#only grief & despair settling down on each part of the naked decaying bones

[unclefungusthegoat]

Will The Circle Be Unbroken? - Far Cry 5 Week (Day 6): Music

Hello all! So in all honesty, I wrote most of this an entire year ago hahaha, for the Hope County Gothic Festival but got really shy about posting it. But I figured I could use it for the Far Cry 5 Week, for the Music day! It’s a songfic, featuring a song that I really wish had been in the game - Will The Circle Be Unbroken and it’s FUNERAL FIC HOOORAAAAY. 

Here is the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9F1l6xXLSI0

Get ready for some ALTERNATIVE EULOGIES too, because sadness is fun.

This can be read on AO3: HERE

All my FC5 Week fics can be read: HERE

Trigger Warnings: Canonical Major Character Deaths, Mentions of Child Abuse, Mentions of Drowning, Decomposition, Fire and Funeral Pyres

The ceasefire was fragile.

Undefined.

No flag upon ramparts, or ink marked on a page. Just an agreement, whispered, gestured and silently promised, that a single night would be set apart for retrieval and burial of the dead. Sundown until sunrise. Not a shot to be fired, confession to be heard, building to be bombed, or heretic strung up. Just stillness and rest. A new Sabbath, of sorts. And for the people of Hope County who spent vast swathes of the day clinging to their lives, it seemed nothing short of a miracle.

It was on this night, on a dusty road through the dead farmland, that a procession of faithful came marching. Their faces were turned to the darkened sky. Eyes burning with sorrow, searing vibrantly like stardust. Alight with fury. Dampened with grief. And with their gaze, they spared no glance for the heretics who lined the path. No care for the vengeful, who bit their tongues and held in their spittle, and sought a glance of the dead to ease their blood lust. Not even a thought for the sinner who had taken so much, challenged their holy purpose. Given them this weight upon their shoulders.

The Father led with faltering step.

His eyes were hazy behind tinted glass. His fingers trembled. His scars, his sins, seemed to burn. But his voice was resolute, the melody echoing through the dark:

There are loved ones in the glory, Whose dear forms you often miss; When you close your earthly story, Will you join them in their bliss?

Carried aloft upon the faithful’s shoulders, upon beds made from velvet, slept the Heralds of Eden. Stilled into a long awaited peace, punctures incarnadine between their ribs a stark reminder of how they had suffered.

Each lay daubed in their own decay.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

It was a song they had always known.

And though it was his flock that called the hymn forth, Joseph could only hear Jacob's low timbre, humming it to ease him into sleep when the belt marks on his back cut too deep. After Old Mad Seed had bellowed Bible verses in his ears, and torn heathen drawings from where they were pinned proudly on the bedroom wall. On the school bus after another endless night hearing Mother scream.

Then slowly he heard his own voice, tinged with a weariness too antiquated for how young he had been. He heard it reverberate through the orphanage halls, the eve before John had been taken away. He'd stroked his brother's hair and caught his tears with his thumbs, and sang until the sun rose:

In the joyous days of childhood, Oft they told of wondrous love, Pointed to the dying Saviour; Now they dwell with Him above.

The lyrics had been worn down by their use when he had been alone. Comforting. Protective. Like an old pair of boots too reliable to cast aside, or a threadbare blanket that still smells of home.

Or the memory of a brother stood boldly in the fire’s glow.

“Jacob...”

Dog tags now around his own neck, metal scraping with every step.

A blood soaked rabbit’s foot.

“You sought purpose. You were lost. I showed you who you once were, and opened your eyes to the Garden you were born to protect. And you cast aside your weakness- the weariness wrought deep within your soul by governments and generals who sought to use your compassion for their selfish ideals. You became strong, brother. You sheltered our Eden with a heart forged in battle. You asked nothing but brotherhood in return. You embraced your family with the strength of gods. And you carried that strength until the end.”

