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yelena-bellova · 1 year

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Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen: The Great Sin

Plot: Joel and Y/n, separated once again, are told the truth about the cost that will come with creating a cure.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: canon violence, drug abuse, language, blood, guns, needles, loss of a child, ptsd, (16+)

A/N: Well, we’re almost to the end 🥲 I can’t believe there’s only one chapter after this and then it’s over. Rather than think about that, I’m going to focus on letting y’all enjoy this one ❤️

As always, this series is 16+ and I will not be adding anyone to the taglist that does not have their age/range in their bio. This is also the last chance to be added to the list!

Alrighty, let’s finish it out strong, y’all ❤️❤️❤️

—————

Y/n woke with her head throbbing.

Before her eyes even opened, her brain splitting from the pain she couldn’t remember earning. In the darkness of her lids, she slowly drew on her last fuzzy memories.

Puns.

Flash bomb.

Ellie screaming.

Y/n’s eyes flew open, pushing up on her elbow and feeling a stab of pain through her abdomen.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Blinking until her vision was clear, Y/n looked across to room to see Marlene leant up against the wall.

“We gave you a shot for your ribs,” she continued, “But it’s not magic.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve put out a PSA,” Y/n replied groggily, the force of the flash bomb coming back to her.

Marlene smiled thinly, “Could’ve found a phone along the way.”

Y/n bristled at the joke, relieved to see her comrade alive.

“Gotta admit,” Marlene crossed her arms, “I didn’t expect to see you all in one piece. Figured you’d either run into raiders or you and Joel would go the double-homicide route.”

Y/n held her belly as she attempted to sit up. “Almost did,” she groaned, “A few times.”

“Well,” Marlene gestured to Y/n, watching her with honest eyes, “I underestimated you. You did good.”

Y/n wanted to accept the praise, having finally proven herself as a fighter, but was single-minded in her thoughts. “Where’s Joel?”

“Recovering in another room,” Marlene answered, “His vitals are good, just hasn’t woken up yet.”

Nodding, Y/n carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed, ”When he wakes up, tell him to come find me? Ellie’s probably worried sick…”

“Where are you going?” Marlene asked.

Y/n stopped to take a breath, whatever medicine they’d given her hadn’t kicked in yet. “To see Ellie,” she answered plainly, “She’s okay, right?”

Marlene sighed with dread, knowing whatever was about to happen wouldn’t be pleasant. But she also had a one-track mind, and it was humming a different tune than Y/n’s.

“She’s fine,” she replied, her tone having shifted to instill a false calm, “She’s being prepped for surgery.”

Y/n’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Surgery? I thought they were just taking her blood?”

“It’s…” Marlene said with a heaviness to her tone, “A little more complicated than that.”

Even though the ache in Y/n’s temples was dizzying, it didn’t take her long to connect the dots as to why it would require surgery to facilitate the vaccine.

And she felt the floor go out from under her when she did.

She looked up to Marlene, barely able to even shake her head, “No…”

Marlene bit her lip, turning her gaze from Y/n and to the floor.

“No…” Y/n repeated, her voice low, “N-no…you wouldn’t.”

Marlene’s painful silence sliced through her.

“Are you kidding me?” Y/n’s volume grew loud with anger, giving her the strength to stand, “You made me risk my life for that girl for three fucking months just so you can kill her?!”

“She wouldn’t have come here with anyone other than you,” Marlene replied calmly, “She trusts you.”

“So you used me,” Y/n’s eyes widened with rage, “You knew I cared about her, you knew I’d do it.”

“You’re not looking at the big picture,” Marlene interjected, taking a step forward but not moving any closer to Y/n, “We get the vaccince, we save millions. We save the millions to come. We can bring the world back to what-“

The rest of Marlene’s words died to the ringing in Y/n’s ears. She braced one of her hands against her bed, feeling as if her knees were going to buckle.

Throughout her time in the Fireflies, Marlene had never entrusted Y/n with as much information as other recruits. It wasn’t for doubt of Y/n’s interests, but rather Marlene thinking Y/n was incapable of handling it. She’d always been slow to pull the trigger, something that had in any other world would have made her merciful. Marlene had only ever seen it as weakness.

Marlene’s opinion of Y/n wasn’t lost on her, she felt it on a daily basis. But to make her travel from one side of the country to another, witholding the sickening truth of what she was doing from her, that was a new brand of cruel.

“She’s going to fix everything,” were the first words of Marlene’s that broke through Y/n’s spinning thoughts.

Her head shot up, staring daggers at Marlene, “You don’t get to make that decision for her.”

“And you do?” Marlene replied, “What gives you the right to choose her fate?”

“Did you ask her?” Y/n inquired, the building rage beginning to seep out of her, “No, y’know what? I can tell by your face that you didn’t.”

“She doesn’t know,” Marlene could feel control over the conversation slipping, she needed to deescalate it quickly, “She’s not going to feel anything.”

“YOU’RE KILLING,” Y/n yelled as loud as her lungs would let her, “A FUCKING CHILD!”

At the last word, two guards stationed outside Y/n’s door marched in, their rifles cocked downards, but ready to strike.

Y/n was quickly starting to understand the gravity of her situation.

Marlene held out a hand to Y/n, as if trying to ease a carnivorous animal. “Do you think I want to do this? Do you not think that I’ve looked for any other option-“

“No,” Y/n shook her head, “I don’t think you have.”

“I knew her mother, Y/n,” Marlene spoke a little louder, “I was there when she was born, and I had to put a bullet in my best friend’s head because she was infected. I promised to keep her child safe. I do not want to do this,” she paused, collecting herself, “But it’s my only choice.”

Three months prior, hearing such a personal story would have meant something to Y/n. Now, it only served to illuminate the true colors of her comrade. Marlene, so blinded by her determination to restore the earth, had allowed her drive to turn to ruthlessness and morph into heartlessness.

“No,” Y/n said, fighting back tears at the thought of Ellie lying unconscious somehwere in the hospital, “Look me in the eye and tell me her mother would want this,” she waited, until impatience won out, “LOOK AT ME!”

Marlene was a lot of things, blunt was one of them. She looked up to Y/n’s red face, unaware of the storm her words were about to trigger, “You’re not her mother.”

The waves in Y/n’s body both crashed and fell at the statement. It was twenty years all over again.

“Take me to Joel,” she swallowed her tears, “I want to see Joel.” When Marlene averted her gaze once again, Y/n could feel some other essential piece of truth shift into darkness. “Marlene,” she gritted out, “Where’s Joel?”

“He’s gone,” Marlene answered, “He left as soon as he knew that you and Ellie were okay.”

Y/n lip quivered with fury, the lies were so clear now. Joel and her hadn’t gone through all they had, made the promises they did only for him to abandon her and Ellie. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”

“I don’t know what you want to hear,” Marlene said, “But he’s gone.”

It was then that Y/n realized she was no longer a Firefly, but a prisoner.

With the last shred of her future slipping being ripped away from her, Y/n’s fury took over. She lunged towards Marlene, one of the soldiers surging forward and shoving her back onto the bed. Y/n cried out in pain, clutching her stomach as the barrel of the rifle was drawn on her.

“Don’t,” Marlene ordered the guard, “She’s already hurt.”

Y/n could no longer hold in her sobs. Ellie had been fooled into dying for a solution they didn’t even know was guaranteed, Joel was being forced to leave them behind, and she was essentially being held hostage by those she’d once trusted with her life.

“You keep her here,” Marlene continued speaking to the guards as if the pain was too incapacitating for Y/n to have any presence of mind, “Lock the doors. Don’t let her out until she calms down.”

Still weeping from both the ache in her ribs and the turn of events, Y/n nearly didn’t open her eyes when she heard Marlene’s boot steps come towards her.

“I know you care about her,” Marlene said softly, “She cares about you too. But there’s such a thing as caring too much…and I’m sorry.”

Through her tears, Y/n watched as her one-time friend walked out the door, washing her hands of the matter.

“You motherfucker,” Y/n growled, getting her feet as the guards exited the room, “You fucking murderer!”

As the door shut and locked on her, Y/n began to bang her fists against the 8x10 pane of glass, “YOU FUCKING MURDERER! YOU MOTHERFUCKING MURDERER!”

Y/n screamed at the top of her lungs, hot tears pouring down her face as three months of love and care wilted at her feet.

—————————

In reality, Joel was on the next floor down, fighting for his, Y/n and Ellie’s futures. He knew that the love of his life would never roll over and allow them to take Ellie’s life.

“Where’s Y/n?”

Marlene sighed at the question, contrary to what she was sure her reputation was, deception didn’t come easily to her. But she did what she had to for her cause.

There had always been a fire in Y/n, however tamed it was by her more virtuous qualities. Marlene had kept a careful eye on the blaze, never thinking it would spread too far. But there’d been a change in Y/n since they’d last seen each other in Boston, and she was certain her love for Ellie and time spent with Joel had brought it out in her. If they had survived three months in the ruins of civilization, they were dangerous. They needed to be kept apart if the surgery was to be a success.

“She’s decided to stay,” Marlene locked in her story, “She wants to see this through all the way.”

Joel didn’t believe for 1/8th of a second that Y/n would have lied to him. He’d looked in her eyes and watched twenty years of history dance across her irises. He could feel the weight of their future inside his chest, glowing gold with hope. There was no way after all they’d been through that she would walk away from him, just like that…

“No, you take me to ‘em,” he demanded, rising from the bed, “You take me to ‘em right now!”

One of Marlene’s guards came forward and used the butt of his rifle to knock him to the ground. Joel grunted and coughed on his hands and knees, his mind spinning with fear.

“Please,” he begged of Marlene, “You don’t understand.”

“I do,” Marlene said solemnly, reciting a less emotional variation of the story she’d told Y/n five minutes prior, “I was there when she was born, Joel. I promised her mom that I would save her child, I promised,” she paused to swallow back the lump rising in her throat, “So I do understand. I’m the only one who understands. I’m sorry,” she shook her head, “I have no other choice.”

Joel was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. He glared up at Marlene, subtly threatening, “I do.”

Marlene looked exasperated, like his fight was some obstacle in her path to roll her eyes at. “Walk him out to the highway,” she ordered the soldiers, “Leave him there with his pack. Give him this,” she unclipped Ellie’s pocketknife from her belt, turning her stare to Joel, “He tries anything…shoot him.”

Joel, dazed from the knowledge that Ellie and Y/n were being held somewhere, was forced to his feet. The soldiers pushed him out of the room, picking his backpack up on the way out, and shoved him down the hall.

All the while, Joel was carefully constructing his plan.

—————————

Y/n sat with her back to the door, twisting her arm to hit the wood with what little energy she had left. She had sobbed and screamed to be let out until her voice was rendered raw.

She had failed. Failed Ellie. Failed Joel. Failed herself.

She wondered if this was her punishment for what she’d done to her family. If for each life she’d taken, she’d lose somebody in return.

She thought of Sarah, her death that seemed to be written in some fucked up universe’s stars, and how she ached for the future she’d never live. The proms, the graduations, coming home from college during holidays, getting engaged, getting married, having kids…all of it. Or none of it. Her choices would have determined her story and whichever path she’d have chosen, it would have been beautiful.

Ellie had been deprived of so many choices in life, and now she was being deprived of choosing whether she lived or died.

By deciding to let Ellie give her life for a cause that wasn’t even hers, the Fireflies were no better than FEDRA. Marlene was making the same calls that the government had made in the first few days of the outbreak. Who got to go to the QZs and who died in a ditch on the side of a road, whose life had lasting value and who was disposable. It sickened Y/n’s stomach and made her wish she had never joined at all.

Since meeting Ellie, Y/n had often contemplated the ghost of the girl’s mother. Having filled the role herself and feeling like Sarah had been carved from her own ribs, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to carry a child, birth her, and then lose her somewhere along the way…now, all she could think of was what Ellie’s mother would do if she were trapped as Y/n was. Would she fight? Would she break the glass with her fist and take on the guards? Or was she just cruel enough to sacrifice her daughter for the greater good? Could Y/n have left Sarah to die if, in some way, she’d held the key to the planet’s salvation?

Y/n took a deep breath, her mind the clearest it had been since waking up.

No parent would let their child die, no matter the circumstances.

And neither could she.

—————————

Joel paused in front of the hospital directory, eyes scanning over the levels and their corresponding departments. He was two floors away from pediatric surgery, and unknowingly, one floor away from where Y/n was being held.

“I didn’t hear anyone say ‘stop,’” one of the Fireflies behind him growled.

Joel glanced down the hall, “Which way?”

“Down the stairs,” the soldier answered, shoving Joel towards the stairwell.

With each flight Joel marched down, he was completing calculations in his mind. How quick did he have to move to take out both guardsmen? Which gun would be easier to reach? Did he rescue Ellie first or find Y/n and gain an extra pair of hands?

Once he decided, he let his steps slow until he came to a complete stop.

“The fuck are you doin’? Keep walking.”

Joel ignored the command.

“I said,” the Firefly grabbed Joel’s shoulder, “Keep walkin’-“

Lightning fast, Joel spun around, elbowing the man in the neck and knocking him to the floor. He nabbed his rifle as he fell, spinning around to shoot the second guard before he could even aim. Taking two steps back, he fired one shot into the first man’s leg.

“Fuck,” the soldier whimpered.

“Where are they?” Joel asked, his finger perfectly still against the trigger.

“Fuck you,” the Firefly growled.

Joel didn’t need his answer. Bill’s written words were etched in the caverns of his mind, about finding that one person to save. In Joel’s case, there were two people worth saving-

“I don’t have time for this,” he decided before planting a bullet in the man’s neck.

And he was doing it by any means necessary.

—————————

Y/n fiddled with her pocketknife in her hand, pacing the room as the pain in her ribs disappeared under the blanket of whatever medication Marlene had given her. She needed the guards outside her room to get pulled away so that she could pick the door’s lock. Once out, she had to steal a gun, find where Ellie was being held, figure out if Joel was still in the building and get them the hell out of dodge.

All she needed was a chance.

“Shots fired! Shots fired!”

The buzz of a radio caught Y/n’s ear, it pulled her to the door and she peered out the glass pane. The pencil stiff stance the soldiers had been maintaining was suddenly sharp with worry. One guard came running down the hall, shouting something Y/n couldn’t make out. Whatever it was caused her captors to charge down the hall as well. It was a threat that required every hand on deck.

Y/n nearly smiled, knowing exactly who could cause that kind of panic.

Slipping her blade into the lock, she fiddled with it until the door opened, freeing her. She threw her backpack over her shoulder, her eye catching on a tray balanced on the bedside table. It contained the used needle they’d already injected her with, plus one full syringe. Y/n picked up the two vials near the needles, one labeled ‘ibuprofen’ and one labeled ‘epinephrine.’

