yarmouth raise concerns about the fishing industry growth out of Lowestoft and the depletion of herring fishing grounds. Haverhill flour mills have stepped up admirably to aide St. Edmunds in the wake of their mill explosion without charging an exorbitant price.

He reaches again for his wine, taking a slow drink before opening the last letter. He recognizes the King’s office seal instantly. In Cromwell’s hand, the official summons scrawls across the page. The official summons to return to court and take the Oath. He wonders if Henry has ordered Cromwell to write it, or if Cromwell has taken his own initiative. Had Cromwell read something in Charles’ face that day on the archery range that convinced him it would take more than an unofficial visit to prompt Charles’ return to court?

It matters little either way. Cromwell’s shrewd observation skills are hardly a secret, and Charles can’t delay his return to court forever. Even if that bitch of a woman does occupy the throne. Even if his return is only to swear his allegiance to her offspring and forsake all that had come before.

A pang of guilt tears through him at the memory of the forgotten queen. The poor woman, God bless her. She had borne all the humiliation and disgrace with such dignity and courage. All of it was wrong, and he knew it, but he’d still been unable to stop himself that day when he asked for her forgiveness. He had no right to ask it of her, but she had granted it anyway.

Publicly, he acknowledges Henry’s reasons for the divorce, but casting Catherine of Aragon aside for someone like Anne Boleyn was beyond him. He can only hope it wouldn’t be a decision that Henry comes to regret. After all, the man has broken the country away from the Catholic Church to do it.

But if such a day never comes, then Charles supposes he’s destined to watch Henry and Anne dance about so happily in love. Maybe he’s just bitter, but being a widower twice over has sliced Charles with more wounded guilt and jealousy than he wants to admit.

Once upon a time in his youth, he’d loved every willing woman as freely as he pleased without a care to how others received it. And it had killed Margaret. Yes, the physicians said consumption – but he knew that he was the cause of it. The cause of her perpetual dissatisfaction in life.

With Catherine, he promised himself it would be different and it was. A marriage of true souls, he’d told Henry. And then came the most glorious news that he was going to be a father. She had looked so radiantly beautiful when her belly swelled with his child. For the first time in as many years as he could remember, he had felt peace and contentment with his life.

Until God ripped it all away in one fateful night of cries and screams that still echo in his memory. Catherine had labored for hours, ultimately in vain. But from the moment he had been forced from their bed when she awoke with pains, he had paced the length of the dining room countless times and waited with baited breath. Until suddenly the screaming stopped and no wail of a newborn babe sounded. The solemn face of the physician had been little more than a blur as he tore up the stairs to take in the scene.

Catherine had looked at him with weak eyes, pale – so very pale – but hadn’t been able to manage any words. She could barely turn her head towards him when he dropped to sit by her side. He didn’t even remember what he said now. Empty, babbling words that hadn’t done a damn thing to stop the light draining from her eyes, the last breath leaving her body.

At the time, he’d thought that to be the worst night. But the worst nights were yet to come. Alone. In their empty bed. In their empty house, when instead it should be filled with the sounds of their babe crying out for his mother.

He sighs heavily, dropping the king’s official summons back to the table and reaching for his wine. He drains the goblet in several long gulps to banish the heartbreaking memories.

Lingering on the past that he couldn’t change never ends well. Maybe, instead, the answer lies in looking to the future.

To his upcoming trip to court, no matter the reason. To seeing his good friend and king in what is sure to be a glorious mood. To his subsequent return home. To continuing his pursuit of Avian. To learning what other secrets she holds dear.

***

“Charles! Welcome back to court!” Henry smiles, warm and excited as he gestures Charles over to the long table. “You have been sorely missed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Charles tips a polite bow before walking further into the king’s chamber. “You are gracious as ever.”

Henry chuckles as he motions to the chair on his left. “Come. Sit. You, groom – pour wine for His Grace.”

“Very gracious, indeed.” Charles moves to the offered chair while the groom pours a steady stream of wine into a pristine goblet.

“So, tell me,” Henry leans back in his chair with a relaxed ease that Charles hasn't seen in years. “How is my countryside?”

Charles pauses to measure his words. Especially in regards to attitudes towards the current queen. “Rather content, Your Majesty,” he says with an easy smile. “Wheat is fetching a higher price than usual. There are minor concerns with herring supply on the east coast, largely due to the success of the market rather than any official policy, though.”

Henry shakes his head, eyes warm with mirth. “Never thought I’d see the day when you’d have a responsible head for business and policy, Your Grace. But look at you now.”

Charles sighs, resisting a roll of his eyes. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m well aware that I’m on my way to being one of those boring, middle-aged men that I used to complain about.”

“Come, come! So much time alone in your widowhood has made you dour, my friend. You should have stayed at court where life and love abound.”

Charles smiles and tips his head in acknowledgement. “Your Majesty is quite right. Your continued happiness is a joy to behold. All congratulations are due unto you.”

“Yes, quite so. I expect that the queen will soon be with child again, and our son can finally be born. All the more reason for the Act of Succession to come to swift fruition. I will not have such worries upsetting the queen during her term.”

“Of course not.” Charles’ jaw tenses on instinct and he forces himself to relax. “I’m told Parliament should have the act drawn up for signatures and oaths just after Christmastide.”

Henry huffs a disgusted breath. “That’s not nearly soon enough. These politicians – they talk, they drag their feet. I tell you, if they had their way, I’d still be unwed.”