The Soldier, freshly slain, lay proud, like a Viking martyr. Knife threaded between his fingers, the ancient burns that speckled him like rust on the armour he still seemed to bear. His Judges crowned the mountain ledges, howling to the night sky. In the torchlight, his fiery hair shimmered like copper wire; a fleeting glance might think it a halo encircling his skull. His mind, once full of the horrors of war, now quieted. His mouth, that knew the taste of man, free to taste the soil.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

“Faith...”

He had yet to choose another.

None else had her heart, her spirit, her devotion.

“There were some who thought you cruel. Calculating. Jezebel incarnate. They did not understand that you were a mother, and with the burden of motherhood comes a heavy hand. I chose you because you did not shy away from the lessons children must learn. You took the lost and gave them wings. You took the despairing and gave them hope. You took the sick of soul and gave them peace. You took the name of Seed and let it’s glory shine through you. Rest well, my sister. Sleep well, my Faith.”

The Siren once wielded beauty. Now her face was swollen and pallid, bloated where the water had filled her pores and the creatures of the lake had begun to strip her skin away. Yet how sweetly she was scented by the flowers in her flaxen hair! It mingled with the fresh smell of the trees and the distant tang of smoke, heightened in the darkness, when the senses are keen. Even in death, she seduced onlookers with her song. A song composed of silence, of hope and dreams now lost, underscored with the cries of those who mourned.

You remember songs of heaven Which you sang with childish voice, Do you love the hymns they taught you, Or are songs of earth your choice?

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

“John...”

He’d finally reached the sky.

Feathered his wings.

Joseph’s heart was fracturing. Oh, the things he wished to say...

“I carry your sin upon my shoulder, that same shoulder three times you felt bitten by wrath. It is a sin of neglect. Neglect of your faith and your body, and by that, God, for we are made in his image. You saw a god every time you glanced in a mirror. A cruel world made you vain and selfish, and the child who had suffered so greatly thought you invincible. You drowned in your pride, as I drown in my regret that I could not save you. I pray that you know my disappointment, John, and I beg mercy for your soul. In all my prayers, and my dreams of eternity together, I ask only that God sees how very hard you tried.”

The Baptist had rotted where he had fallen, swallowed by the damp earth. Shards of dirt had claimed the sorrows inked upon his flesh, the stories he’d wanted to the world to know. His palms were frayed by rope. His lungs were lined with lead. But now he lay in the starlight, arisen from nature’s oesophagus to be cleansed and laid to rest with honour. The bones of his collapsing face seemed testament to how he’d be forgotten. But oh, how they cried his name! A saint, redeemed. A sinner, saved.

You can picture happy gath'rings 'Round the fireside long ago, And you think of tearful partings, When they left you here below.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

In the distance, he could see the pyres silhouetted by the moonlight. Though their bodies were cold, his Heralds would soon feel warmth again, and the embers that rose from the flames would carry their souls to the stars.

It would be a sight remembered for an age; the first flames of a Collapse long awaited.

And soon, all would burn-

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

Joseph’s eyes flickered open, and the fuchsia tinge of this new world’s morning mist settled into view. He sat lost in the blossoming forest, somewhere near the old compound. Sweet nectar scented the air. Damp grass and sodden earth cocooned his feet. He shivered slightly, his naked chest baptized by the dew.

Before him lay a single grave, shallow and solitary. Dirt was unceremoniously cast across it, and a rusted iron crucifix of Eden’s Gate, now New Eden, stood guard.

No flowers.

No velvet.

No choir of lamenting brothers and sisters.

Not even their names.

His body had whined under the strain of shovelling. Age and years of almost starving had weakened his arms, but when the Judge had offered to accompany him, to put to rest the overwhelming guilt that had consumed them, and to move the dirt for him, he gently refused. He owed it to his family to do it himself. It had taken him days to hike across the county, alone with only his memories, to collect their remains. What little remained of them after all those years.