Y/n was weak, her body’s strength drained from trying to heal her ribs. There wasn’t any way she could fight her way out in her current state.

Without hesitation, she squeezed the flesh of her thigh and stabbed the needle through her jeans, discarding it on the floor after.

Drawing a deep breath, Y/n poked her head out the door, looking down each side of the hall before cutting across to the nurse’s station. She scanned the length of the counters for anything she could use as a weapon, finding only old papers and equipment. Distantly below her, she could hear gunfire.

“Hey,” a gruff voice shouted.

Y/n spun around, barely dropping to the floor before the Firefly soldier fired two shots at her. Crouched on the tile, she could feel the epinephrine beginning to kick in, bringing back the strength she’d lost in Silver Lake. She withdrew her knife once again, hiding behind the nurse’s station and listening to the footsteps of the Firefly come closer.

Y/n knew that to save what she loved, she would have to leave whatever was left of her humanity. The part of her that had hesitated to kill had to die by her own hands.

The soldier moved closer.

Closer…

The second his boot became visible, Y/n stabbed the knife through his foot, punching him in the chin when he bent down in pain. She got to her feet and ripped the rifle out of the Firefly’s hands, shooting him in the stomach after.

She stepped over his body, leaving him to bleed out.

—————————

Joel’s steps were inhumanly silent as he crept through the hospital. He fired each shot with machine-like precision, each Firefly falling to the floor, never to pick themselves back up.

Joel had killed countless times since the outbreak of Cordyceps and had felt a healthy dose of remorse. The innocent people he’d killed in his days as a Raider haunted him, much like they did Tommy, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever forget Y/n’s eyes as she’d watched him murder the FEDRA guard in Boston.

But as Joel stealthily made his way through the hospital, firing each bullet for the love of his life and the child they loved more than anything, he felt nothing.

—————————

Y/n had tried so hard to live as peacefully as the world would allow her. Despite joining the Fireflies, she never volunteered for first line of defense. If bombs were planted in the city, Y/n was the one counting them, not detonating them. As much as she’d hidden initially from Joel with bloody threats, she’d never committed any acts of violence unless they were absolutely necessary.

Marching down the hospital halls, tears pooled in her eyes with each kill she made until she was sobbing. Flashes of her parents, her siblings, her nephew, Sarah, played in her mind. Their innocence and their gruesome deaths she’d forever feel responsible for. Saving Ellie wouldn’t bring them back, but she couldn’t let another person she cared for die.

Red cheeked and puffy eyed, she murdered without hesitation, allowing love to turn her into a necessary monster.

—————————

Joel went from victim to victim, playing God and delivering their vicious, premature fates. Each time he ran out of ammo, he’d pick up the rifle of his last kill. It all flowed so sickeningly perfect.

He climbed the fourth floor stairwell, shooting the Fireflies attempting to sneak up on him before they knew what was going on. With his better ear, he could hear the gunfire on the floor he was approaching.

He wasn’t the only one putting up a fight.

As soon as Joel stepped onto the fifth floor, a barrage of bullets rained down around him. He ducked behind a wall, waiting for them to slow before running across to the other side of the hall. He let his ammo fly freely, taking down the Fireflies as sloppily as he needed to.

Just as he aimed at the final one, the soldier was kicked to the floor, Y/n stepping on his back and making a fatal shot.

Through his necessary numbness, Joel felt a rush of relief.

Y/n ignored every instinct she had to run into Joel’s arms and instead bent down, picking up the soldier’s rifle and the extra ammo off his belt. Joel did the same with a nearby body.

The two lovers met in the middle of the hall, their weapons resting against their chests, separating their bodies.

Twenty years ago, they were somewhere in a downtown bar, Joel trying to make her laugh and Y/n trying to pretend like she was perfectly capable of taking her eyes off of him. They were warm, they were happy, they were them.

Two decades later, they were stood in an abandoned hospital, rifles on their shoulders, blood on their clothes and vengeance in their eyes. They were bruised, they were broken, they were survivors.

They carried on the same way, shooting anyone who dared to get in their way as they climbed the building. Joel made the more gruesome kills, trying to spare Y/n what little pain he could, but Y/n was fearsome in her own right. The adrenaline from the epinephrine had heightened her senses, making her hyperaware of everything around her. If a Firefly so much as stepped an inch out from behind a wall, Y/n’s rifle was trained on him, not letting him live more than half a second.

Eventually, they made it.

The sixth floor.

With their sin all over them, Joel and Y/n walked down the hallway, passing the walls decorated with animal murals and creating a gruesome contrast. The glowing door at the end of the hall acted as their guiding light, the homing beacon they’d chased through the bloody battlefield they’d created.

Joel pushed the door open and they walked in, a window giving them a view into the operating room. Ellie was laid out on a table, a nurse was holding a gas mask to her face, drawing her into unconsciousness.

They were nearly too late.

Y/n, with adrenaline pumping through her veins, broke away from Joel and burst through the second set of doors. The doctor and nurses gasped in horror, jumping at the sudden sight.

“Unhook her,” Y/n growled, “Now.”

The doctor took a step towards Y/n, “How did you get in here?”

Joel was close behind her, Y/n’s speed drawing him out of his daze. “Unhook her,” he echoed.

The doctor nervously reached for a scalpel, holding it up to Joel and Y/n with shaking hands. “I won’t let you take her.”

He’d taken one step towards Y/n before Joel shot him, beating the epinephrine to protect her.

The nurses screamed and covered their ears, Y/n took it as her opportunity to move in on them.

“Un,” she enunciated, backing the women up towards Ellie’s bed, “Hook…her…now.”

“Move!” Joel shouted, keeping his gun drawn on them.

The nurses stepped to, unhooking Ellie’s various monitors and taking out her IV, a small stream of blood escaping the leftover hole. Joel couldn’t stand the sight of her bleeding.

“Cover her arm,” he ordered once again, “Fast.”

They obeyed and taped a piece of gauze to Ellie’s arm.

“Turn around,” Joel said as Y/n came back to stand beside him.

The nurses, shaking and whimpering in fear for their lives, did as they were told and turned their backs. Y/n kept her gun trained on them while Joel moved to Ellie, cupping the back of her neck and sitting her up. With the reassurance of her shallow breaths against his neck, his worst fear stayed buried twenty years in the past. He lifted Ellie into his arms delicately, his brutality melting to tenderness as soon as he’d touched her.

As Joel carried Ellie out of the room, Y/n stayed on his six and kept her gun aimed. She didn’t spare a glance at the doctor or the operating table as she left, unable to look at even one reminder of what could have been.

Joel and Y/n made it back down the hall, walking with the speed of criminals but the exhaustion of two people who had just laid waste to the world. Y/n tapped the elevator call button rapidly, the true effect of the epinephrine was starting to hit. She stumbled into the car behind Joel, smacking the button for the parking garage and leaned up against the wall. Her heart was slamming against her chest, sweat was pooling at her temples, her body was buzzing.

Joel peered over at her, concerned, and received a passive shake of the head.

“Is she okay?” Y/n whispered in between panting breaths.

“Yeah,” Joel mumbled, staring down at Ellie. The reality of the decision they’d made was beginning to hit them both.

They were dooming the world to save theirs.

The elevator gave them little time to think, dinging as it hit the bottom floor and opening its doors. Y/n stepped out ahead of Joel, her rifle pointed towards any threats lurking in the shadows. Joel spotted a parked and running car, the two of them made a beeline for the vehicle.

“You can’t keep her safe forever.”

Y/n spun around, Marlene stepped out from the darkness with her handgun drawn. Y/n didn’t hesitate to keep her rifle raised.

“No matter how hard you two try,” Marlene took slow, steady steps towards them, “No matter how many people you kill, she’s gonna grow up. And then you’ll die, she’ll leave. Then what? How long till she’s torn apart by Infected or murdered by raiders? Because she lives in a broken world that you could have saved.”

There was truth to what Marlene was saying, neither Joel nor Y/n could deny that.

“Maybe,” Joel answered, “But it isn’t for you to decide.”

“Or you two,” Marlene replied, her eyes flicking to Ellie, “So what would she decide, huh? ‘Cause I think she’d wanna do what’s right.”

Y/n nearly flinched, torn between Ellie’s fierce desire to protect and the plans she had for her future.

“And you know it,” Marlene’s gaze fell on Y/n, seeing the unsureness from her comrade. She slowly lowered her gun, “It’s not too late. Even now, even after what you two’ve done…we can still find a way.”

Y/n and Joel had lost everything to Cordyceps, one way or another. They’d lost their daughter, Y/n had lost her future with Joel and Tommy, her family, Joel had eventually lost Tommy, Tess, Bill and Frank…Cordyceps had taken anything and everything meaningful in their lives. They should have been first in line for advocating for a cure, and they would have been…

But nothing, not even the salvation of the world, was worth losing Ellie.

And that was what made it so easy for Y/n to shoot Marlene in the gut.

As soon as her former friend dropped to the floor, Y/n’s gun fell from her hands and her knees began to wobble. The room was spinning and her heartbeat was ramping up even further. The epinephrine was backfiring.

“No, no, no,” Joel mumbled, spinning around to put his back to Y/n as she fell forward, “Hold onto me.”

Y/n weakly reached around Joel’s neck and looped her arms around him.

Joel strained under the combination of Y/n and Ellie’s body weight, but his determination surpassed his body’s abilities. Carrying one and dragging the other, he fought his way to the truck. He shuffled Ellie in his arms to reach for the door, sliding her carefully into the backseat, before handling Y/n.

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked, twisting his body to take her into his arms, “What’s happening?”

Y/n, beginning to lose her grip on consciousness, shook her head once again and let her head loll against Joel’s shoulder.

“Hang on, hang on, honey,” Joel hurried, growing panicked that her injury had finally gotten to her and torn an organ, “Just hang on for me.”

Joel blindly reached for the passenger side door, he lifted Y/n with a grunt and placed her carefully in the seat. Brushing his hand against her cheek, he wiped the sweat off her skin.

“Rose,” Joel called in a rush as Y/n’s eyes began to flutter shut, slapping her face a few times, “Rose, honey, come on. Stay with me.”

A groan from behind them drew Joel’s attention and got Y/n to open her eyes. The two of them shared a knowing look, Joel swallowing harshly before dragging his fingers down Y/n’s perspiring cheek and unholstering his gun.

Y/n’s gaze followed him as he walked away from her, through the haze of the drugs, she felt some semblance of guilt. Not enough to make her call Joel’s name and ask he show mercy towards Marlene, but some little inkling of guilt that stood the chance at gnawing at her conscience if she ever came back to lucidity.

In the seconds before the bullet released from its chamber, Y/n memorialized her time with the Fireflies. She grieved their attempts to save Boston in the dark of night. The kids they’d lost in the fight, so eager to help, like Riley. All the battles that had seemed like part of something grander that now felt meaningless, now having seen the end goal. If death only bred death, and violence only bred violence, then perhaps there was truth to the old saying…the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

She tried, she thought, as a few tears escaped her eyes, she’d tried so hard to make a difference…

It had just been with the wrong people.

Joel fired one shot

Y/n was freed.

Joel hurried back to the truck and to Y/n’s side, her eyes were now shut and her pulse was slapping against her neck.

“Honey, come on,” Joel said softly, trying to calm both of them down, “I need you to take some deep breaths. Nice and slow.”

“Drive,” Y/n breathed, her heart practically beating out of her chest. Regardless of whether the epinephrine was going to kill her or not, they needed to escape.

Joel hesitated before pressing a kiss to Y/n’s forehead and shutting her door. He ran around the car, slamming its hood down and jumping in the driver’s seat. The keys were still in the ignition, there was nearly a full tank of gas. They were going to make it.

Joel looked over to Y/n, who had gone limp in her seat.

“Rose,” Joel practically shouted, reaching over to feel his love’s wrist, still feeling her pulse working overtime, “Honey, c’mon, wake up.”

“Drive, Joel,” Y/n slurred, her head slumped against her seat.

Joel did as requested and put the truck in drive, maneuvering them through the parking garage. All the while, he kept one trembling hand on Y/n’s knee, her rifle knocking against his knuckles each time they hit a speed bump. He didn’t know if by saving Ellie’s life, he was going to lose Y/n’s, and for once, Joel wanted a win. A full win. He didn’t want to sacrifice one more person.

The garage’s exit lay at the end of a long stretch of tunnel, the glow of daylight approaching faster and faster as Joel drove. Their three month journey would come to a close and his sins would see sunlight. And while anyone else would have said it had all been in vain, to risk one’s life to save humanity only to decide that humanity wasn’t worth the asking price, it wasn’t a waste. Not to Joel.

He glanced in the dashboard mirror, Ellie’s sleeping form in the backseat.

He looked over the glovebox, Y/n’s chest finally beginning to rise and fall at a steadier pace.

He would have done it all over again.

Every.

Single.

Part.

—————————

In a puddle of her own sweat, Y/n came to a few hours later, her head leaned up against the truck window. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the sunlight, and took stock of the rapidly moving landscape. There were forest trees and mountains in the distance.

“Hey,” Joel said, wrapping his hand around Y/n’s thigh.

“Hey,” she mumbled back, looking over to Joel, “Where are we?”

“Just outside of Wyoming,” he answered, rubbing his thumb across her jeans with a deep need to touch her, to assure himself she was okay. “Still a couple hours till we get to Tommy’s.”

Y/n hummed and nodded weakly, trying to look into the backseat at Ellie

“She’s been in and out,” Joel said, keeping his eyes focused on the road, “I told her about the raiders.”

Confusedly scrunching her brows, Y/n glanced back over at Joel.

“Attackin’ the hospital,” Joel continued, his pleading eyes drifting to his partner, “And about the tests they ran on her.”

“Yeah,” Y/n mumbled, reading Joel’s facial cues and coming to some understanding. She needed to be filled in on where she fit into the story.

Joel rubbed his hand over Y/n’s leg, “Get some sleep. I’ll wake ya when we’re close.”

There was so much she wanted to say, but her thoughts were too groggy to string more than two or three words together. With one scan of Joel’s clenched jaw and tired gaze, Y/n could tell he was feeling something similar. There’d be time for talking and setting their story straight, but for now, Y/n could close her eyes once more and settle into the knowledge that they were going home.

—————————

The next day, the car decided it had carried them far enough and the woods of Wyoming was where they’d part ways.

Joel examined the engine, a useless task considering they didn’t have the tools to repair anything, while Ellie and Y/n sat in the car.