“I remember how tirelessly Your Majesty toiled in wait and discontent until your conscience could be set to right.”

“It was the sweetest victory, Charles.” Mischief twinkles in Henry’s eye as he raises his cup. “Though not as sweet a victory as my wedding night.”

Obligingly, Charles raises his cup, toasting to Henry with a smile and soft chuckle to match his king’s.

Henry drinks quickly, licking his lips. “I would have you stay around court until then, Charles. There is much to be done, and few who I trust to see it done to my satisfaction.”

Charles nods without hesitation. “Of course, I am at Your Majesty’s command.”

He tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as Henry presses forward with matters of the kingdom. Dammit, he hasn’t planned on staying around Court for so long. The queen’s insufferable presence would hang over everything, and Henry’s congeniality only extended now because he needs Charles to serve. How long would it be until the she-devil convinces Henry to banish him from court again?

He also needs to write to Joseph upon returning to his chambers. That’s all it will take to have Westhorpe shuttered and prepared for his extended absence.

His thoughts should absolutely not turn to Avian. To her bright green eyes, wild curls, and lightning fingers.

But, dammit, they do.

***

For all his talk, she still has yet to see any trace of the Duke of Suffolk.

Maybe his absence is just to lull her into a false sense of security. Maybe he raises an army to root her out once and for all. Or perhaps, it’s something as mundane as the King’s business that keeps him away. The man does have his duchy to govern and affairs of state to manage, after all. Despite his words, does he really have time to personally track her down and see to the prosecution of a suspected witch?

Yet another day of peaceful silence comes and goes. Another day of tending to tasks – gathering fungi, cutting chamomile, mending the patch in the roof.

Her most recent trip to the village has blessedly been quiet. Nothing reached her ears of anyone in need of assistance. No mill explosions. No fears that keep the villagers awake. Truthfully, that’s how she prefers it.

And so the witch went quiet as she sometimes does. Her stores have started to run low and the quiet time gives her good time to restock. To gather the required ingredients and prepare them accordingly.

It takes time and until the duke returns, she has plenty of it. Just as she always has.

And when a rash of robberies hits the road north of St. Edmunds, the sheriff swears it can only be witchcraft that leaves the trail of melted shoes leading to the thieves’ den.

***

Spring blooms around Charles as he rides back to Westhorpe. The budding trees offer bright spots of color and the young green grass shoots stand out against the winter browns. But if Charles is being honest, it would be a pleasant ride back to the countryside no matter the scenery.

After four months in court, his weary soul needs a break. Everything about daily life there proves taxing. Or maybe he’s just getting too old? The endless days proved a constant test of his patience which has more than worn thin. Henry’s Acts of Supremacy had finally come around just after Christmastide and devolved into a messy business of witnessing oaths and capturing signatures.

Of course, Charles had sworn and signed his name. The weight of it still hangs as a stain upon his soul. A complete betrayal to the dowager princess and her daughter. But what choice does Charles have? He honestly doesn’t count his soul to be worth much anymore these days, so why not value his head instead?

He can only hope that Henry won’t follow through on his desire to press Sir Thomas More into the oath. Charles knows well of the man’s true inclinations, and he has held true to his word of a quiet retirement from public life. Not that Charles has ever doubted him. The pure, steadfast goodness of Sir Thomas More has always been something that Charles admires from afar.

But now that he surrounds himself in the familiar quiet of Westhorpe, it’s time to set aside the courtly troubles. They will surely be awaiting him whenever he returns, but for now he fully intends to make the most of his respite.

Well, at least he will when he finishes with the duchy secretary. The man, William Matthews, has done an admirable job of keeping Charles apprised of matters that required his attention, yet the work still never stops. Whether he has a focused mind or not.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Matthews says, retrieving the paper from the table with ink still wet from Charles’ signature. “I’ll see this delivered right away and funds allocated to start work.”

Charles nods absently. “Yes, I think the additional roadway will be a great boon to regional commerce. An increase to the inland supply of goods, at least.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. And there is one last matter for your attention.” Matthews brandishes a crude letter, the writing barely more than a legible scrawl. “The elders of Lowestoft say their people are threatening riots. Threatening to take up arms against Great Yarmouth over the herring water rights.”

Charles tilts his head to glare up at Matthews. “I thought those disputes were long settled. Why have they been allowed to escalate?”

“Your office has, of course, worked to dissuade them of such a course. But they remain insistent. I sent a representative to the region earlier this year, and he remarked that tensions had somewhat cooled then but were likely to ignite with the coming of warmer weather.”

“Why wasn’t I forewarned?”

Matthews swallows with visible unease as doubt creeps to his face. “I… I didn’t want to trouble Your Grace with such unsubstantiated rumors until we had firmer knowledge.”

“And now I have written threats of riots to contend with.” Charles sighs in frustration as he tries to think of what direction to give and leans back against his chair. He really doesn’t have a mind for this today. “Tell them that to riot and take up arms against each other is to riot and take up arms against their king. And such an act will be responded to in kind. It’s a vast ocean – surely, there must be enough herring for everyone.”

Matthews tips his head in acknowledgement, trying and failing to hold back an amused smirk. “Very good, Your Grace. I’ll draft and send the letter post-haste. And I will keep you immediately informed of any other news from the region as soon as it crosses my desk.”