He had had not the strength, or enough of them left, to dig three.

But they were reunited now, in eternal embrace. No ceremony. No procession. No pomp and martyrdom, as he had dreamed. Their resting place was the picture of modesty. Humility. A grave for the truly devoted. Their bones would turn to chalk and clay, and they would feed the insects and the reawakened soil.

Watch the new Eden grow.

Someday he’d be buried there with them.

Together forever.

And he thought, as he rested beside them to finish their song:

What more had they ever wanted?

One by one their seats were emptied, One by one they went away; Now the family is parted, Will it be complete one day?

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

#far cry 5 #FC5Week #FC5Week2019 #far cry new dawn #joseph seed #jacob seed #john seed #faith seed #the judge #this was a total shortcut so I didn't have to write something for every day hahahaha #I'm behind on my main fics hahaha #but now it's back to writing UNdead John #ugh this is massively description heavy but oh well #also with this #I've hit exactly 87000 words published on AO3 #woooooooo

[kettlequills]

Half-corrupted White forcefully cuddling un-shattered Pink, (who really can't get away coz she's got to be careful.) is probably an image you we not aiming for but I saw anyway after Pearl kidnapped White and brought her to earth--"oh we can put her with Pinky!" Looool

You inspired me, anon. Warning, insanity, sexual references.

There were voices and there wasdarkness. They blended together, somehow soluble, until the world was swirlingand malleable and loud, like the breathing of a great and friendly creaturesomehow close by yet out of her awareness. The presence of others was a feelingso alien that White Diamond floated in the state of half consciousness,convinced that she had finally gone insane.

“-Love-Diamond? … … … -insane-?”

“-can’t-…”

She had lost the definition of sanitysometime around losing count of how many years she had been trapped in themouldering decay of her own once bustling palace, feeling first her mind andthen her body atrophy. She had tried to hoard sanity, so that she would haveenough of it when the time came (White, even White, couldn’t bear to think thatshe had outlived her use to Homeworld, that she had been discarded rather thanrecycled, as if she had been litter too disappointing to sweep up), but ascenturies wore by it became increasingly pleasant fall back into the sly anddeceptive trance of dreams, to let her rationality be eroded into a softer andforgiving world halfway between fantasy and memory.

“-….save… pink?”

“-diamond… -gone-…”

Perhaps she had already gone insane,and this was one more delusion to wake from. Perhaps she had been insane sincePink Diamond had been shattered. Shattered.The word echoed in her, without meaning, she had blocked out futureswithout Pink, had blocked out the feeling of grief. (Oh, how she had once enjoyed, sensuous, primal, to run her fingers throughgem shards, edges pricking her fingers, slicing, sharp, defeated, hers, now,forever in what remained of them, triumph was better than sex.) Somethinghad broken in her then, something that had felt important – because afterwards,White felt the gaping edges of it like a hole blown in a wall, letting the windwhistle through and out again, letting the darkness and the conversation bubblein, gelatinous, oozing.

“-lovers… ready?-“

“-My…-pink-rose-.”

She was exhausted. She took refuge inher exhaustion, familiar, comforting, in its utterly debilitating effect. Herbuttocks and thighs remembered the unyielding stone press of her throne toowell and White was caught between conflicting sense experience with the feelingof a cold unyielding floor pressing into her side, ooze from her blind eyedripping as slow as molasses over the edge of her nose to weld shut her othereyelid with a thick dried yellowish crust. Her knees ached, dully, old nervesprotesting more at being used than at the information that they were providing.She couldn’t figure out where she was, wondered, in an abstract sort of way, ifshe even cared. Let her be used. She wanted to exist to someone. To be used is to be useful.

“-gone.”

Light shone briefly intensely violentagainst her eyelid, then stone pressed into her, flesh, yearningly, againstflesh – oh, heat, quickened, inside her,and White remembered being a living thing – and White fell backwards intosomewhere tunnelled and black, drifting, unmoored to the ground, floating,gnawed through with holes, wispy, aching. The gaps in her felt cold, rawbittennumb, like emptiness, like despair.