“Well, she got us close enough,” Joel announced, coming around to the driver’s side, “We gotta walk the rest of the way. Probably about a five-hour hike,” he hung on the car door in front of Ellie, “But we can manage that. Remember?”

Ellie scanned her memories, bringing up their third day together, in the Massachusetts woods. She smiled, “Yeah.”

“Easy for you to say,” Y/n grunted as she used the backseat door to pull herself out of her seat, “You’re not walking around with two cracked fuckin’ ribs and a headache the size of Texas.”

“What happened to you back there anyway?” Ellie finally asked, Y/n had slept nearly the whole drive thus far. This was the longest she’d stayed awake.

“I did drugs,” Y/n replied honestly, having everything and nothing to hide.

“We’ll take it slow,” Joel promised, looping an arm around Y/n’s waist and kissing her forehead, “Take breaks.”

Y/n chuckled, “There’s a hot shower and a bed waiting on the other side of this fucking mountain,” she pointed up at the first hill they’d have to climb, “If anything, we’re shaving time off this thing.”

Joel smiled at the woman, who was already pulling Ellie to her feet and marching in the direction of their starting point.

As they hiked, Y/n’s energy started to go downhill again, and the painkillers she’d been given at the hospital had completely worn off. She leaned on Joel eventually, letting him brace some of her weight during the steeper portions.

Ellie, while concerned for Y/n’s wellbeing, was even more quiet than before they’d reached the hospital.

“Y’know, Sarah and I used to hike like this all the time,” Joel broke the silence and looked back to Ellie.

Y/n tilted her head towards Joel in surprise. It was the first time he’d brought up his daughter on his own accord…ever.

“I wouldn’t say it was her favorite thing. She wasn’t a fan of the mosquitos and such,” he continued, “But she was a big climber or…scampering. That’s probably the right word.”

“It is,” Y/n interjected, sharing a small smile with Joel.

“That girl…” Joel muttered, “She’d see a big rock and just…” he shot his free hand out, “Pew!”

Even at the mature age of thirteen, Y/n could remember Sarah and her running Texas’ nature trails and climbing the less dangerous rocks. Joel would follow behind, laughing and telling his girlfriend that if she broke his daughter, she was buying him a new one.

“She woulda liked you,” Joel told Ellie, it was one of the most honest things he’d ever said. “Not to say the two of you are the same. Definitely different kids.”

“How so?” Ellie softly asked from behind Joel and Y/n.

“Well, she was a lot more…” Joel trailed off, “I wanna say girly,” he quickly turned to Ellie, “And I’m not sayin’ that you’re not girly.”

“I’m not,” Ellie admitted, barely smiling up at Joel.

“Yeah, you’re not. So that,” Joel chuckled, tightening his hold on Y/n a little as he listed off Sarah’s attributes, “She was taller. She had a killer smile. Again, not sayin’ that you don’t.”

Y/n shook her head, withholding a laugh for the sake of her ribs. Three months prior, they’d all been threatening to kill each other. Now they were dancing around conversational landmines that weren’t even there, so afraid of hurting one another.

“But you know why I think she’d like you?” Joel addressed Ellie once more.

“Why?”

“‘Cause you’re funny,” Joel answered, “I think you would’ve made her laugh.”

Y/n nodded, “She also would have appreciated the well deserved crap you give her dad.”

Joel snorted at Y/n’s comment, knowing there was truth to it. Sarah had always enjoyed having someone to gang up on him with, but no fiercer duo had ever existed than the likes of his daughter and his girlfriend.

“Anyway,” Joel felt his emotions beginning to tighten around his throat, “I bet you would’ve liked her back.”

“Yeah,” Ellie said, still sounding distant, “Bet I would’ve.”

The weight of Sarah’s death had suffocated Joel and Y/n separately for two decades. It had been a blade, sticking out their chest, that they’d somehow learned to live with. But there was something, between their time with Ellie and their coming back together, that had caused the pain to…change. It would never hurt any less than it did now, but Sarah’s memory now seemed like one they could look back on with more than grief. There could be smiles and laughter as they thought back on their beautiful, brilliant girl.

Y/n rested her head on Joel’s shoulder as they walked, he pressed his cheek to her hair. They both felt it.

A little ways more and they’d reached the top of the hill. In the distance, the town of Jackson stretched within its walls. It was far bigger than any of them had realized.

“There ya go,” Joel said as they paused to take it in, “Not much further now.”

He helped Y/n on the decline with her keeping her weary eyes on what they’d now call home. She nearly cried when she realized that they’d never have to leave it again. The three of them could settle into life as close to what it should have been.

“Hey, wait,” Ellie called, bringing Joel and Y/n to a halt. She began to form words before abandoning them, “Fuck…”

Joel’s muscles tightened, worried that she’d taken the time to pick apart his lie.

“Back in Kansas City, you asked me about the first time I killed someone,” Ellie spoke to Joel.

He fidgeted a little as he held Y/n, relieved that it wasn’t about the hospital.

“When I got bit,” Ellie continued, “I-I wasn’t on my own. My best friend was there and she got bit too. We didn’t know what to do, and she says, ‘We can just wait it out…be all poetic and just lose our minds together.’”

Y/n bit her lip, her brief time of knowing Riley’s spirit flashed through her mind.

“And then she did,” Ellie went on with her story, “And I had to…her name was Riley, and she was the first to die. And then it was Tess. And then it was Sam-”

Joel shook his head, “That’s not on you.”

“No,” Y/n reenforced, “Not at all.”

“I know,” Ellie sighed, “But-“

“Look sometimes things don’t work out the way we hope,” Joel said, “You can feel like…like you’ve come to an end…and you don’t know what to do next,” he sighed, thinking back on all the choices in his life that had led him to this moment, “But if you just keep going…you find something new to fight for.”

Y/n looked downwards, feeling every one of Joel’s words ring true in her heart.

“And maybe that’s not what you want to hear-“ Joel tried to continue his speech.

“Swear to me,” Ellie interrupted.

Joel and Y/n paused, holding their breaths as their tale was challenged. Y/n’s exhaustion allowed her to lower her head as she fought to take a deeper breath.

“Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true,” Ellie continued, her eyes demanding yet still soft.

Lying was an essential part of survival. It was a skill to be honed and a craft that required complete dedication. Joel had lied his way through life, into black market deals and smuggling opportunities. Y/n had lied to aid the Fireflies and to save her own life. They’d been comfortable saying whatever they needed to to stay alive.

That feeling died on the Wyoming hilltop.

“I swear,” Joel replied.

Y/n inhaled as deep as she could, feeling the fullness of what she was about to say wash over her and possess her body.

“I swear.”

Ellie watched them, her mind working to process what they were saying, leaving her nearly unreadable. They waited with bated breath as she decided whether to accept their answers or not.

“Okay.”

Without another word, Ellie picked up her pace, moving past Joel and Y/n to head down the hill. Joel began their descend, but Y/n pulled her arm away from him and stayed frozen.

“Give me a minute,” she said, her eyes on the mountains.

Joel inhaled to argue the point that she couldn’t make it more than ten steps on her own, but the distance in her eyes advised him against it. He let her hand go and began to follow Ellie, turning back once to make sure she was okay.

Y/n let her eyes drift down to Jackson, tracing the outlines of the town and trying to find the house that would become theirs. The possibilities were overwhelming as to what they could do when they got there. If there was electricity, she could cook proper meals for Joel and Ellie. They could have game nights. Tommy could come over at random moments in the day. Ellie could attend a real school. Joel could get back to his roots and fix up the house. They could retire to their bedroom each night, calling out to Ellie to go to sleep before doing the same. It could be the domestic life she’d always wanted, simplistic in every sense.

Except it wouldn’t be real.

Y/n had seen the distrust in Ellie’s face, she knew that at some point, the girl would figure it out. And if she didn’t, she’d always be questioning if her and Joel were telling the God’s honest truth. What their relationship had been would never again be. By saving Ellie’s life, they had forever changed the dysfunctional little found family they’d created.

Y/n blinked once, took a deep breath, and headed down the hill, taking her first step into a life of lies.

——————

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fic #twenty years later

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heartysworld · 1 month

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Thy blood shall flow through mine || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

What's up my loves, it's been a while! After I watched the new trailer and everything I couldn't contain my excitement and I just HAD to write something to cope with the 1 month we have left until season 2! I got the inspo for this from my Old English classes and as much as I was disgusted during class my mind had to turn this into an Aemond fic bc let's be honest, that man could be nastyyyy...

I'm not gonna lie this one is a bit rusty but it's been a while since I've written about Aemond and I was in my 3rd coffee omfor the day as I wrote it so yeah...enjoy

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W.C: 1k

Mark but this knife, and mark in this, How little that which thou deniest me is;

It sucked me first, and now sucks thee, And in it our two bloods mingled be;

Thou know’st that this cannot be said

A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead, Yet this enjoys before it woo, And pampered swells with one blood made of two, And this, alas, is more than we would do.

The letter was ripped apart in your hands moments after you read it out loud. Your uncle stood in front of you, his face covered with an unreadable expression as he watched you read his letter, the one of many you had found in your rooms.

The beautiful letter A sat neatly written in the bottom right corner of the parchment.

The first time you received one of these you were scandalized. Who could be so shameless to address such shameful writings to a princess? The first person who came to mind was your uncle Aegon, after all this was something that he would do with no doubt.

But then, as the letters kept coming you realized that the fool who dared call himself the future heir to the Iron Throne lacked the mental capacity to come up with such carefully crafted words, arranged in such way that send chills down your spine every time you read them. Aemond. It had to be him.

"Have you lost your mind, Aemond?" You asked, voice raising slightly as you looked at him, a desperate expression plastered on your face. "What if one of my maids found it? What if it got to my mother? Or the Queen? Not even Balerion himself could save me from their wrath. How could you be so senseless? And they call you the brightest one of the King's children!"

Everything that had been piling inside of you for the past few weeks finally came out as you voiced all of your frustrations.

The ripped pieces of paper gracefully fell from your fingers as they made their way towards the burning fire that lit up your chambers.

Your hand slowly made its way towards your face, touching the now wrinkled skin of your forehead as you felt the slowly forming headache that was going to torment you until dawn.

Seconds later, a larger, colder hand wrapped itself around yours, pulling you closer to a firm chest. The much familiar aroma of leather from riding gear, and hints of smoke and ash filled your nostrils.

"Hush, little hatchling. Do not fill yourself with excess frustrations. The Red Keep does not need another burnt scrub of the gardens." Aemond hushed against your ear. You could feel the corners of his mouth curl upwards as they hovered over the shell of your ear.

The contact with his body alongside his raspy voice stirred something deep inside you that made you shiver.

"We both know the way you've been looking at me for the past few moons. After that day in the courtyard, when my blade cut across your arm. It is soaked with your blood as much as it is with mine. Tell me, hatchling, does this not count as the consumation of a marriage? Is our blood not mingled together as it would be inside our own child? You are mine, hatchling, you've always been and will always be."

Aemond's words caused your breath to get caught inside your lungs, hot waves pulsating through your body.

His arms slowly encircled your waist, like a snake wrapping around their pray. He was the beast, you were his pray, and you've been willingly letting him sink his teeth in your neck for weeks now, taming you as his pet, his little hatchling that was about to become him forever.

" We can't, Aemond. Not when a war is about to rage above King's Landing and we're about to be on the opposing sides. I cannot let you take my hart in your possession only for you to shatter it to pieces the moment your grandfather blows his whistle at you like a dog and makes you drive a sword in between my mothers eyes!" You voice came out broken, eyes misty and reddish.

" I would rather drive that same sword through my grandfather's skull than let him take you away from me, Y/N!" Aemond snapped, his anger finally surfacing despite the facade he attempted to put up for you.

It never worked with you, him trying to hide what he truly felt. It's always been like this, to you, he was like an open book. No secrets, no nothing.

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storiesoflilies · 5 months

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Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: I actually quite enjoyed writing this chapter, so much to the point that I’m prioritizing this over my uni work. Oopsie!! Oh well, enjoy everyone! You may need some tissues :) Ko-Fi.

Next part — interlude (i)

-•-

Chapter 3

Time was no longer relevant to Y/N anymore.

Why bother counting down the days? She’d been stuck in this cell – this dreary, hopeless, and unbelievably hot cell – for what seemed like an eternity. Though it couldn’t have been that long, for Nanami’s blood still coated her skin like a bridal veil, providing a false sense of security as if he still watched over her even in death. Y/N knew his protection would run dry when she walked down the end of the aisle that was her life’s story – where there could be no happy ending waiting for her. Still, she coveted his blood, the lingering remnants of her golden guardian, as if memories of him were the last pages of holy text ablaze in this condemned world.

In the depths of Hell, Y/N wasted away like a rotting corpse not quite dead yet.

She knew she was in Hell because there could be nowhere else so oppressive: searing heat that dared her to cause even a slight offense, just so it had an excuse to burn her deeply and settle into the very marrow of her bones like a parasite. Still, she fought against it, curled like a pathetic fetus in a pitch-black womb, locked in a silent battle of sheer will. The same Curse who stole her golden guardian had somehow stopped the fatal wound on her stomach from ending her life, yet it had neglected to heal her other injuries – as if it wanted her to die a slow death.

“You don’t know, do you?” it had whispered in the deep dark depths, fascination falling from it like a waterfall. Y/N hadn’t answered, but still, the Curse continued on like a child that just wanted to be heard by someone, anyone. “Just how special you are.”

It called itself Mahito, decidedly masculine and manipulative, and he spoke with a whimsical tone unbefitting of the atrocities and sins he had surely committed; his words coated in sickly sweet sugar in attempt to lull her into a false sense of security. Nonetheless, he had saved her for reasons Y/N could never begin to guess; the scar on her midriff was testament to that fact. The wound had been sealed well enough; the scar was still fleshy and smooth to the touch, but she dared not look at it – it was all she had left of him and Gojo. Her body forever stained by her first, and perhaps only, encounter with him. She thought of him often, a focal point of imaginary light in the darkness, and dreamt of him whenever she slept; walking together among the cosmos of another universe, withstanding the test of time and fire. It was her only remaining comfort because Y/N couldn’t tell if her green eyed Curse was dead. She didn’t know how the soulmate bond worked really, or if it was strong enough to feel his essence if he wasn’t nearby, but she still clung to a fools hope that he wasn’t dead; that he had somehow grappled lightning and storms with his bare hands and won.

If he was alive, he would come for her; that much Y/N knew was true. She had felt his desperation when she and Nanami fought against Mahito, as if Gojo were an obstacle he couldn’t overcome quickly enough to get to her in time. And so, she could only lie there and wait for someone who may never arrive – a prisoner awaiting her sentence that bled black blood and slaughtered Angels.