“I expect nothing less.” He nods both in agreement and dismissal, watching Matthews bend in a half-bow before turning to go. Charles looks towards the window, the spring green grass catching his eye. “Matthews – have there been any recent tales of the witch in the woods?”

Matthews’ footsteps halt and Charles can feel the weight of the man’s confused gaze. “The witch, Your Grace? Out of the woods near St. Edmunds?”

Charles arches a wry brow, looking back at his secretary. “Is there more than one witch in my duchy?”

“No, not at all. I just – Your Grace has caught me by surprise. I always counted you above such peasant rumors and superstitions.”

“I didn’t say I lend them credence, I merely asked if there had been any recent reports of her doings.”

Matthews licks his lips, still uncertain. “No, Your Grace. Not to my knowledge, at least. It’s possible the commons gabble about her – she brings nothing but heartache and woe.”

“That is interesting. Conversely, I’ve only heard that she helps people.”

“Do not let Your Grace be deceived. While the tales have her appear as an angel of mercy, the price on one’s soul is too high to pay.”

Charles’ lips lift, intrigued. “So you do know about her.”

Matthews nods slowly, as though admitting such knowledge was already an unforgivable sin. “Yes, Your Grace. I have heard of her, but nothing in the last year. Some speculate that she has moved on. Or simply returned to hell from whence she came.”

Charles hums thoughtfully, again turning back to the window. His stomach sours at the prospect of Avian’s departure. Is he just too late?

Matthews draws a tentative breath. “Will that be all, Your Grace?”

#charles brandon #duke of suffolk #the tudors #henry cavill #charles brandon x ofc #henry cavill x ofc #the tudors fanfic

2 notes · View notes

blueprint-poetry · 2 months

Text

the gloves are off

You left me here with all these feelings And I know what happens from here is my fault The gloves are coming off, and I will take full responsibility. I watched all my tactics blow up in my face Cause you took every mistake and never let me forget it.

I wish I could throw down the gauntlet May you know the causes and all it effected and understand you made some mistakes that are never going to be okay. Let the floodgates burst, I am tired of this dam, tired of your damning eyes holding me to it, but I am never allowed to call you on it.

So here goes. Backstabber, don’t deny it. Took my confidences, betrayed my trust- traitors. Misled, misread, and then misstepped, that’s on you. A spade is a spade, and you sowed betrayal by the suit. It wasn’t so ill-suited, I suppose, when you think about how you always refused the deepest parts of me and said that I just think too deeply, think in terms too idealistic, cause I see a touchstone and I cry out to get us closer to it. The world doesn’t think that way, what a nice cop-out to say, Let’s not consider the truth of the thing Cause the world doesn’t. I know what happens from here is my fault, cause you left me alone to reflect and the gloves are burning my hands to the bone so that I am coming undone trying to get these damned things to come off. I cannot do this anymore. Why would I ever go back? You tell me, what would you do with that?

I would have done so much more in a different life, if there had been different lies than the ones you chose to live, and small-minded one, understand, that’s not on me. I would have done so much more if faith and trust and hope and love were a little more ideal than you were practicing, but you did not practice it. Cards came down, chips fell off the table-sides flipping, and you switched sides and burned some bridges I refuse to revive. I had to swim in the deep to survive.

So this dam is breaking, and the floodgates will answer a lot of questions- and I want to pose them to you. I want to make you answer me. But what happens from here is my fault, and you love to hold me to it. How I choose to deal with it is on me. So when I walk away and I cannot give you the time of day anymore, I will accept full responsibility for all that I am seeing, and all that I am feeling, because I know how very differently I would have set out to settle this matter had you had the backbone and virtue, character-driven, to put in the effort with me. I am not resurrecting dead things in the valleys that call me Ezekiel, and in this valley, we are all… so I dug down deep where the graves belied these graver versions of me and I prayed for some relief, knowing your spine was never going to absolve me. I want to swim in the Grace and living water, and escape the ashes of another fall.

What happens from here is on me, and I am picking up the hammers left at my nailed feet, and I am picking up the stones that left me bruised and breathless, so close unto death by far beyond what you could see but your tongue fell so victim to it. I am rebuilding, but I am not rebuilding temples where you left ruins for your own enjoyment. What happens from here is on me, and I am thirsting so very deeply for only the holy. This is hallowed ground now, all the places I have fallen down, all the places my blood soaked through and I am still crawling, but the burning bushes are calling and Zion is redemption in ways you haven’t let yourself dare to imagine, and while I may wander, I wander never lost down on the shores of Babylon, while you can rule whatever throne you find befitting, but the mercy seat is all I am after and yours all failed to extend it to me.

So you tell me what would you do with all the betrayal, all the confidences broken, the way you took my most vulnerable moment, how close unto death I was, and now you try to twist all this to say I was a burden. I will not be anymore. Cause I am the warrior and the lamb, a lion roaring when the wilderness threatens, and my call will call to souls that are looking for a way to get out. I died to get out, and I will keep reminding them all just what it took. Cause I sacrificed so much of me for love that would not take me in, and I paid prices too steep to keep myself from sliding, and when I hit the ground, I shattered, and all that is the matter is what became of the falls we are all prone to, and yours was to never come back and say, I’m sorry for all the ways I betrayed your faith in me. My love should be a safety net and I didn’t want the responsibility, and I made that your fault. So look at all the damage done and remember, what happens from here is on me, cause I am not trusting another damned thing to hands that are not humble enough to plead and bleed and love with me.