White was thinking of blue. Blue. Openskies were blue, funnelled with white clouds. The seas were blue, greensometimes when it was warmest, when Yellow was there, hot, stirring. In theplaces where the sea was deepest and bluest it looked so subservient to thewind that ruffled it into whitecaps and tsunamis and waves, but deep and farunderneath, the sea hid currents of its own, whispering, entangled, intangible.She remembered swimming very dimly, things that involved exertion were alwaysharder to remember, raw moments, cut sideways into a cross-section of pantingmuscle and exorbitant emotion. She’d been overspilling with it back then,emotion, blue, and had let it swirl away down between her fingertips. Maybe sheshould have saved a bottle, corked, to revisit. Maybe she could break the cork,penetrate into the memory of rain on her cheeks as it fizzed and foamed likechampagne. Holding Blue Diamond had always felt like trying to catch rain. Shealways wanted to escape, always seemed to melt away and in when White tried tohold her close, cold, wet, damp.

Blue water could become ice. A desertof willing water locked into frigid icecaps, refusing purchase, refusing mercy.(How Blue Diamond had smiled, wept,watery, when she locked White away.)

COLD.

Like a revenant, the soapy, chillingtouch of the moon brought White back from the dead, hardened her, realised her.She felt her chest inflate with a breath – a gasp. The world was electric.Water lapped, unbearable, silky, against skin White didn’t remember having. Oh. Oh. White blaze in the sky, breeze,stars. Oh. Oh. Too much. Too much.

Shadows, blotting out the magnificentsky. She wanted to weep and did, sensitive, virginal, terrified, on her back inthe water, hands supporting her, touching her. Her own body shone, palely,polished bones, glittering diamond. Her scales and spikes looked like glassshards, translucent.

“Welcome to the show, sleepingbeauty.” Smooth, jazzy, like silk ties, a blinding white shirt. Milky cabochonon her forehead, glinting glasses. Bucktooth smirk, tugging one full lip.Confident. White wanted to taste that confidence, crunch it, sharp and bloody,between her teeth, on her tongue. Swallow the salt. Embrace it, bathe in it.

Dazed, weak like a newborn, White’sone seeing eye strained to focus. Too bright. It was overwhelming. Too much,too much at once. They were in the deep end, sinking in the black lake underthe eye of the moon.

“Sardonyx,” she said.

Hands, moving over her. Dust, grime,washing away, making her skin white glistening, pure, like marble. There werefour of them, each feather touch feeling as painful as if soft skin wassandpaper (and who was burning? The water was cold, but White felt so hot).

“Bathing somebody,” said Sardonyxcontemplatively, “is a good way to learn where their weak spots are, don’t youthink?”

White trembled violently. She wasdrawn out of the water, carried, smoothly, without effort, carried to an edgeof springy grass and laid down, on the wet earth. Sardonyx pulled a billowingwhite length of fabric out of the pearl on her forehead and tied it in a knotaround White’s shoulder. Made her decent, left the most indecent parts of herbare. She could handle being naked if Sardonyx had hidden the paw of WhiteDiamond’s left hand, ugly, gnarled.

Corrupted.

Sardonyx lifted her again. “I forgothow pale you are,” she said. “Under that stony grime. You be my white rabbit, I’ll be the magician, how does that sound?” Bucktoothgrin.

White rocked herself to sleep in theswinging gait of Sardonyx’s steps, her pleasant chatter.

There were dancing pearls, everywhere,slipper whispering feet, bright blue eyes. White had loved them so much.Pretty, and meek, and silent. Soft throats poised to sing, milky skin ripplingwith colours. Her tender, innocent servants. No hand had touched them, not evenher own. They moved, in spheres of isolation, and sang about loneliness untiltheir voices went raw and they picked their pretty fingers raw and red andbleeding with the urge to touch.