The rough stone floor scraped her cheek as Y/N shifted into a tighter ball, her wing bones twisted unnaturally underneath her. Her feathers had suddenly fallen some time ago, like dead leaves from a shriveled bush, and she knew in her heart that they would never grow back again. The bones hung like useless appendages, unable to move no matter how much she willed them to, and started to reek of rotten flesh. It was only a matter of time before infection and fever set in, and Y/N wished she had the strength to reach over and pull them from their sockets, but her aching body had no such strength anymore; if she dared to move too much, she would surely die. She couldn’t die, not yet; she was still holding on to him, and to Nanami’s ghost telling her that she could persevere.

She heard a familiar clink and creaking of metal; the silver Curse had come to visit again.

Mahito sat in front of her; she could feel his breath wafting onto her face, a sliver of his teeth visible through the darkness, and mismatched grey and blue eyes glowing brightly. These visits from him were routine, like they were old childhood friends come to play a tea party with each other every day.

“Well, don’t you look positively wretched?” He remarked, as if he was praising her instead of insulting her. Y/N maintained her vow of silence; she would not speak a single word to her guardians bane.

Mahito didn’t seem offended by her silence at all, as he chirped away about bodies and souls and nonsense. Y/N nearly groaned at the absurdity of it all – here she was at deaths door, listening to a child preaching philosophy it mistook for age-old wisdom.

“…but they don’t know I have you here, and they might never. Is it so selfish of me wanting to keep you with me, just for a little while?”

She focused her gaze on him, and he gasped with delight, “Oh, so you are still in there! I was beginning to doubt you were listening to me at all.”

Her eyes flashed, begging him to continue, to explain what he meant.

“I suppose I haven’t really told you anything since I brought you here. You see… I wasn’t supposed to be there that day. I’m just a newborn to all of them; they don’t respect me at all because I still need to grow my strength. But they don’t see just how special I already am.”

Mahito started to rock back and forth; Y/N could hear him.

“And so I went up to Earth to help me grow stronger, to speed up the process of my evolution. I know I couldn’t possibly defeat your most special Angel, the one with the white hair… Satoru Gojo. By the way, you know he really actually loved you? His soul told me so; I could see it, but he just didn’t know how to love a soul like yours. I just thought you should know that.”

… what? Surely not.

“Anyways… I had really hoped that he wasn’t alone so that I could maybe grow from the fight. And oh my, your Nanami was a strong one. It was a glorious fight, he helped me so much more than you can imagine. But finding you? That was almost too perfect. I’ve never found out what effects my cursed energy has on a soul that has found its mate, but I’m so very interested in seeing what happens.”

Mahito sighed, a long deep sigh, like someone who was already tired of living. “I really hope they don’t find you. I don’t think anyone knows it was me who stole you away, and I want to keep you here with me. You’ll surely help me grow even more.”

Stole?

Y/N’s energy rapidly drew back like the sea from the shore in preparation for a tsunami; such was the state of her, random bouts of wakefulness with the constant threat of falling back into an unconsciousness state. She felt herself slipping back into the abyss, Mahito’s words miles away from her now, breaking away like dried mud.

-•-

The fever manifested soon after, but it was the ensuing delirium that was going to be the end of her. Her once pristine wings were burdened by disease, sickly pus droplets clinging to them; infecting and instigating a malevolent transformation within her mind.

Prancing around gardens, you silly wicked thing.

Y/N’s cell was no longer black, but a bright red hue, akin to the color she saw when she closed her eyelids and looked directly at the sun. She saw the faces of everyone she had ever known and lost, and each time she glanced over her shoulder, Nanami lingered behind her; silent and stoic, never saying a word as he stared at her with a single eye – looking just as he did the day he died. Overwhelmed with emotion, Y/N couldn’t restrain her tears from falling. If this was to be her ascension into Paradise, she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to go traverse this path of misery and delusions.

Don’t you know that’s how you get scratched into pieces?

She saw Gojo suspended high above them, a distant expression clouding his blue eyes. Y/N didn’t think he was upset; instead, he seemed as if he was finally understanding the very meaning of their existence in the world. It was as if he was being cradled in the invisible hands of God, completely ecstatic in his trance. His face was covered in blood, hair and armor unkept and dirtied, and a fatal wound to the neck oozed fresh blood. It was a stark contrast to the well put together and suave Satoru she had known before. It unnerved Y/N as she decided she didn’t like this transformation, and looked away.

But then maybe you deserve to be cut by all these thorns?

The visions shifted to Y/N in her bedroom, reclined on her bed, bathed in that familiar red hue streaming in through the windows. Everything was as she remembered leaving it; ripe figs on her nightstand, perfect bluebell flowers from Gojo in a crystal vase filled with clear water beside it. Oh how she would give anything to be there now, instead of whatever illusion she was stuck in now; a tantalizing, teasing vision of comfort and familiarity. Y/N doubted she would ever get it back again, and tried her hardest to savor it.

Wicked things deserve to be punished you know?

Nanami laid beside her, his hand covering the empty eye socket, and Y/N looked at him, willing him to say anything, just anything. Was the presence of his soul a symbol of something vital within her mind, silently communicating to her through the fever? Perhaps it was his ghost haunting her, unable to move on, expressing his anger at how he gave his life so violently for hers; maybe he was the real fever.

And you’re the worst of them all, the very worst I’ve ever seen…

Nanami turned to look at her, and her heart jumped. He looked pained, as if his words yearned to escape, but were bound by a vow of silence. She reached out to him, gently brushing a stray lock of golden hair from his forehead, and breathed in his calming scent. No, he would never punish her like this or subject her to delusions and pain; he was too kind and good, the very best of the Angels.

A flicker of sanity.

The red hue pulled back ever so slightly, and Y/N knew she was still in her cell. But there was someone coming; she heard distant footsteps approaching – perhaps Mahito? Would he put her out of her misery? No, the footsteps were too soft, familiar. She’d heard them before, knew to whom they belonged to without having to see anything at all.

You cut me in two, and now you think you’re free?

She was enveloped in red once again, Nanami’s presence returned, but he gripped her hand with a sense of urgency and fear. Y/N couldn’t bear to see him in such a state, and she promptly squeezed his hand back in a silent pledge of unified strength. Amidst the crimson haze and orchestrated delusions, it all became clear to her now – the visions he’d been showing her. He’d been patiently waiting for her all this time so they could move on together; the stunning saga of their lives now entwined for a final chapter.

“We can both go now…” she mumbled, neither here nor there.

You will never be free, not from me.

And suddenly, they both materialized in the meadows of the training grounds of Heaven, sullied by a red sky, hands tightly clasped together. Geto stood before them, a vision of benevolence and mercy, his katanas gleaming in the light of Heaven’s morning. Y/N wanted to drop to the floor and weep with joy as her inner turmoil melted away – her brother’s presence providing a welcome solace she didn’t know she needed so desperately. She would be at peace, as Geto would lead them both to Paradise, to bask in God’s light, and heal them from all they had endured.

“Oh, dear sister, where are you now?” he asked, featherlight fingers tenderly stroking her jaw, long black hair flowing like a dark river over his shoulders.

Y/N was confused by his words. Where? Why she was everywhere all at once, and Nanami was here too. Couldn’t he see her golden guardian?

“Hmm… this won’t do at all. Come with me; you’ll be alright now, that’s it,” Geto declared in that same soft tone she knew so well. The overwhelming surged relief through her, both astounding and crippling, as if the weight of the world had been lifted in that moment.

Her axis shifted as Geto carried her battered body in his arms, traversing through the meadow; through the deep dark prison.

It’s after dark, you know? But this garden still grows.

Through the cool green grass, amidst dim corridors and oppressive shadows, Y/N watched her world go by her from the familiar embrace of Geto’s arms. His dark robes swished purposefully with each step, as Nanami walked alongside him – a steadfast presence as always. She absorbed every moment, feeling the inevitable conclusion of her life approaching, and reveled in the crescendo of it all. She hadn’t sinned; God was pleased with her, and being granted a slice of Heaven was the greatest honor of her life.

Soothing warm water enveloped her, yet Y/N shivered, as she found herself in the bathing pool in Gojo’s tower; her body bare and naked as God intended. She felt divine, holy, the epitome of blessings. Geto’s hands washed her gently, almost hesitating, as if he feared her skin would melt from her bones. Y/N felt like it was, and by God, all she wanted to do was merge seamlessly with the water. Nanami stood silently behind Geto, regal and proud, observing her being cleaned.

“We’re going soon, you’ll see…” Y/N said to Nanami, trying to reassure him as her eyes rolled back into her head.

Geto rubbed her thighs, scrubbing away the world’s impurities from her, and said softly, “No, you’re not.”

“But, aren’t you here to guide us both?”

“No sister, I’m here to make you better.”

Y/N grew silent, awareness creeping back into her bones like an old friend. Nanami’s form became translucent, a haunting ghost barely visible. They were not in the bathing pool; instead, she was in a large bronze bathtub Geto washing her, and Nanami’s ghost still lingering. Her guardian looked down at her with regret as realization dawned on his fair features, yet Y/N still didn’t understand a thing.

“Geto… I’m supposed to be going with Nanami. Look, he’s waiting for me; he’s standing behind you.”

Geto stopped his ministrations, his head tilting curiously to the side as if he was earnestly trying to sense what she could see. His warm brown eyes swept over her body, pity casting a somber shadow over him, and rested on her wings, a disapproving tut escaping his lips.

“Forgive me sister, but you need to let them go. They’re killing you now.”

Nanami looked away sharply, as if he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore, and Y/N frowned.

And then, Geto reached over and gripped both her wings at the base of their sockets in her shoulder blades. Before she could utter another word, he pulled sharply, a sickening slicking and popping noise resonating as her wings brutally detached from her body. Y/N gasped in shock and pain, convulsing violently in the bath, murky water sloshing over the sides. Geto hushed her gently, holding her arms as firmly as he could in an attempt to calm her.

The hours are passing, don’t you feel lonely?

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I know it hurts,” Geto whispered, his tender touch returning to the task of washing her.

Y/N whimpered, her gaze shifting between him and Nanami, finally comprehending the meaning behind her delusions as his blood was washed from her skin. The veil was lifting, but it wasn’t to be the end for her, and they both knew it. Geto smiled kindly at her, warmth radiating from his eyes.

“It’s ok,” she said to Nanami. “You’re right, I can take it from here… I know I can do this now.”

Geto hummed, or perhaps it was Nanami, and cupped his hands together, pouring water over her head. “And what is it you can do?”

Y/N didn’t answer, her head rolling backwards weakly. Geto quickly held the back of her head, preventing it from dipping back into the water. Nanami took steps backwards from them, hesitating, looking up at the sky with a profound sense of longing. Her golden guardian wasn’t meant for her anymore; he was destined to soar through the skies and stars high up above. Nanami Kento was born from light, and to light he would return – not condemned to remain in this blazing prison of sinners.

“You’re not meant to be here. Go on,” Y/N urged, trying to be encouraging, as gentle as Geto’s hands on her bare chest; the last traces of Nanami’s blood washed away from her.

Of course you’re lonely, you always have been. You think I didn’t know?

Her guardian turned to face her one more time, a smile curving his lips – the same one just before his body turned into a rainfall of blood. This time, she smiled back at him, an understanding exchanged in the face of their final farewell.

“Be at peace,” Geto murmured, but whether he was addressing Nanami or her, Y/N didn’t know.

And then, Nanami stretched his arms over his head in pure bliss, his body engulfed in an ethereal light, ascending towards the red hued sky, disappearing in a blaze of hope and gold. It was cathartic and pure; she couldn’t help but start to weep with joy. Geto stroked her hair, whispering gently in an attempt to soothe her, as he started to lift her from the water; wrapping her in soft satin robes, and carrying her once more.

Y/N slipped back into the darkness.

-•-

She awoke to the feel of fresh linen sheets covering her body, and contentedly moved her legs, however a dull pain in her back immediately stopped her movements. Y/N winced, her memory gradually returning as she became more awake. Her wings were gone; she knew it to be true, yet she still felt their phantom presence. She tentatively reached behind her, almost hopefully, as if they might miraculously still be there – but all she felt were rough bumps of stitches woven into her skin. The overwhelming heat she felt when she first descended into Hell was now gone, and Y/N found that she was pleasantly warm. The room she was in was dimly lit by torches of blue flames, with lavish dark purple curtains drawn partly closed, revealing a dark and lifeless sky. The furniture, crafted from bronze and dark wood, was rich and deep, meticulously arranged in beautiful display.

The door behind her creaked open, and she turned around.

Geto.

Her heart leaped with adoration as he graced her with that familiar smile she cherished so much. Her brother was here, in the deep, dark depths, and it felt as if nothing had changed between them, and he stood before her just as he once had.

“How are you feeling, dear sister?” he asked, sitting down in front of her against the edge of the bed, hands clasped together politely.

Y/N whispered, “Like I’ve been dragged through Hell.”

Geto laughed, and she couldn’t help but smile along with him. He seemed guiniely happy, joyous even; what had even changed to begin with?

“You have been, that much is true,” he agreed, shaking his head and chuckling lowly.

“Thank you… for helping me.”

“Of course, although I do apologize for your scars, because those I cannot fix.”

He rose from the bed, pulling aside the curtains, and silently gazed out the window, “You’ve been asleep for seven days and nights, you know? Did you dream at all?”

Y/N attempted to recall anything at all, but there was nothing – only darkness and that red color behind her eyelids. “No… no I didn’t. Suguru, tell me what happened.”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted, and in that moment, as she gazed at Geto’s side profile, the stark transformation in her brother became glaringly apparent. There was a harsh, foreign look in his brown eyes, as cruel and unforgiving as steel, and his jaw clenched with ominous resolve.

“I’m sure you know that Curse who took you, Mahito,” he began, tearing his eyes away from the window to fixate on her with that angry look. “That stupid fucking thing has no idea what he’s been playing at.”

Y/N was taken aback as the curse word fell from Geto’s lips as naturally as breathing, but she said nothing as he continued, “Of course, it wasn’t until he started babbling about how he had seen Gojo with two other Angels the day of the attack; one of them a fair haired one and the other a female. It was obviously Nanami when he described the way he fought, and then I knew that it must have been you there too. I deduced he must have been the one to take you, hiding you almost perfectly if he hadn’t decided to talk too much.”

Geto sighed heavily, a regretful look passing over him.

“You weren’t supposed to be there, it wasn’t apart of the plan. I knew that we might have crossed paths once again as enemies on the battlefield, but I honestly hoped that we never would see each other again…”

He looked at her once more with suspicion in his eyes. “But that does beg the question, Y/N,what exactly were you doing there?”