–blueprint poetry

#poetry #blueprint poetry #abuse #neglect #broken relationship #healing #trauma #recovery through poetry #gaslighting #poets of tumblr #poemblr #christianity #my faith #by it i see the world #salt & light #language #betrayal

0 notes

chloelovesjesus · 6 months

Text

STOP.

You do not need to beat yourself up.

You do not need to convince yourself that GOD doesn't love you or want you or want to help you, no matter how much you sin or how far you *think* you are from Him. You aren't far at all.

You do not need to convince yourself that hell is your only option and that GOD doesn't accept you so you need to embrace darkness, rebellion and satan, the very entity that torments you with anxiety, depression, demonic oppression and wants you dead.

MANY in the church overall have made mistakes preaching another Gospel, preaching works based salvation, confusing precious far-off people that their performance and behavior is what makes them acceptable and loved by GOD.

The true Gospel is the Gospel of GRACE.

Jesus, GOD in the flesh, the Son of GOD that came down and did and said only what The Father wanted Him to do and say, came to us and made His dwelling among us. His Name in Hebrew is Yeshua, which means Salvation. He is also Named Immanuel, GOD with us. He lived a perfect life for us to be the sinless offering for us in exchange for our sins and darkness. He took the entire world's sin and diseases upon Himself, suffered scourging and died for us on the cross. He rose again three days later, fulfilling every prophecy in the Old Testament proving He is The Messiah (Daniel Ch. 9 The Messiah would come before the destruction of the second temple, Micah Ch. 5 The Messiah would be born in Bethlehem, Isaiah 53:5 He would be rejected and suffer for us and that by His Stripe we are HEALED) we receive this and all of this by faith. "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast." - Ephesians 2:8-9

He knew everything about you and I in eternity's past before there was anything, He had already gone before us and made a way for us to receive life, receive redemption, live eternally and be made whole (which includes healing, read 1 Peter 2:24). In Him is LIFE, and that life is the light of all. We were once far off from GOD, but we have been made near, so incredibly near, our human feelings (our fallen flesh) can't perceive it, but this is perceived in the Spirit. We are right next to GOD. Every miracle and good and perfect thing that has happened in your life was Him. He knows everything about you and I, and when we BELIEVE Him and take Him at His Word that He dealt with our sins at the cross and we are BLAMLESS in His sight, we can't help but be overwhelmed by His love and awe-inspiring grace. When we come into the TRUTH, the truth sets us free (Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. John 8:32) When we finally fathom His love in truth that you do not have to change or clean yourself up to come to Him, He will help you along the way through fellowship with Him. You are loved and accepted when you receive the Gospel of Grace, and when we receive it with joy, we can't help but weep in gratitude and praise. Because reality is actually so much sweeter than you ever dreamed, no matter what demons have tried to convince you, there is a HOLY GOD that loves you and has already dealt with your sins and wants you to come home to Him. Anything in your life that is slowly killing you or causing you harm (sin) He will gently show you and guide you on the path of Truth and life, and so will the elders at your local church that preaches Jesus Christ. He loves you beyond anything you could imagine. You are not just a number in an endless sea of people, you were personally and lovingly made by GOD and He loves you and doesn't hold a thing against you! Believe this. You don't have to embrace darkness because someone lied to you saying you have to be a certain way for GOD to even look at you. GOD says turn to Him and LIVE, let Him heal you in every way you need. Isaiah 53:5 says by His Stripe, we are HEALED. If you are suffering now, pray to JESUS. I implore you to test this for yourself, even the littlest faith can grow like a small mustard seed into a giant tree. Believe the Gospel of Grace. You are known. You are loved. You are already forgiven. God doesn't punish anyone today at all because what JESUS did for us is THAT VALUABLE, that He only sees the blood of JESUS! He isn't keeping tabs on us or holding anything against us. He simply wants us to turn to Him, receive Him, believe what JESUS did for us!

"So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him." (1 John 4:16)

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps NO RECORD OF WRONGS. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth." 1 Corinthians 13:1

"For God so loved the world that He gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God DID NOT send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to SAVE THE WORLD THROUGH HIM." John 3:16-17

#christianity #faith in jesus #jesus christ #jesusisgod #jesussaves #you are loved #youtube #faith alone #mental help #mentally exhausted #intrusive thoughts #obsessive compulsive disorder #anxiety disorder #hopelessness

0 notes

lindajenni · 7 months

Text

oct 12

the wanton way

"and then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!'" matt 7:23

i fear this will be a hard message for some. after all, isn't God love? likewise "the Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in mercy." psa 103:8 yes to all, but He is also righteous "and will not at all acquit the wicked." nahum 1:3

truly there is nothing we can do to "earn" redemption. "for by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast." eph 2:8-9

does that mean we are allowed to trample grace beneath our feet? "do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? do not be deceived. neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners will inherit the kingdom of God." 1 cor 6:9-10

scripture goes on to say, "and such 'were' some of you." 1 cor 6:11 it does not say "and such 'are' some of you." the world would take a casual glance and say there is not a dime's worth of difference between the two. "certainly not! how shall we who died to sin live any longer in it?" rom 6:2 we all fall short and on occasion we fall back into "that" sin but you should feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit quickly. i fear such is not the case with the apostate church.