Pearls had a tendency to turn to dustunder high pressure, chalky nacre flakes, like salty chalk.

“… brought you a gift.”

Impact juddered through Sardonyx’sknees, White, rattled. Old blood stirred in her veins. Darkness slanted againsther closed eyelid, her wet skin had dried, the fabric clung to her unbearably.Sensation, lucid, whispered and whimpered in her mind. The parts of her thattouched Sardonyx felt prickly and raw, like pins and needles, dead flesh wakingup.

“For me?” A greedy voice spokestraight from a memory, half laughter, half cruelty, all beauty.

The air was very warm, womblike,something nascent and healing in the air. A peculiar wetness only foundunderground. It brushed, mockingly tangible, against the raw nerves left inWhite, and ghosts giggled and flirted with Sardonyx’s assured, bubbly presence.

Sly, darting, White imagined her. Redtongue flashing between painted pink lips, heavy eyes. That smile that dared her to eat the worldraw, to let Pink pluck out her bones and suck the marrow of her strength. Pinkhad always wanted. White only craved. Obsessively, thirstily, untileither the world or she went mad. White thought about her now, like a rosebudpoking up, shy, deep flushed red, snipped off at the stem, leaving only drythorns.

Sardonyx settled her against the wall,stroked the hair away from her face. “Be kind when you can, white rabbit.Always be kind.”

New rock against her back, new stoneunder her buttocks and thighs, but it felt the same. It all felt the same. Shedrifted.

A stinging slap rocked White’s head onher neck.

“You reek,” Pink hissed, pinchingWhite’s cheek, sharp red talons scraping lines down colourless flesh. “God, you’redisgusting. Look at you.”

White moaned. It was getting worse.Her ghosts could touch her now – could strike her, make pain blossom like sharpknives slipping into her skin. Please –why had it taken them so long?

“Nothing fucking changes with you, White.”

“Please…”

“Please what? Mindtoo gone to speak?”

Whitefumbled at her, pulled her off balance, pulled her close. She snapped threatsbut didn’t struggle, instead only gasped, softly, White thought, in pain. Whitepressed her face into Pink’s shoulder and breathed her in, breathed in herscent, the feeling of her, intoxicating, thunderous pulse like the hearty beatof an ox’s heart, ripped still thumping from the raw chest, salty, hot, warm,blood. Red, Pink, it was her, it was her. And White had gone mad, but therewere lines of gold in Pink’s cheeks to trace now with her stiffened clawfingers, one eye was dull and metallic looking instead fiery pink.

“Of coursethey let me have you.” Pink was crying, White knew exactly how she sounded whenshe cried, a little hoarse, swollen up, and her throat skipped just – like that. “Blue won’t lower herself tosee how fragile I’ve become, Yellow thinks I’m a traitor. But you – oh, oh,White, nothing ever changes with you. Even now –“

Clumsily,White yanked at her, wanting closeness – craving Pink. She hissed softlybetween her teeth, then grabbed a fistful of White’s hair and ripped it out allin a clump, leaving a blood-flecked bald patch.

“Careful,careful – you mad thing, you beast, you degenerate, you’ll break me again.”

White whinedinto her shoulder, felt her body slide against Pink, become limp, obedient, letPink position her, until White’s head and shoulders rested on Pink’s lap, Pink’sarms wrapped around White’s shoulders.

White trembled,closed her eyes, cried, shamelessly. She had gone insane, if she thought Pinkwas alive. She had gone insane, if she thought Pink would still touch her whenWhite was as hideous and corrupted as she was.

If it meanthaving Pink, White didn’t care. Nothing ever changed. White still loved her asmuch as she had the moment Pink had emerged from the ground.

#inkwrites #steven universe #pink diamond #white diamond #diamond authority #su #sardonyx #all diamonds are gay for sardonyx i dont make the rules sorry