“Nanami said he had said he had noticed traces of a strange Curse, and he wanted me to go with him and track it. Gojo found out and came along with us.”

“And why exactly? Satoru wouldn’t waste his time on something so menial, it’s beneath him.”

“He… he proposed to me the day after you fell. I’ve never descended to Earth without him since.”

Geto looked at her sharply, quizzically. Y/N looked down, almost in shame, as if she were to be punished for telling him the truth.

“Were you married then?”

“No, the wedding was still being planned.”

“Good, so then you aren’t a widow. That makes this a bit easier.”

A widow?

Satoru Gojo is dead?

Geto stared at her, as if trying to decipher exactly what was going through her head; like he was trying to see if she was going to break down and shatter with grief and sorrow. Of course, Y/N was shocked – the greatest seraph that ever was and would be was dead. Someone she had known her whole life, gone and faded to ash. In that moment, she saw all the lives Geto had taken; the Sky Sentries and Gojo’s followers. Here was a cold blooded Curse that stood before her, calculating and aware.

“You’re not struggling as much as I thought you would,” Geto remarked, his head tilted curiously at her. “You mustn’t have loved him.”

“I-, I did,” Y/N started, sitting up as she struggled to find the right words to say. “But not in the way I wanted to love my future husband.”

“Of course not, and he must have known that. What a selfish prick, he knew you couldn’t say no to him. He must have proposed in front of the masses, oh what a great declaration of his love and strength to protect you. Some job he did.”

Geto was seething, snapping like a dog protecting a bone, crazed and cold-hearted at the memory of his once closest friend. It was silent for a long time before he came and sat at the edge of the bed, grasping her hand in his.

“He picked you because of me, and for that, I am even more sorry,” he said, head bowed low, anger gone in a flash as his long hair brushed against her hand.

“I did care about him, Suguru. I think, given time, I would have eventually learned to love him. He… he was changing, after you left. With me, Gojo was different, but maybe he was like that with you anyways, so I’m not sure.”

“Well then, I am sorry you lost him too as well as Nanami. It must have been the blackest of days for you.”

They were silent again, and Y/N breathed heavily as the weight of their conversation and the ache in her back bore down on her like a whip.

“May I?” Geto politely inquired, his fingers at the top button of her nightdress. Y/N nodded, and he deftly unbuttoned the dress, parting it to look at her wounds.

He produced an amber tub from his robes, opening it quickly and smeared a thick, herb-scented ointment over her stitches. She shivered at its coolness.

“Does it hurt?” Geto asked worriedly, his hands lifting from her skin.

“No, I’m okay,” she whispered, eyes closing, allowing her brother to soothe her aches and pains.

But there were still truths Y/N had to uncover shrouded in the shadows. She was owed knowledge, and Geto had to give her the courtesy of an honest answer. She hoped it would be honest, at least; he was a Curse now, and honesty was no longer in his nature.

“Why did you choose to fall?”

A dark look passed over Geto’s face, a haunted memory of oppressive demons surfacing, and she almost regretted asking in the first place.

“Because I want things in the world to change.”

Just like Gojo said not so long ago, only he had wanted to change himself and not the ways of the world.

“You see, there reached a certain point for me, and it was when Haibara died. I thought, what is the point of continuing to fight a war that has already been fought for a thousand years? More of us continue to die, and it will never ever end if it continues as it does now. I asked myself, what can I do myself to change things?”

He rubbed the last of the ointment into her back, and buttoned her dress up again.

“The way things stand, there are two outcomes – either the Angels win or Curses. But if Angels won, vanquishing Sukuna and all the Curses that dwell now, it wouldn’t really matter. The Heavenly Principles are still in place, and free will is still a blessing upon us all, therefore sin is inevitable. More curses would be born again, Angels will still fall, cast out from a home that they have fought for and defended. And why should it be so? Because Heaven deems them sinners, regardless of their good deeds?”

He sighed heavily, continuing, “And if Curses win and Heaven is burnt to ash, there would be never be another Angel born into the world again. Sure, there may be war and discontent within the Hells, that is a given, but it would never be as eternal or as wasteful as the war we fight now.”

“And so you’ve decided to decimate Heaven and every soul that resides there.”

“Yes.”

It was the way he said that, so simply, like it was as natural as a rain falling to the ground. Suguru Geto had a plan, he had the spark to his fire, and all he had to do was get to the place he needed to reach. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat; as she put together the pieces of everything he had told her. How Geto must have suffered in silence, his closest friend and sister never noticing a thing as he questioned everything he believed in. And still, he had chosen to embrace the fire and condemn them both to his ideals.

“If we had met earlier, I would have tried to convince you to turn too, to fight alongside me and reshape the world according to our vision. I attempted to persuade Gojo the last time we spoke together, but he refused to listen, as he chooses to ignore that his strength could achieve all our goals if he so wished.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say, almost reluctant to acknowledge his confession. How could she be certain he wouldn’t have tried to kill her? However, there was something else more pressing on her mind than Geto’s ambitions.

“Suguru… why did you say Mahito took me away?”

Geto froze momentarily, and fear flashed across his face as swiftly as a lightning strike. Y/N’s heart raced even faster, the fear bubbling up within her; the scar on her stomach suddenly burning wildly.

“Like I said,” Geto began uneasily, clearing his throat. “Mahito has no idea what he’s been playing at. He can see souls within the body like a living, breathing thing inside us all. He knew the consequences if he was found out, and yet he did it anyway.”

“Suguru, what did he do? What does it have to do with me or you?”

“I hope you do not think less of me when I tell you this… I’m the King of the Third Layer of Hell, and Mahito is one of my strongest, albeit one of the youngest, denizens to reside in my court. He has stolen and knowingly hidden you, despite the bounty for your location within the Hells, and by doing so, he has put my Layer at risk for war.”

Her mind reeled at this information; at the power her brother now held in the palm of his hands.

A bounty on me?

“Who’s after me Suguru?”

“I think you know, sweet sister.”

Her green eyed Curse, the champion of storms; he had lived after all.

“His name is Toji Fushiguro, and he is the King of the Second Layer of Hell.”

Geto looked painfully guilty, his head turned from her shamefully.

“He has been looking for you ever since he killed Satoru, and… I have already dispatched a messenger to say that you are resting and healing in my home.”

He’s coming for me.

“Yes,” Geto replied, and Y/N realized she had said it aloud.

“Am I doomed?”

“I don’t know.”

Another stop in time, as she considered another revelation; something that may have already meant she was condemned to her soul burning in Hell. It would explain why the searing heat she fought so hard against didn’t bother her anymore, why her blood ran warm and true, and why she could no longer smell the sulphur in the air anymore.

“If it’s not what you want, then I can help you to escape him.”

“How?”

“I can help you ascend back to Earth, but only there. After that, you would be on your own to find your way back to your people, but I cannot stop him from finding you before you get there. I will also assume that you have chosen never to side with me, and if I came across you again, then we may very well kill the other.”

None of that might matter if she was already condemned; there would be no way back to Heaven.

“Suguru, please get me a knife.”

He frowned, “Y/N, don’t cause yourself more harm. I won’t let you die on my watch, and neither will he.”

“Suguru please, I need to see something.”

Geto relented, handing her a clean dagger hidden beneath his obsidian robes. She took it from him, and pricked her thumb with the blade and squeezed hard. A trickle of red blood escaped from the pierced flesh, and Y/N breathed a sigh of relief as the nausea dissipated from her stomach.

Until red turned black as ink; flowing down her hands like a river of sin and despair.

-•-

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maladaptivedaydreamsx · 20 days

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The Littlest Lelouch

Characters: Clavis Lelouch, unnamed wife, OC (baby), brief cameos

Rating: pg13 (?)

Genre: Saccharine fluff, dash of angst, humor (sfw)

WC: 1,296

Warnings: Mentions of battle/blood/death (none happen on-screen), mentions of pregnancy and birth (none graphic), afab oc/insert and female pronouns, (are babies a tw?), humor of the aerin variety, not proofread, potential minor Clavis route spoilers?

Request?: Yes (currently open? also yes. pls see pinned first!)

Summary: As it would happen, having to work with the bloody beast means often having to pick up after said beast, or even indulge in the sins of war. Unfortunately for Rhodolite palace’s resident mischief maker, the call of his duty could not have come at a worse time.

A/N: Apologies if it is a bit OOC or would benefit from better pacing, I haven't read Clavis' route in a bit and he's a little tricky to nail at times without me getting cliché. (Sorry this one isn't gender neutral, for the folks familiar with my general fluff.) I worked to the best of my current ability, as the request was a bit vague. Feel free to stop by and request again sometime, nonnie!

Clavis’ wife was due soon, expecting their first child amidst the frills and flowers that come with Spring. And excited they were to welcome the newest member of the Lelouch gang when Clavis suddenly receives summons for a round table meeting. It isn’t until much later that he returns, brows furrowing as he walks through the doors to the couple’s shared room at the palace.

“Dearie me,” Clavis starts, running a singular gloved hand through his lilac locks, boring holes into the wall as he figured out how to best break this to his very pregnant wife. No amount of trying to haggle with the court would get him out of this, much as he tried. Hesitantly, Clavis’ wife pipes up, wanting to console her husband who seems he may fray at the seams any moment.

“What’s wrong, Clavis? Cat got your tongue?” She jokes, waddling over best as she can, causing Clavis to fret and meet her halfway. He is far too overprotective sometimes, she feels, but understands he is that way out of sheer love for her.

“Council was held today.” Clavis starts, receiving an acknowledging hum from his wife. At his uncharacteristic pause, she nods, gently trying to urge him to continue his train of thought. “I will have to be away for a while,” and in true Clavis fashion, he tries to soften the blow the best way he knows how.

“Oh, but don’t you both go missing me too much. I know just how to console my lovely, dearest wife-”

“Clavis.” If he insists on acting fine, then she will shoulder it for them both and allow him to save face.. this time. “I’ll miss you too, darling. Please come home safe.” With eyes that look like he is trying his best to hold back tears, Clavis dons his most convincing smile, gently pulling his wife in as closely as he comfortably can by her waist.

“I knew you couldn’t resist your handsome husband,” he murmurs, pressing a loving kiss to her lips, fitting every apology known to man in the sincere way Clavis cherishes her so. Pulling away, he rests his head atop hers, cursing his fate and drasted brother for nearly ruining yet another special occasion in his life.

…

As the fateful day comes, Clavis parts from his beautiful wife, reassuring her he will be fine just as much as she does him. Riding off atop his royal steed, he waves farewell without looking back, steeling himself and all of his best inventions to end this damn thing as early as physically possible. In his plan, he hopes to lure out the enemies and confuse them with his myriad of (smoke) bombs, so that he and Chevalier may be able to finish with time to spare.

“If I miss my child’s birth, this time I really will kill you,” Clavis threatens. At this, Chevalier simply scoffs and rides away. Cyran shakes his head, a mundane ordeal when it comes to these two.

As fate would have it, back at the castle, just a few days after the second and third prince had set out to quell skirmishes along the borders, his wife goes into labor. It would seem the third prince’s child was not a very patient one, wishing to meet everyone as quickly as possible. Panic spreads, the early arrival of the baby having the maids rush to get everything together shortly after her water breaks. Though her husband is not present in body, he is present with her in spirit, and in all of the reading they had done together to better prepare themselves for their little one’s arrival.

After many painful hours, a cry is heard, and thus the third prince of Rhodolite and his wife welcome a tiny baby Lelouch into the world. Hardly visible for how light a color it is, there are the smallest tufts of the signature lilac stands upon her head, and piercing eyes of gold. Having already decided upon possible names beforehand, his wife holds baby Felicia (a tribute to Clavis’ late mother Leticia) in her arms, exhausted but moved to tears over the life they created, together.

It isn’t until two full days later, that Clavis returns home. The congratulations he receives upon his arrival is both the best and worst of news, for he is grateful they are both alive and well, but terribly distraught to have missed the birth of his first child (and being unable to support his wife as she always does him). He quickly stops by the baths, not wanting to greet them with blood still on his person.

Gingerly, Clavis makes his way to where he finds both of his Lelouch girls, heart caught in his throat at the sight. Upon his arrival, their daughter is waving her hands around, trying to grab at her mother while she rocks her gently and sings. The gentle smile on her face brings back bittersweet memories, and an ache for a loved one he will never see again. He knows how loved their child will be, even in the most cursed depths of the royal court, and vows to never allow a hair on their heads harm, lest their enemies summon the nightmare that is Lelouchian fury above them. (Assuming they can read the warning letter.)

“Welcome home, Clavis.” Having spotted him out of the corner of her eye, Clavis’ wife brandishes her grin his way, the glow apparent from what he could only describe as “the light of a thousand- no, a million- no, a hundred million suns!”

“And say hi to your daddy, Felicia,” she coos, patting the baby’s back gently as she sits up further in bed. “But please don’t learn from his example.” Clavis theatrically slaps a hand over his chest, looking exasperated, as if he hasn’t the faintest clue what she could be referring to.

“What better example would she have to learn from, aside from my most lovely wife?” Clavis sits at the edge of the bed by her side, leaning in to place a kiss to her forehead, lingering at her scent. “Would you rather she learn from one of my brothers?” At her grimace, he laughs, husky and warm and everything deliciously Clavis.

“I was hoping Sariel could tutor her the way he did me,” she jokes, enjoying the look Clavis shoots her. “I’m kidding, love. Honestly.” He is still grimacing when she stifles her laugh. “Would you like to hold her?”

Nothing in the world could have prepared Clavis for the reaction of finally getting to hold his beautiful, delicate baby girl in his arms… only to have her immediately begin wailing. Clavis tries everything he can to get her to stop crying, but she is only finally comforted by the feel and smell of mom, who she has become most acquainted with in her two shorts days on this Earth. A true connoisseur knows how to relish in the saltiest of tears, but these in particular left a sting in his heart. But no matter, he won over his wife’s heart, and he’ll win over his daughter’s affections. Clavis understands the appeal of being in his wife’s arms, he must admit, only slightly jealous of all her attention not being on him now.

And if there’s anything that made Clavis happier than his wedding and the birth of his child, it’s that his little girl would prove to show her affections with signature Lelouch pitfalls. Clavis-patented, Yves-tested, Felicia-approved.