they not only embrace such practices but lead others into their own deception. we should put away lying and give no place to the devil. they have multitudes believing they are saved when they are living in deception.

none of us will be perfected until the Lord comes. His blood covers the repentant during the renewal of our minds, but as i have said before - "we must continue to push down on sin while we lift up by grace." i would venture to say there is little one cannot restrain themselves from doing with prayer and effort. we are admonished to, "steal no longer, but rather let him labor." eph 4:28 can one also not stop a lying tongue or say no to sexual impurity? or do we just excuse ourselves and take the easier, more pleasurable path? "broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it." matt 7:13

i would say to anyone, if they are comfortable in their sin, perhaps they have "believed in vain." 1 cor 15:2 they say there are about eighteen inches from the head to the heart. acknowledgement of Jesus is not enough. scripture says, "even the demons believe — and tremble!" james 2:19 they tremble from fear but they love their dark ways.

what is true repentance? "the sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart — these, o God, You will not despise." psa 51:17

i know that most of you reading these dailies are truly born again, spirit filled, obedient followers of Christ. i also know that some are not and messages may also be passed on to those beyond my knowing. scripture gives this warning to all believers, for we are all watchmen of His word. "but if the watchman sees the sword coming and does not blow the trumpet, and the people are not warned, and the sword comes and takes any person from among them, he is taken away in his iniquity; but his blood I will require at the watchman’s hand." eze 33:6

i see the sword coming rapidly and i see people continuing in their iniquity without the blood covering of Christ; without a truly repentant heart. i would like to quote the act of contrition prayer standardized by the catholic church who themselves have fallen into many wanton ways. still, i like the sentiment and if truly said from the heart, God will hear. (not a vain repetition, but allow it travel those eighteen inches; a distance too far for many.)

"o my God, i am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and i detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. i firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. amen."

with the help of Thy grace; grace is so needed. what we're really saying is "God, i want to do better. i want to be better. i want to be a good and faithful witness to Your grace and salvation. i want others to see Jesus in me. but i can't do it by myself. with your aid and love on my side, i can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. take now this soul i offer You. fire and mold it as seems best to You. i trust You to complete the good work You have begun in me. i pray it now in the name of Jesus."

our pregnant mother, israel, is now in birth pains and the man-child is crowning. "'shall I bring to the time of birth, and not cause delivery?' says the Lord. 'shall I who cause delivery shut up the womb?' says your God." isa 66:9 look up people. our redemption draws nigh.

#prayer #faith #rapture #jesus #jesus is coming

0 notes

fallen-angel-eq · 7 months

Text

The Story Outline

The story begins in the ethereal realm of heaven. Twelve female angels, known for their unparalleled beauty, futuristic fashion, and unique ribbon-like hair, are summoned by the celestial council.

Due to a transgression they committed, the council decides to expel them from heaven. As they fall, their once radiant wings turn dark, symbolising their fall from grace.

Back Story

In a realm beyond our mortal reach, where beauty and grace are boundless, twelve celestial beings known as the Angels of Elysium reside. Their radiant wings shimmer with iridescent colours, and their fashion is beyond imagination.

But even in paradise, mistakes can be made. And when the celestial council discovered a transgression committed by the twelve angels, a decision was made.

The council decreed that the angels would be expelled from heaven, their once pristine wings forever tainted.

As they descended from the heavens, their wings, once symbols of purity, turned dark. A visual reminder of their fall from grace.

But these fallen angels were not defeated. They vowed to reclaim their lost glory, to rise above their past mistakes, and to find redemption.

And so, with their unique ribbon-like hair flowing behind them, they embarked on a journey to prove their worth, to show the world that even in their fallen state, they could still bring light and beauty to the world.

This is the story of the fallen angels, their expulsion from heaven, and their quest for redemption. This is the Prologue: The Expulsion.

Chapters:

1. Prologue: The Expulsion 2. Arrival on Earth 3. The Struggle to Adapt 4. The Search for Each Other 5. The Revelation of Their Transgression 6. The Rise of a New Adversary 7. The Battle for Earth 8. Redemption and Ascension 9. Epilogue: Guardians of Earth

This outline provides a framework for "The Fallen Angels" story, which can be expanded upon with detailed character development, subplots, and world-building.

0 notes

chicagoblogboy · 1 year

Text

Heroes Become Vilians

“You either die a hero or live long enough to become a vilian.” - Harvey Dent

Are all of my idols secretly a piece of shit? The first time I thought it, Tiger Woods. He was unassailable before Thanksgiving, 2009. A family man, the ultimate competitor on the course and a shy mogul off the court. He was a serial cheater? What?!

I remember reading the story about Tiger being in the club with Jeter and Jordan and asking them how they are so good with the ladies. Jordan told him “Tell ’em you’re fucking Tiger Woods.” Apparently, he took that to heart. It was sad to see a sports idol’s fall from grace before my eyes. Since then, in the age of cell phones and surveillance, it seemed that there was no chance to hide who you are, that everything would come to light eventually. That gave my a false belief that people were who they said they were, or else, surely, evidence of the contrary would have come to life. For Tiger, cultural redemption was possible, and he achieved a decade later. I hope there are more of these happy endings for our fallen icons, but I doubt it.

I’m from the suburbs of Chicago. When I was 16 I moved to Las Vegas. I knew my stay in the west would be temporary, that I was a midwestern kid at heart. I rejected the RVCA shorts and Vans in favor of Midwestern college t-shirts and beat Nikes. I embraced everything and everyone out of Chicago. Prominently; Derrick Rose, Obama, and Kanye. I was in line for a movie date in 2008 when my brother called me and said he was at the same hotel with 2 extra tickets to see Kanye. We shuffled over to watch N.E.R.D. and Pharell open for Kanye on the Graduation tour. I heard the dude next to me rap “Good Morning” and knew I had to learn every word too. Kanye was the greatest living artist, and my connection to home. Yeezus dropped my first year out of college, the newness and wildness of that album matched where I was at in life, and I was home, in Chicago. When I lost my uncle and heard “Waves” I was moved to tears and listened on repeat for weeks while I grieved.

Then I bought tickets to the Life of Pablo tour that turned out to be fake. I haven’t enjoyed any of his new music since then. His passion moved to apparel. I waited online for Yeezy’s that I could never get my hands on. My guy was now the guy. He was in LA, married to a Kardasian, with Adidas. He became more manic and unpredictable, harder to defend in the name of geniusness. Somewhere along the way he became unrecognizable from the Kanye I thought I knew. Then he descended into politics. Trump was the last straw and I’m sad to see the state he remains in today. Plenty of people were there to capitalize on him when he was healthy - Kim, Adidas, Gap, labels, fellow artists. Those people should be the ones to help him thru whatever he is dealing with. Instead, he’s been cutoff. I’m sure some of them made genuine efforts, but when someone is going through it sometimes you just gotta let them go through it and stay present for when they become open to change. See Steve-O supporting Bam Margera. I see nobody at his side today. It makes me sad. Sad that he disappointed me and so many of his fans. Sad that he can’t be helped. I hope there’s a redemption arch out there for him, it’s tough to see it now. One things for sure, there is not more defending him in the sake of “Genius”, the man is an idiot with a microphone. I was duped.

I talked about Elon Musk at my Grandma’s memorial. She’d always made an effort to talk to me about what I was interested in, sending me clips from the Newspaper in the mail, the last one she sent was about Tesla. In 2017 I read Tim Urban’s blog about Elon. In college, Elon thought about what he wanted to do with his life, using as his starting point the question, “What will most affect the future of humanity?” The answer he came up with was a list of five things: “the internet; sustainable energy; space exploration, in particular the permanent extension of life beyond Earth; artificial intelligence; and reprogramming the human genetic code.” That seemed a noble guiding principal for a genius to take on, and boy did he ever take it on! Paypal, Tesla, SpaceX, Neuralink, OpenAI. Any questions?

The reasons to admire Elon are obvious. The reasons to doubt him started to rack up starting in 2018 when Elon offered to help some kids stranded in a cave in Thailand. Elon didn’t know what he was talking about and when an engineer told him so, he responded by calling the guy a pedo. He won the defamation case, but watching a “Genius” step outside of his area of expertise and be get put in his place is a great way to see his true character. What we saw of Elon was not pretty - he jumped right to name calling, like Trump. The trend continued. He begrudgingly bought Twitter after an illtimed and misinformed decision to make an offer backfired on him. He did this to rid the rules of the platform and bring back “free speech”. But he had no idea what that meant, he started blocking accounts that went against his personal code (being nice to kids). When he empowered a professional, Yoel Roth, to take on cleaning up the app by banning accounts and removing content, he ended up burning out and resigning. Elon then posted a selective screenshot of his 2016 dissertation in an effort to have his mob of fanboys call him a Pedo until his family had to flee their home. He’s made a lot of stupid decisions and, in my opinion, ruined my favorite (and only) social media tool. I left the platform shortly before he took total control, knowing full well the toxicity that would enter the conversation, and be amplified by the algorithym. He has used social media to champion right wing politics. He has poisoned his own platform with disinformation from his own account, tweeting to wonder if an assault against Paul Pelosi was perhaps some weird homo assault. Then he bans accounts that post his whereabouts and welcomes the aforementioned Kanye back to spew Anit-Semetic hate.

The company that made him rich, Tesla, was built off of energy rebates that were the results of environmentally aware Democrats, that he now wants out of office. The people that bought those cars, also mostly environmentally aware Democrats, like me, are no longer interested in being affiliated with Elon. Teslas value is shrinking as competition mounts and he continues to sell off Tesla shares to pay for Twitter. He has meddled his way into the war in Ukraine, providing Starlink Internet access to Ukraine, at his own expense while also publicly encouraging for a resolution to the war by annexing Crimea via a “Vote”. His Starlink efforts are noble. Of course, this can all have a lot to do with his ties to China where Tencent owns 5% of the company and sales relect ⅓ of their overall revenue. Whatever concessions are made to accommodate Russia will be the starting place for China when they invade Tawain. I don’t believe this is a guy trying to solve the worlds issues anymore, this is a desperate man just trying to solve his own problems. But no longer is he the scrappy startup trying to change things. Tesla, Twitter, and SpaceX are all market leaders. No longer is he an excentric innovator, he is a CEO. Act like it, assface.