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mango-dolphin · 1 year

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playing a game with myself called "inventing a man and scaring myself with it"

Note: Not all of these predictions are meant to be taken literally, more figuratively/metaphorically/so on. You get it. Note 2: lighter the text, the more likely i think it is to be (in part or in full) true

ALSO. thank you @maxknightleyunofficial for the yuri box.

bingo transcribed below [with additional Author's notes!]:

Limbus Company Predictions

Row 1:

Sinner Number correlates to recruitment order. (Which, yes, would imply Dante joined LCB before Sinclair, Outis, and Gregor. No points)

Another character based on a poet (or philosopher) is introduced. HM: Ovid SWEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Meursault's source material is his backstory: he works for the LCB because they saved him from the death penalty

The E.G.O gear the Sinners are attuned to all corrode because the gear or their attunements are imperfect. As in: your LC nuggets got that good shit [because the LCB doesn't have Cogito & can't manufacture E.G.O gear: the Sinners have to "connect" to the Abnormality instead, however that works] / are better [than the LCB Sinners]

The psychosis warning is for multiple Cantos and/or side stories, but one of the Cantos needing that warning is Meursault's.

Row 2:

Sinclair goes tree mode. I will not explain any further.

Limbus Company wants to be the new L Corp, or at least be continually influencial to whoever takes the spot.

The Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil; [it will be] a constant theme. Dante cannot "eat" (the apple), and thus is not "doomed to die" like the Sinners.** **The Sinners are named thus because they "partook" in the fruit: these moments, from blissful yet tormentous naivete to a sudden sinful upheaval, are highlighted in their Cantos. Gregor's was cutting the apple (crossing the boundary from child to war machine); Rodion's was killing the tax collector (her desire to be a hero completely upended by her actions leading to the deaths of all her neighbors); Sinclair's was following Kromer / letting her into his life (specifically allowing Kromer into his basement and witnessing The Horrors)... **This could imply LCB as the serpent in the garden, but more than anything, Dante is Eve. [Iori could also be the serpent she's got the range. swagever. It'd be funny.] HM: Or even worse, the opposite is true.

Sinners will get upgraded versions of their base E.G.Os; These versions have relation to the shadows cast in their E.G.O portrait.

Ishmael's white whale is a Library of Ruina character.

Row 3:

Faust's Faustian Bargain is classically straightforward: she "sold her soul" for knowledge. HM: The Devil in this exchange is the LCB.

Outis is in the middle of her years-long Odyssey as we speak. HM: It's why she's one of the last Sinners

Purgatorio & Paradiso

Outis, Don Quixote, and Hong Lu are using fake names

Dante (prior to the events of the game) has been on the Outskirts of the City, or even left City limits. HM: They're from outside the city

Row 4:

Gregor is an abnormality / abnormality-like; Hermann's "gift" to him is that. [Honestly he'd be one in the same way Tomerry is, but further than that? He's more than just a genetically modified soldier is what I'm trying to get at.]

Iori

^ HM: Lion, Panther, and Wolf were sent to Dante as a test. [Idk what kind of test it'd be. Trust me.]

At least one Sinner will Distort, and possibly multiple Likely Hong Lu, Ryoshu, Rodion, Heathcliff, Faust, or Meursault. Don seems obvious.* *Colors are likelihoods, not pairs. Though I don't see it likely that they all will distort UNLESS SOMETHING FUCKING HAPPENS *ADDITIONAL hard mode (so hard it's mode): Meursault Distorted before joining Limbus

the golden boughs are the remnants of Carmen's body or essence / the byproduct of the Seed of Light. [That's NERVOUS SYSTEM, baybee!]

Dante goes to Paradiso alone / with only Vergilius (I forgot how it went :( idr if Dante Dante's Inferno went up there alone)

Row 5:

Something bad happened to Gregor's sister :( HM: She's still alive. This is a bad thing. [Leaving my wording vague here on purpose.]

Marie (L'Étranger) is in the Blue Team (with Demian); Gretchen (Faust) is in the Red Team (with Hermann). Gretchen switches teams? [Honestly likely Faust hasn't encountered Gretchen either!]

There is yuri moments and maybe even yaoi moments (not Yuri) SINCLAIR. Yi Sang, Outis, Ishmael, Meursault, Outis again, Hong Lu, HM: Outis Wife Penelope

Angela.

Dante knew Carmen

#mango japery #limbus company #projmoon #bingo #oh god transcribing that took forever. WOE #i'll stand by my golden bough theory it feels way too obvious #carmen LOVES haunting the fucking narrative have you guys taken a look at the decals & graphics in the UI lately #she's in the ID cards she's in the title cards are you fucking kidding me #could've sworn she's in more but my man..... my guy.......... *breathes heavily

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mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 4 months

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Harvest

Wei Wuxian had not thought much of it at first - it was not as though there was much to do in the Burial Mounds, especially not for a child as young as A-Yuan, so perhaps he had decided to entertain himself digging random holes into the dirt.

Sure, granny Wen would not find this half as amusing, with the way A-Yuan's little hands dug into the ground, sending flecks of dirt onto his freshly washed robes, but in a place like theirs, living on burrowed time and land that often felt like it would swallow them whole on a whim, laundry really was the least of their worries.

In fact, it was quite adorable watching A-Yuan finding little joys in his life, innocent to the horrors lurking around him as he played. If one were to only look at him, paint him out of the scenery onto an entirely different canvas, they would not know the harshness of the life he had to live and the loss he endured despite it being formless to his mind yet.

Wei Wuxian watched him play with a mix of feelings swirling in his gut. He was adorable, of course, so little and dedicated to his task, like the world hinged onto whatever little project he had in mind. But it was sad - no child should have to live, to grow, in a place like this, a grave of restless, resentful ghosts, in abject poverty, paying for the sins of his name but not his doing.

A-Yuan kept digging, though, seemingly unaware of Wei Wuxian's gaze. He did not seem to mind that some of the rocks he flung out of the earth were not actually rocks, nor did it bother him when the ground seemed to shift beneath his fingers like it was alive.

It worried Wei Wuxian that perhaps A-Yuan would pique the Burial Mounds' interest in him to the point it would claim its due - the formless voices had often threatened Wei Wuxian that they'd lure the boy away, take him and twist his soul and his body in the likeness of the undead hatred festering in those lands. What if something would reach from within the ground and take him? What if something took shape beneath his little fingers and snatched him into the depths of the earth, below layers and layers of pain, resentment and wrath, and Wei Wuxian would be unable to save him?

A-Yuan eventually did stop digging, much to Wei Wuxian's relief. It wasn't as though the Burial Mounds would be unable to hurt him now - but at the very least Wei Wuxian no longer felt like it was imminent and inevitable.

His confusion returned, though, when A-Yuan reached for his sparse collection of toys and items and picked up a little brush that he laid into one of the little holes he dug. Children often tend to emulate behaviors they see around them in play - and Wei Wuxiam's worries spiked again. Had he seen something happening in the Burial Mounds he should not have? Was something bothering him? Had he been having nightmares again?

Whatever the cause, Wei Wuxian could no longer watch quietly. Instead, he crouched to A-Yuan's level, watching him smooth dirt over his drawing brush.

"What are you doing, little radish?" He asked, keeping his voice light and level. "Don't like the brush anymore?"

"I am planting." A-Yuan replied simply, like what he had said had been obvious and did not require any more explanation.

"Planting?"

"Yes, planting! Like a seed! Didn't you say if you plant me in the ground, more kids will sprout next year? What if we can grow other things too?"

Wei Wuxian's gaze softened, fond and amused as he rose an eyebrow. Of course, it was a ridiculous thing he thought of to soothe A-Yuan's loneliness, being the youngest in the Wen refugee camp - to think A-Yuan actually believed it would happen was incredibly cute.

"What do you want to grow from a brush?" He asked again, smiling slightly.

"More brushes, of course! Auntie Qing broke hers again and has been using it like that, maybe we can grow her a new one."

Wei Wuxian looked down, the brush now buried in the shallow hole A-Yuan had dug. If only it was that easy...

A-Yuan reached for another item, this time it was a coin. He lifted it to show it to Wei Wuxian, like a master teaching his class. "I will plant this, and we will grow coins too. I heard granny told you we don't have much anymore."

Wei Wuxian sighed as he patted the boy's head. "Don't you worry about that. And don't eavesdrop on adult conversations again either."

A-Yuan flushed with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..." he quickly planted the little coin, "...but I can help!"

Wei Wuxian could not find it in himself to reply to that. Instead, he let the moment pass and then he turned to the little pile of things A-Yuan had brought. "Will you plant all these things?" The boy nodded.

There were some oddly shaped sticks, pieces of broken jewelry, a shred from a torn up robe and his little tiger doll. Not much.

"Even this one?" Wei Wuxian asked as he held up the doll. "You love this one."

"Many kids will be here when they sprout out of the ground, we will all need toys to play!"

With the sun nearly dipping below the horizon, it was time to retire away into the relative safety of the little huts the Wen community built for themselves with Wei Wuxian's help. A-Yuan's silly planting project would have to wait until the morning.

Wei Wuxian smiled, fondly, a hint of sadness in the tired upturn of his lips as he reached to dust off the boy's robe. "I'll finish up here, okay? Go wash up. It's almost time for dinner."

"But..."

"No arguing. It isn't safe at night." But he smiled a little, "We can keep planting more things tomorrow, we're letting the ground rest right now."

A-Yuan seemed to think over that statement and nodded a few seconds later. "Okay, see you at dinner!"

Wei Wuxian did not reply, waving the boy away as he ran to find his granny. Left alone with the little pile of unplanted "seeds" and the few little holes around, Wei Wuxian stared at them for a moment, chuckling dryly at the premise. If only the things they needed could be grown...

It was as the final rays of sun died out that Wei Wuxian realized that, even if that were true, none of the things he needed could be planted. He didn't even have a shred of them to use as seed.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wwx #lsz #writing attempts #this is inspired by me planting everything in my garden as a child thinking a plant would grow with the thing i planted as fruit

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insufferablelust · 24 days

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ten. 10 meltdowns later and i have yet to be able to comprehend 261. the pain is just too much, like why? thats like 2 strong protagonist destroyed in one arc. all he ever wanted was not give in into jujutsu world, have freedom for himself and his students, friends, Suguru, people he loved.

If being a child is not a sin, then why does he need to end in such a devastating way, Gege? a bounty on his head when he was born. Treated like a prize rather than a human being. Hunted all his life. Never felt any affection from his family because they don’t value him, they value his six limitless eyes. Had to use infinity to seal his protection. Losing his friends through terrible circumstances. Watched as his only best friend, the only one who ever saw him for what he truly was, deteriorated right before his eyes. Had to end said best friend so the world will be at peace, had to do it himself, carry the burden himself. Losing a part of himself in the process.

Try to built a life on top of the tragedy, making sure his students will have the youth Suguru and himself would have deserved. Making sure his students will someday become stronger than he ever had. Take in the responsibility to train and take care of a pupil from another clan, one that doesn’t see him as human either. Having to exist in a lifetime where the king of curses thrived inside his own student’s body. Protecting him from being destroyed by the higher up because he seldom believed that the boy deserved to have a youth and that its a right not a choice.

Having to acknowledge that his high school friend had loss his life to protect the students, the most disciplined man he probably ever met, the perfect exact opposite of himself. Having to endure another devastating revelation that his person was used after his passing, brain sewed to reveal the antagonizing curse controlling Suguru. Having to endure life in a limitless prison cube, because he knew that was never Suguru that captured him. Having to face the king of curses alone, and many curses before that. Subsequently loses his own life in the most tragic painful circumstances imaginable.

After all that… all the suffering, maybe just maybe I thought he can finally rest easy. Maybe meet Suguru in a beach, talk about how nice it is to just rest, no curses, no humans, no sorcerers. Maybe hoping one day Shoko will join them so they can take a leisure time for eternity, just not too fast, since Shoko is the only one left.

But no… His body and power was used as a weapon after his passing, consented by him prior and controlled by the very student he saved. No it isn’t yuuta’s fault at all. It’s just unbearable to try and digest the fact that even after his passing, he was treated and used as a weapon not honored as a fallen sorcerer hero, or respected like a human being.

Six eyes was not a curse, its supposed to be a blessing but he was treated as the exact opposite. Limitless was not limited, its supposed to be freeing but it became the sole reason of his own demise. Infinity means forever, and he did not even reach 30.

Why?

His eyes is bright ocean blue, soul is free as wide galaxy spread, heart is big as Japanese archipelago, smile is soft as zunda kikufuku, personality is bright as the red sun, knowledge is broad as the moon surface.

Why does he have to end that way?

Isn’t he the honored one? through heaven and earth, isn’t he the only honored and strongest one?

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art-bvrn · 3 months

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windows to the soul

✧ socials ✧ inprnt ✧ kofi ✧

we often hear about how eyes are the windows to the soul. i wanted to capture each of the origin companions’ eyes (souls) during the height of their personal quests. so here’s the thought process/background of each drawing:

SPOILERS BELOW IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED THE GAME

Astarion - when he looks towards Tav, asking them to help him complete the ritual. how desperate he looks to be free of the torment but also how conflicted he is deep down at having to sacrifice all the spawn. he knows now that cazador was just like him. but the power blinds him to the fact that he will become another cazador.

Gale - when he shares a moment of peace with Tav, watching the conjured sky as he accepts his death. he’ll sacrifice his life for a god who doesn’t care for him, thinking it’s for the best. a god that has taken years of his life and groomed him as a child. he doesn’t see any of that. he only sees that dying will atone for sins that are not even his to begin with.

Karlach - when she defeats enver gortash - the man who was responsible for her pain. yet, it doesn’t help her. it doesn’t bring back all the years she lost. it doesn’t take away the torment. it doesn’t change the fact that she’s dying. there is no glory and no vindication. only this overbearing despair.

Lae’zel - when she looks towards the sky with Tav. she has believed in her god. killed for her. bled for her. but her god is false. everything she believes to be true is not. she doesn’t know how to grieve the loss of her self - of ambitions unfulfilled. her love and pride for her people lay in limbo - a place where she has no choice but to face all these painful questions alone.

Shadowheart - when Tav tells her to do whatever she feels is right. that someone trusts her to trust herself - someone who only remembers bits and pieces of her life. she, who has unknowingly devoted her entire life to a god, now falters, knowing she will be punished for her blasphemy, and ultimately, her betrayal.

Wyll - when the devil asks him to renew his contract to save his father. sweet, young, wyll. only a child when he was cast out yet his love for his father - the man responsible for his exile, a man who he has not seen in years - remains steadfast. ultimately, neither choice grants him his freedom. not from guilt and not from mizora.

NOTE:

hello! i really wasn’t expecting that much love on my previous uploads for the bg3 characters 😭 to be honest i was expecting maybe the occasional bot but to have real people like and reblog and say nice things has truly been amazing!!!

i’ve always been a lurker more than a poster (aside from that one time in 2015 i tried to write imagines for fallout) so i’m still learning proper tumblr etiquette and what not

idk how to respond to the people who reblog and say such nice things in the tags 😭 but know that i see it and appreciate it fully <3

anyway thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, and/or commenting!!! :))

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definesanity · 1 month

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Dear God: Why Are Women So Attractive?