I was always a Coach K guy. My fandom started with Jay Williams. JJ Reddick. Greg Paulas. I was a believer that Coach K was molding young men at Duke, not just players. Everyone that went to Duke came away better for it. Kyrie Irving seemed like another one of those guys. His 1-year run at Duke was quick - appearing in just 13 games. But he was part of the brotherhood. He was one of my guys. Watching him in the finals with Lebron: the best below the rim finisher of all time, hit one of the biggest clutch shots in NBA history. He seemed like the perfect running mate for the rest of LeBron’s career - until he decided he wasn’t. He asked for a trade to create his own legacy and boy did he. Alienated the Cleveland fanbase that drafted him, poisoned his Boston Celtics team, committed to them, then left in free agency to join Durant in Brooklyn. There he sacrificed 18 million in 1 year by not getting vaccinated and not playing. His future is up in the air but the total could top $100 Million. All to spit in the face of scientists and say “I know better”. He topped that by spreading Alex Jones disinformation and Jewish conspiracy theories the next year. He admits to getting his education on YouTube and obscure Documentaries. I wish Kyrie would’ve stayed at Duke long enough to learn how to make a bibliography, fact check, maybe read a couple of actual fucking books.

Tiger, Kanye, Elon, and Kyrie duped me. They made me believe they were one person based on what I was seeing and when the curtains got pulled back that their true selves started to show, they were not people I would support, let alone embrace and look up to.

There’s a lot of talk about showing your true self in the world. It started with Trump. When the Access Hollywood tape came out, it gave Trump and all the assholes in our country the balls to finally say fuck it and start taking that personality online, if not into their social lives. There they finally felt seen and heard, they were getting together in echo chambers, spewing their hate and disinformation to the delight of their fellow idiots. Before that, people with fucked up beliefs kept them to themselves, but now, they could find each other, they could form groups.

What were the results? I wasn’t the only one duped; Trump. Q-Anon. Tucker Carlson. Majorie Taylor Green. George Santos. The right has had their fair share of people posing as “one of them”. The truth comes out eventually. Kanye finally revealed himself. Elon pulled back the curtains. Kyrie took his idiocracy to Instagram.

I’m glad that these people finally feel free to show their trueselves to the world. I’m happy to turn my back on them as soon as it’s clear that our values do not align. But I cannot help but feel duped. What happened? What changed? Were you always an asshole? Did fame and money change you? Whose next? I live in fear that one of my unassailable icons will become the latest example. LeBron? Steph? Barak? Adam Sandler? Please, not the Sandman.

0 notes

onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

Tommy is dead. The server reacts.

(word count: 1,732)

---------------

“What have you done?”

His voice is a reedy whisper, thin with horror and the realization that he is too little, too late. He doesn’t expect the sound to carry over the lava, but a response comes soon enough.

“He wouldn’t stop talking. And he killed the cat.”

Dream’s voice is even, calm, almost a bit defensive, as if he truly believes that he is justified in his actions. Sam swallows down his mounting nausea, places his trident against the floor to steady himself. The lava crackles, hisses, bubbles, orange and glowing, and he can’t cross it. Not now. Not when the security threat remains unresolved. Not when any wrong move on his part could very well mean Dream’s escape.

But he’s already made the wrong move, hasn’t he? Made the wrong move, and Tommy has paid for it. Has been paying for it, this whole last week. He kept him in there, kept him locked in a box with Dream even though he knows very well how it would effect him, kept him locked in with the reasoning that it was temporary, that he would let him out as soon as he could, that he couldn’t risk Dream’s release for anyone, even for Tommy.

But it’s not temporary.

Tommy was sixteen and loud-mouthed and bright-eyed when Sam last saw him, when he said that this would be the last time, that he was going to put his past behind him and look to a new start. Tommy will always be sixteen and loud-mouthed and bright-eyed, and locked in a box. There will be no new start. No seventeenth birthday. No triumphant return, no shining hotel. No tricks, no scams, no pranks.

Tommy was sixteen and loud-mouthed and bright-eyed. Tommy is dead.

He can’t even get his body.

Sam stands on the edge of a curtain of lava, staring into the orange glow that hides a monster in a room that is now a child’s pre-made coffin, and he wonders if he is a monster himself.

***

“He’s fine.”

It’s the only thing to say. The only truth. The only possibility. Sure, the message is there, glaring up from his communicator in bright yellow letters, but it’s not real. It’s a joke of some kind, a trick. Something to fake everyone out. Maybe Sam’s in on it, too. Tommy must be going crazy in there, to think that this would actually be funny, but it sounds like something he would do.

“Tubbo,” Ranboo says, and then stops. Nothing else. His face is pale, though things like that are hard to tell, with him, considering that half his face is always pale. But he’s gone an ashy-grey sort of color, and it doesn’t look great.

“He’s not dead,” he says, and laughs a bit. “Tommy wouldn’t just die like that. That’d be ridiculous.”

Tommy’s death would never be so meek. Tommy’s death, when it happens, will be a spectacle, a dramatic showing with speeches and explosions and the sun rising at just the right time and haloing his hair, because TommyInnit deserves nothing less than the best death scene. Women wailing and the like. So Tommy is not dead, because if Tommy were dead, that would mean that he died alone, in the company of no one but his murderer, that he died scared, trapped in a small space with no way out, that he died without Tubbo by his side.

“Right,” Ranboo says, and his voice is doing a peculiar thing that Tubbo can’t quite work out. “Yeah, of course. Do you wanna—do you think we should go check it out? Go stop by the prison?”

“What for?” he asks. “Sam’s not going to let us in. He didn’t even when I built a dick on top of it.”

And here is another thing: Tommy can’t be dead because it was never supposed to be Tommy first. Tubbo has tried to live without him, and he found it very hard. So Tommy is not allowed to die before Tubbo does. That is the rule that he keeps locked up in his heart, because Tommy would be upset if he knew about it. But it’s a rule that Tubbo intends to follow, so Tommy can’t be dead.

That would be against the rules.

“Just to see?” Ranboo tries. Tubbo’s not sure why he’s being so insistent about this.

“Nah, we’ve got a hotel to build,” he says. “C’mon.”

Ranboo follows along behind him. His feet drag, like he’s reluctant. But Tubbo has long since given up on understanding why Ranboo does the things that he does.

***

He’s dead.

She should be glad about it. This is what she wanted. Tommy dead, punished for all the pain and suffering he’s caused everyone else. No longer able to start wars, to cause harm, to blaze his way through the server and leave a path of destruction in his wake.

Tommy is dead. She should be glad about it. She is glad about it. She’s even smiling.

There is a message from Jack. She doesn’t check it.

Tommy is dead, that blue-eyed, wide-grinned boy who followed along on his brother’s coattails. Tommy is dead, that fiery spirit crushed and his overbearing, fast-talking voice silent. Tommy is dead, that loyal friend, the protector and defender of all that he called his, the fighter, the scammer, the boy who loved with all of his heart and then some.

Tommy is dead. Dead, dead, dead. There is no coming back from dead. Dead is final. Dead is an ending. Dead means it’s all over. Tommy is over. Tommy is gone. Tommy will never grow old.

It’s what she wanted. She should be glad about it. She is glad about it. She’s even smiling.

Niki brings her hand to her mouth to check. It’s a smile. A smile, for sure.

Her fingers come away from her face wet.

***

It was an empty castle already, but it feels emptier now. The different between a possibility and its lack, they suppose.

Tommy was never supposed to die. They can’t fathom it, somehow. Can’t fathom that it’s real, that Tommy will never grace these halls again. They’d finally begun to fix things, begun to work toward redemption, well and truly. And now Tommy is gone.

Eret grips their communicator tightly in their hand.

“I’m sorry,” they murmur to no one at all.

It was never meant to be echoes in their head, over and over and over again, an apology that means nothing but so much scattered dust.

***

He closes his eyes. Breathes. In and out.

This happens. People die. They die, and they leave, and he’s left behind. That’s his life. That’s how it is.

It still hurts, when it happens. He’s still learning how to make it not hurt. Still learning how not to be angry, that people find it so easy to abandon him. That people find it so easy to go where he can’t follow. Wilbur first, now Tommy, and he doesn’t have anyone left, really.

But it’s fine. It’s alright. He can manage on his own. He always has.

Fundy decides to go to bed early.

***

He takes a moment to breathe. To process. To absorb.

To regret, for what might have been.

The voices in his head call for blood, as they always do, but he will not give them the satisfaction. Not this time. The blood he wants most is not readily accessible, and he will not put himself in the position of confronting the favor owed. Not now. Not like this. Not ever, if he can help it, though he knows that these sorts of things always take their due, always steal their pound of flesh.

“I know, chat,” he says. “You can all shut up, I know.”

It doesn’t appease them. He wasn’t expecting it to.

Tommy is dead. Tommy is dead, and their relationship with it. Any tentative attempts toward repairs have been left to rot, to burn on the funeral pyre. Theseus, fallen from the cliff at long last.

The story was always going to end this way. No one can stop the Fates from severing the string.

He stands with a groan. He is not built for this weather, for this cold, and it is a wonder that he keeps being drawn to it, time and time again. It is a balm, he thinks, but for what, he doesn’t know. For nothing, at the moment, as the voices threaten to crowd out all the rest. But he can’t deal with them right now.

Phil has his own house, now, and a bridge to connect the two. A bridge over still water, such that Tommy will never cross. He should not feel the way he does. Tommy betrayed him. Tommy used him. Tommy discarded him, so he tossed him aside in turn.

But once they were called brothers. Does it mean anything, in the end?

Phil is standing in the middle of the floor, ruined wings on full display. His face is blank, his communicator held loosely in one hand.

“Phil,” he says.

“I failed him,” Phil says. “I should’ve been there for him, and I wasn’t.”

Technoblade has no comfort for the truth.

But he has comfort for his friend, for his friend who is perhaps his father but is definitely family, so he stretches out his arms and catches Phil as he falls, falls and falls and screams, and it is good, he thinks, that the wings are already ruined, because Daedalus tried to catch his son and failed. It is good, he thinks, that the wings are already ruined, so he cannot try again and ruin the rest of himself, too.

***

He nudges the body with his foot.

“You shouldn’t have killed that cat,” he murmurs. The body does not reply, and he sighs.

Tommy’s face is beyond recognition. The blood coats his knuckles. He hopes that there’s enough water in the sink to wash it out before it sets. He hates it when the blood sets.

He didn’t mean to go as far as he did. That doesn’t mean much, in the end. This will work just as well.

He is a god, after all. He is a god, and he will have what he deserves, and more besides.

“Don’t worry, Tommy,” he says. “I’ll make a believer out of you yet.”

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #tommyinnit #awesamdude #dreamwastaken #tubbo #technoblade #philza #niki nihachu #eret #ranboo #fundy #dsmp spoilers #/rp #once again i speedran writing this so it's not edited #forgive any typos or weird wording i just have too many feelings #cat writes fic

1K notes · View notes