Marian Greco is a holy woman.

Her parents taught her ever since she was a child, along with her sisters.

The exception, naturally being Ye--... Schneider.

And after the events of 1929, the two had... somehow, braved The Storm.

And Marian cursed.

But that was a tale for another day. What matters now is the problem.

Namely, because of the women of the Suitcase.

The first she met, ironically enough, was Lilya. The Russian was from a different time, and is an ace pilot.

Above all, she was pretty. And also everything against to her way of childhood.

She was loud, at times obnoxious, prideful boarding, and sometimes exceeding, arrogance, and not to mention the excess drinking...

Normally, Marian could excuse the final. In her own opinion, she believes that drinking itself is not exactly a sin, but drinking in excess, was.

Still, she could not just go up to the Russian and ask her; Marian was now Arcanist, but her powers were still yet to be fully developed...

Which made it all the more stranger when, whenever Marian is around, Lilya slows down on her drinking.

Lilya looked at Marian out of the corner of her eye. "Somethin' wrong?"

"A-Ah, no, nothing." Marian replied instinctively, before shaking her head. "...Mind, there... is."

"The drinking, right?" Lilya replied instantly, waving her flask in her hand. "I heard from Vertin you're a holy woman, so I thought I'd best not go around insulting your Lord."

"Mm. I... thank you, for that. I am still getting used to... all this."

Lilya looked at Marian fully, her eyes not filled with warmth, but not ice, either. "I'm not the one to go to for advice... but, if I had to offer some, it's this: Don't stress over every single thing, or you're gonna start stressing over stress itself.

"And before you say anything, yes, I know: It ain't easy as said as it is done. But what's the point, if you won't be able to do if you're busy worrying about saying stuff?" Lilya shrugged. "My own take, feel free to leave it."

Marian blinked in surprise, and was stunned silent for a moment. Eventually, she found her words: "You would make for a good public speaker."

Lilya snorted. "Ha! Didn't expect that! Must mean I did something right, then!"

Lilya was... interesting, to say the least.

But Marian briefly wondered why it was that she looked oddly cute, like a fluffy bear...

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

Marian was beginning to doubt.

It was something that gnawed at the back of her mind for ages, even before The Storm of 1929.

If God was there, why did He always give Marian and her family the hardest of trials?

She decided to sit down, and ask the worst person possible. But hey, any advice is better than none, right?

"...I'mma be honest with ya." An-An Lee said. "I ain't religious. Never have been. Ya still want my advice or...?"

Marian nodded. "Please. I... would like an outsider's perspective on it."

An-An Lee kicked back a bit, sitting on her chair with her feet on the table. "Well, let's start from that; God is granting you His most difficult challenges, right?"

A nod.

"So, let's say you were a kid, still, who would have heard numerous stories of God at this point. What would you say the reason is?"

"Because He has a plan, not just for me, but for everyone." Marian replied without hesitation. The Ghost Hunter hummed.

"And how about now?"

Marian paused to think. What would she say, now?

Her faith had been shattered the moment that she was saved and rescued, but it was her transformation into an Arcanist that really made her realise it.

God... what was His plan, in turning her into something hated by humanity, his own creations?

"...I'm not sure." came the eventual reply.

Even still, An-An Lee remained calm, and gave her a reassuring smile in response. "I'm no religious girl, but I can say that... you've got a plan yourself. And it's a good one. So, hey, don't let anyone try an' lead ya astray, la?"

Marian looked at the grinning face, and found herself smiling back.

Curses, what has she gotten herself into...?

#ryuusei's works #reverse 1999 #r1999 #Marian Greco #schneider #reverse 1999 schneider #r1999 schneider #reverse 1999 lilya #r1999 lilya #an an lee

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sephirthoughts · 2 months

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Child of Chaos

Vincent Valentine is awakened by Sephiroth, instead of Cloud's party. He quietly saves the world, by defeating Sephiroth an entirely different way, before the big fight ever begins.

******TRIGGER WARNINGS: INCEST, NONCON, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (not the main couple)********

******DEAD DOVE IS SERIOUS DON'T READ IT IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT*******

“These are innocent civilians.”

“There are no innocents, here. They are all complicit.”

“Sephiroth—”

“You said you wanted to help me, Vincent. These are my enemies.”

You said you wanted to help me. You wanted to help me. Help me.

The man’s face and voice warped into hers, making his head erupt with painful, disorienting static, disjointed images of faces and conversations, shattering reality like a mirror.

Help me. Enemies. My enemies. Vincent. Help me.

It took less than an hour to turn the entire town into a hellscape of fire and blood. At the reactor, a village man confronted them. He was cut down before he spoke a full sentence. Impaled on Masamune, and left to bleed out, on the concrete floor.

The man’s daughter chased after them, dragging the sword with her. Before she got anywhere near Sephiroth, the cannon thunder report of the Cerberus triple-shot rent the air.

Her chest exploded, into a gory mass of crimson and exposed, white bone. She was dead before she hit the ground. Another sin to add to the tally.

Vincent stepped over her body as he holstered the weapon, and crossed his arms on his chest, under his cloak. His hands never shook where Sephiroth could see.

A young SOLDIER under Sephiroth’s command, and a golden-haired teenaged recruit from the village, attempted to stop them, on the way out. Sephiroth quickly dealt with the SOLDIER, while the teenaged boy wept over the corpse of the girl.

“Leave him,” Sephiroth smiled, when Vincent leveled his barrel at the blonde head. “It’s not time for him to die, quite yet.”

This was the way they were. Sephiroth leading and Vincent following silently behind. Unquestioning. Unconditional. Just as he had done, since the day the coffin opened, and he saw that face looking down at him.

Her face, but not quite. Too beautiful. Too idealized. Like a fanciful rendering of familiar features, by an artist. That face smiled—her same knowing little half-smile—as the strong hand reached out and pulled him up from the darkness, out of the nightmare.

Since that day, this man had held the first and last place in his heart. This was his atonement. To serve the child, having so utterly failed the mother. To follow him into the river of blood, into the mouth of madness, into the flames of hell, forsaking all others, even to the end of the world.

This…this was love. Wasn’t it? Abject devotion, unswerving loyalty, abandonment of free will—to raze your soul to the ground, rip out the core of self, and fill every fiber of your being with the object of your worship.

“How old were you, when he killed you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“I guess that makes me your elder,” Sephiroth chuckled.

Vincent didn’t understand the joke, but it was true enough. It wasn’t like he’d been aging or accumulating life experience. Vincent Valentine died thirty years ago. This body was forged from Chaos, immortal and nearly indestructible. A beautiful shell full of demonic poison. The perfect vessel for Sephiroth’s deranged design.

“There is no one I can trust, but you, Vincent,” he said, one day. “No one who knows me. No one who understands me. No one who has suffered like I have.”

They fell into bed together, as naturally as any lovers. It began subtly and progressed gradually. Touches that lingered too long. Intense, exclusionary eye contact. The growing disregard for the other’s personal space. When the final boundary was breached, Sephiroth led and Vincent followed, unquestioning, as always.

Deep-green eyes looked down into his, as silver hair fell like a curtain around his face. “You are the only one who belongs to me. The only one I love.”

That lofty, feline demeanor vanished when they fucked. Sephiroth was wild, ravenous, almost desperate. Rolling over him like a tidal wave. Devouring his body like fire. Like he would consume him and integrate every molecule of him fully into himself.

Sephiroth’s affection was a force of nature, that would have annihilated anything else it touched, but Vincent could withstand it. This was love.

They had been lovers for half a year, when Sephiroth finally struck, with the poisoned blade he’d been concealing in his embrace, all this time.

He had stripped Vincent and bent him over a heavy, stainless-steel table. Lifting one of his knees onto the table, to put him in an extremely submissive position, he rocked into him with maddening deliberateness, sliding almost all the way out, before plunging ever so slowly in again.

Only when Vincent was writhing beneath him, arching his back and begging, did Sephiroth speed his pace, finally giving him enough depth and friction. Vincent came with a strangled moan, spurting sloppy, milk-white spatters all over the glossy steel.

Just at that critical moment, Sephiroth leaned down over him, and a big, leather-gloved hand grabbed him by his jaw, forcing him to look up. A few meters in front of them, in the dark, a screen flickered on, displaying a page of lab notes, two photographs, and three genetic profiles.

“How does it feel, father,” Sephiroth purred, his breath hot and wet on his ear. “To have your son inside you?”

Vincent broke, under the weight of the sudden, devastating blow, but he was pinned to a steel table, by Sephiroth’s huge, superhuman body, and Sephiroth was still fucking him.

“It…hurts,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, against the wave of nausea, the roaring chaos, beating against his skull, straining to burst its bonds.

“All this time—pretending you didn’t know,” Sephiroth taunted, punctuating his phrases with deep, vicious thrusts. “But you had an excuse. An airtight—justification. She told you I was his, after all. But you never believed it. You knew I was yours.”

Vincent’s ragged breath fogged the shiny steel under his face. “I didn’t. I didn’t know.”

“You did! How could you not!” Sephiroth growled.

“I n—never touched her. How could I know? Even if I had. He k—he killed me. Turned me into this thing. What could I do?”

“Shut your lying mouth!” Sephiroth grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head on the table, so hard he saw stars. His voice had lost its silky, mocking drawl and turned into a snarl of uncontrolled rage. “You knew about me! You knew what they were using your own child for! And you chose to hide yourself away in the dark! To sleep through it all! You coward! You worthless wretch!”

“I never knew. Never wanted any of this,” Vincent pleaded. “I loved her. I love y—”

A gloved hand clamped tightly over his mouth and that smoky voice dropped back into its taunting register.

“Hush now. I’m not a child, anymore. I don’t need your lies, nor do I want your love.” Sephiroth slid his hands down onto Vincent’s narrow waist, rocking his hips slowly, in a lascivious mockery of tenderness, that was more unbearable than straightforward brutality. “All I want is to have you just the way you are. Helpless, beneath me. Humiliated and suffering, begging for mercy. You can give me that, at least, can’t you father?”

“N—no.”

Sephiroth yanked his head back again, to look into his face. “What did you say?”

“I said no,” Vincent rasped. “I won’t—I won’t beg for mercy.”

The catlike pupil slits narrowed, and he bared his teeth in a malevolent smile. “You think I can’t make you, even with your demonic strength?”

“You can’t,” Vincent doggedly persisted. “I won’t beg for mercy. I don’t want it. This is what I deserve. I love you. I’m so—”

“No! Stop saying it!” Sephiroth roared, slamming his head onto the table again, and again.

“I’m s—sorry,” Vincent choked out, crimson droplets spattering the steel. “Do anything you want to me. I’ll love you, no matter what.”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!!”

Sephiroth flipped him roughly onto his back and wrapped his gloved hands around his neck, strangling him with force enough to snap steel girders.

Tears trickled down Vincent’s temples. His scarlet eyes rolled back in his head, but he kept mouthing out the words, as blood streamed from his nose and gurgled up between his lips.

Sephiroth gave a roar of incomprehensible rage and pain, like a wounded beast, then suddenly he was clinging to him, pushing himself inside, kissing him frantically, as his hot tears splashed onto Vincent’s cheeks.

Vincent’s chest split with agony; with grief and love and sorrow and longing…a hurricane of emotions, too tempestuous to comprehend.

He had a son. Someone of his own. Someone who belonged to him.

His son was in pain, suffering even more than he was.

His son was a violent megalomaniac, bent on destroying the world.

His son was fucking him, kissing him with a mouth full of blood, weeping on his face.

He did the only thing he could. He threw his arms around him and kissed him back, with everything he had.

“Give it all to me,” he breathed, between urgent kisses. “All your pain, all your rage, all your hatred—I’ll take it all. Give it to me and let me carry it for you. Let me love you.”

Sephiroth gave a shuddering cry and came, plunging wildly into him, while his big, thick cock pulsed and spurted, flooding his insides with slippery-hot seed. He thrust through the spasms, like he was trying to fuck every last drop into him, then he collapsed on top of his body, buried his face in the crook of his neck, and wept silently.

His black wing was extended, hanging limply to the side. Vincent stroked the silky feathers with his fingertips, pressing his cold lips to a warm, sweat-damp forehead. Their long hair, ink-black and brilliant silver, lay tumbled about and mingled together on the table, a half-angelic, half-demonic halo, around their heads.

“How can you claim to love me,” Sephiroth said, after a long while.

“Because it’s true. I do love you,” Vincent replied, wearily.

“You can’t. Not the way that I mean.”

“I love you any and every way that there is. You are part of me and you are everything to me. If you burned the world to ashes tomorrow, or if you turned from that path and slept in the earth with me, forever, I would love you the same.”

“I knew I was your son. When I woke you, in your coffin, I already knew.”

“I know.”

“I raped you.”

“I was willing.”

“I beat you.”

“I was just as willing. Sephiroth.” He put both hands on that perfect face. A face so like his own, that it seemed only a willful act of self-delusion could ever have made him believe this man wasn’t his son. “Fuck me, beat me, torture and dismember me, if you wish. Whatever you desire, I am willing. Anything.”

Silver brows lowered, and deep-green eyes turned away. “Nonsense. No one truly means it, when they say such dramatic things.”

“If you believe that, then…maybe it’s you who doesn’t mean it.”

“You do not love me, father,” Sephiroth spat, pushing himself up abruptly. “No one loves me. In case you’ve failed to pay attention, in these past months, I am a monster.”

Vincent sat up with him. “The monsters are not us, but the ones who did this to us. The ones who made us into these things, against our will. The ones who called you a hero, until you disobeyed.”

“It doesn’t matter what I do,” Sephiroth sneered. “Even if I had been a good dog all my life, they’d have turned on me, one day. Just like they turned on you.”

“They will always fear us,” Vincent sighed. “There is no one in the world like us. No one else who can understand us. But we understand each other. Even if we have no one else, we have each other.”

Sephiroth gave a cold snort. “Then, you expect me to believe that you would stand and defy the world, with me. That you would remain by my side, as my partner and my lover, knowing that you are my father.”

“I have said I’m willing, over and over, but you have yet to listen. Sephiroth, lay down your arms. Take off your armor, for me. Let me love you.”

Sephiroth didn’t reply, but he sat still, sullenly compliant, while his harness was unbuckled. The pauldrons clattered to the floor. The gloves and leather coat joined the crimson cloak, and the gold boots and gauntlet, on the pile, followed by the black boots and trousers.

All these months, he had never fully undressed, when they had sex. For the first time, they were naked, together. Gazing into one another’s faces. So alike, they could be taken for twins, only on opposite ends of the color spectrum—one black and red, the other white and green.

Sephiroth had dropped the mask, and his mocking half-smile was nowhere to be seen. His large, serpentine eyes were red rimmed, and the tip of his nose was touched with pink. He looked…tired. It may have been the most human the nearly seven-foot-tall angelic superbeing had ever appeared.

Vincent’s perpetually disheveled black hair hung over his face, obscuring one luminous, sunset-colored iris. Sephiroth reached out and brushed it back.

It was the slightest gesture, but it was like the touch that breaks the surface tension of a soap bubble, and causes the thing to burst. All at once, the walls were down and they were connected, intimate, corresponding halves of a single whole.

When Sephiroth took him in his arms again, to kiss him, his black wing circled protectively around Vincent’s back. He touched his face and worked his fingers into his hair, breathed his scent deeply into his lungs.

This man was his own. They belonged to one another, by blood and by choice. This…this was love. It was twisted and mutilated, but it was love, nonetheless. The rules didn’t apply to them, anyway.

These broken children, made into gods and demons, before they were even allowed to become men. Discarded weapons, crawling in the darkness, too horribly disfigured to ever be healed. Too riddled with hatred and grief and sin and obsession, to ever rejoin humanity. In this world, they would always be alone. But from now on, they would be alone, together.

———

It was early evening, and a balmy breeze ruffled Vincent’s cloak and long hair. He was standing alone, on a clifftop, staring off toward the west, where the sunset painted the sky in a riot of reds and golds, to rival the colors in his own eyes. This was a regular ritual of his—becoming lost in memory, and lapsing into long states of conscious unawareness.

He didn’t even notice, when strong arms circled his waist, from behind, and a chin came to rest on his shoulder. He only wound a lock of long, silver hair around his fingers, and toyed absently with it, as he gazed into the middle-distance. Dissatisfied with being ignored, Sephiroth nuzzled into his neck and bit him, till he emerged from his ruminations.

Vincent yanked on the strand of hair, as revenge for being bitten. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“As well as I ever feel,” Sephiroth replied lazily, pushing his nose into the hollow behind his ear. “Jenova screams in my head, night and day, demanding that I obey her and go on as we intended. I will let her have her tantrum, until she tires of it. My will is too far superior to hers, for her to make any real trouble.”

“After everything we have done, you have truly altered your purpose? You will let it all go and walk away?”

He sighed and looked over Vincent’s shoulder, out at the valley far below. “This world, like all worlds, will end, one day. Whether it happens now, or in a hundred thousand years, what is that to me? I am no longer interested in meddling with the process. When the day comes—when this doomed race annihilates itself, and all life in the world is ended—then you and I will return, and see my design fulfilled.”

Vincent closed his eyes and let his head tip back, to rest on Sephiroth’s chest. “And until then?”

“Until then…I don’t know. I suppose I’ll take up a hobby.”

“Cloud Strife will not abandon his vengeance, simply because all of his allies have fallen. You killed his mother and I killed his woman. He will continue to pursue us.”

His perfect lips curled with a hint of that old, bloodthirsty smile. “I should hope so. We might get bored, otherwise.”

#ff7 rebirth #vincent valentine #sephiroth #sephiroth x vincent #vincent is sephiroth’s parent #tw noncon #tw inc*st #dead dove do not eat #minors dni #18+ only #18+ content #tw major character death #not the main couple they live #happy ending #in a very fucked up way #don’t like don’t read #evil vincent is not good at evil

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lanitaminaj · 3 months

Text

lapvona 🐑🧺

a story about love, lust, and love.

literalmente based on ottessa moshfegh’s lapvona.

cw: heavy religious themes, mentions of abuse, death, mentions of bodily fluids (just vomit i know im sorry).

armin loved the quiet of the forest.

nothing, save for the occasional birdsong or the swaying of the sycamore trees, manifested to bother him while he prayed.

his ivory knees, jaded with ruby-red scarring and amethyst-purple bruises, pressed against the roughened surface of the cliff's rocky edge. across his view was the waterfall; the constant stream constant, yet hushed. to the right of it, carved naturally by the seasons and time, was the face of Jesus Christ himself.

that's what the sunshine-blond boy found himself praying to every sunday.

he prayed for his mother and father, singing soft hymns to himself as he pictured what he could remember of their soft, doughy faces. he prayed for his grandfather, the knowledge of him being devoured by titans caused a shiver to run down his spine. armin never prayed for himself, because in doing so he'd be committing the third out of the seven deadly sins.

"God has given you what you need," armin could hear pastor erwin's voice ringing in his ears. "God has given you what you deserve. what, my dear child, could you possibly be pesting God for if naut for earthly, petty whims?"

an icy breeze rushed through his tresses. opening his eyes, the lone boy was quick to discover how the once river-blue sky had shifted to that of a tangerine-orange hue. the birds had stopped chirping, their brawny wings streaking through the clouds as they flew.

armin knew he would have to return to his village, his belly rumbling in both hunger for supper and anxious thoughts. desperately wanting to recite a prayer for himself as he would make the short travel back home, he ultimately thought against it. it wouldn't be wise to anger God right when nightfall would arrive soon.

his scrawny, little legs stood up from his knees, his tattered shoes crunching the leaves and twigs under his soles.

his sapphire eyes squinted at the amber lights of his village's torches.

not a lot of villagers remained out, save for a few adults who'd been smoking rosemary cigarettes as they watched the children run around and play.

entering his own home, a tiny home made of ivory cement and olive-green wood finishes, armin shrieked as he felt a smack landing on his right cheek.

"where've you been?" eren's cool, baritone voice questioned. when armin didn't answer, the brunet was quick to give the blond another blow.

"you can't answer me now?" eren hissed, his cyan-blue eyes focusing on how iridescent tears rolled down armin's ballerina-pink cheeks.

"i was with God," armin sniffled, his hand soothing his aching face.

"and you didn't bother to let me know?" eren chastised, his head cocking as he endulged in the other boy's agony. "don't think God would find that pleasing, would he?"

armin anxiously shook his head, his babydoll eyes wide and glossy from his suffering. how pathetic, eren thought. he strode towards him, nonetheless, his lengthier legs pausing right before armin's shaking form. his rough palms cradled the lamb's warm cheeks, a cruel smile emerging on his lips as his tongue peeked out to lick the remaining tear droplets.

salty, eren internally voiced. yet tastes like honeysuckle. there was a sudden swell in his chest, his shoulders subconsciously straightening in pride. he had a certain hunger for seeing the shorter boy like this; a teary mess underneath his hands. his cock hardened at how armin hiccuped, how armin sought the comfort from eren as if these weren't the same hands which tormented him.

"God wouldn't like how my little lamb seems to wander off without his shepard knowing, hm?" eren's voice whispered. his left hand's thumb gently caressed armin's cheek, before his fingers spiraled down to rescue the boy's bottom lip from his own gnawing teeth. "i take care of you," eren purred. "i bathe you, i feed you, i home you. the least you can do is tell me where you're wandering off too."

armin's peach-toned lips wobbled. he felt so stupid, ashamed of how he disappointed not only eren with his insolence, but how he abashed God, too.

"i'm sorry," armin softly cried, his only comfort being a consoling 'good boy' that slipped from eren's lips.

"bed time," the silk of eren's words stated, the warmth of his fingers banishing from armin's face. the blond's shoulders dropped at the loss of affection. "you've had enough fun for the day."

wordlessly, armin found himself in the little space that they deemed a kitchen. in a wooden bucket was days-old rain water, the water in which the blond palmed at after his fingers has rustled through the amber-colored honeypot on the tiny room table. emerging with a mint leaf, he rubbed the plant against his teeth before using the water in his other hand to gargle his throat before he spat it back into the bucket. they would be getting new rain, anyways. it would be raining someday this week according to marco, the town's forecaster.

stepping just five feet into the bedroom, armin stripped himself of his soiled clothes as he tossed it into the pile that eren had already made.

the brunet himself had been laying on the straw-filled mattress, the sheepskin blanket pushed off his bare, sweat-shimmering body. armin joined him, his knees making a dip in the mattress before his body peacefully laid. he could feel eren stir beside him, his soft words of 'goodnight, pet', lulled armin to sleep.

eren had gotten angry again at armin the next morning.

the poor doe couldn't even remember why. all he could recall through his watercolor thoughts was eren throwing a straw-woven basket at his blond head.

not wanting to upset the irate man any longer, armin decided to visit mikasa's little cottage.

his bare feet trudged through her wild-grown lawn, the little bunnies hopping wildly as they sensed his arrival. they leaped away, however, when the baby approached her door to knock.

"mikasa?" his honeyed voice questioned, his darting eyes peering in through her windows to try and spot her.

it didn't take long for her to answer, much to armin's joy. mikasa simply opened her door, her lavender smell dancing through the boy's nostrils.

"hi, baby," mikasa greeted, her right hand reaching up to tuck a few loose, golden strands behind armin's ear. "what's wrong, hm?"

"eren's mad at me," the boy confessed, making sure to widen his eyes to garner extra sympathy. "cause i went to go see God last night."

"why would eren be mad at you for that?"

"cause i didn't tell him," armin's voice trailed off. his ultramarine eyes looked anywhere but mikasa's eyes.

eventually, desperation got the best of him.

"can i come in?" his bambi voice asked. "please? i need you."

"yes, baby," mikasa cooed, widening the door behind her to let the boy in.

the lavender scent, coupled with a whiff of vanilla, grew as armin laid on her wool-textured mattress. he dug his nose into her velvety pillow, his nostrils harshly inhaling every remnant of mikasa.

he could hear the ruffle of her cotton, pearl-white dress. he could feel the dip in weight on the mattress, the boy picturing mikasa on her knees as if they were on the temple's pews. he began wondering what her knees would look like reddened, her pale skin all cherry-blushed as eren commanded her to her knees.

"come 'ere," mikasa adored, rocking the blond in her nurturing arms. "i've got you," she whispered.

armin knew that eren and mikasa fucked occasionally. he pretended he hadn't been conscious during it, feigning sleep when the brunet forced the blond to seek bedding on the wooden-floor. he'd mellow his gentle breathing, the young man trying not to gasp and whine when he'd hear the slaps of eren's pelvic against mikasa's hips. his cheeks would flush, the sounds of mikasa's erotic whines and eren's obscene words caused the poor boy's cock to angrily harden.

in those times, armin felt enraged. he felt maddened at how eren's cock was made to illicit beautiful melodies from mikasa's throat, infuriated at how mikasa was graced with the rage and coarseness that was eren's harsh fucking. it was supposed to be him who'd experience eren's aggressive nature. him who eren's misdirected anger shall be pointed at. him who would endure eren's wrath.

like how God intended.

in an episode of furiousness, armin found himself wanting more.

"can i suck?" armin questioned, his fingers subconsciously fingering the trim of mikasa's dress.

"yes," the young woman simply answered. she pulled the top of her dress down, her pillowy tits out for display. armin's peachy-lips wrapped around one of them, his eyes shutting as he nursed from her as if imitating a newborn doe.

in these little moments, he determined that this was his revenge against eren.

they laid there for a spell, unmoving except with the occasional melody sung and a soft suckle.

armin supposed it must've came natural for the brunette. he hadn't known much, but he was aware of how mikasa had been there for eren after the passing of his mother. he assumed mikasa must've nursed eren like this, too.

that only made armin suck harder, a soft hiss emerging through mikasa's gritted teeth. good.

by nightfall, mikasa had sent armin home with a straw-basket filled with loafs of baked bread, jars of lamb's milk, and freshly plucked figs. she offered a kiss on the side of his cheek, her soft words of "be good for eren, baby," hummed the young boy a goodnight.

armin felt himself getting angry all over again.

arriving home, armin set the basket on the kitchen's counter, carefully examining the tiny home to determine eren's whereabouts.

he wasn't home.

trucking into the bedroom, the blond found himself getting ready for bed. shedding his clothes, he tossed them into the familiar pile when something shiny caught his eye.

a pearl. a pale, opalescent pearl shone greatly underneath eren's pillow, its gleam so great even under the nightly lack of light. lifting up the pillow, armin discovered a letter, the paper folded and the contents slightly smudged with octopus ink. his fingers grasped onto it, his cerulean eyes squinting as he struggled to encode the words.

mikasa, you have been the subject of my dreams for as i can remember. my mind often pictures your face, my thoughts serving as pictures of how your body trembles while under mine. it's your voice which sings in my ears, every laugh, every moan, every gasp more beautiful with each tone. you're the woman in which God intended, the woman in which shall belong to me. there's been word that the northerners are experiencing much more pleasantries than us down in lapvona. i plan on wedding you, mikasa. i plan for you to bear my fruits in the swell of your womb. father fritz had agreed to wed us, and from then we shall make our ascent up north. as for the boy, I'm not sure. he's not intelligent, and runs around prancing like a doe. he's not capable of many things, and yet i find him endearing. we could leave him here, i suppose, however the boy would never survive on his own. perhaps he can tend to our farm animals, or entertain our young ones up north. i understand you're quite fond of him, and so i assume this'll be a bridge that we will cross in the near future. for now, just understand that you are my woman and my priority. your being takes hold in my life, and in my heart. yours truly, eren.

by the end, armin found himself shaking with unadulterated rage. he knew he was disobeying god with his envy, his jealousy and outrage at how he wasn't eren's prime concern. he wasn't who eren would inflicted his chaos onto, the blond not deemed worthy enough to indulge in the brunet's fury.

he wasn't worthy enough to reach salvation. how could armin reach heaven, when only the select few were cherry-picked by God Himself? how could armin prove to God that he was noble enough to be chosen, when there would be no suffering to be endured?

"Jesus Christ had sacrificed himself for us," pastor erwin's voice echoed. "he endured crucification just for us, just for us to live in righteousness. therefore what makes you worthy enough to join the Lord in heaven? what sufferings had you endured? what pain had you sorrowed that could be measurable to the pain felt by the Christ?"

without cognition, without discernment, without reason, armin's mind had settled on one thought.

the blond is going to kill eren.

he fled to annie's the next morning. the ambivalent girl found herself feeling suspicious at armin’s sudden visit, yet nonetheless fulfilled his pondering questions.

“well,” her steady voice spoke. “the mandrakes cause hallucinations. they’re rather hypnotic, armin, so i’d stay away from those.” she pulled out a box from above a cabinet, the silver-plated chest carved with an artistic rendition of Christ's crucification. she unlatched it, turning the chest around for armin to see the next root.

“you can try mugwort,” she shrugged, holding the plant in her fingers before dropping it back into the velvety-cushioned interior. “it’s not as harmful, so it wouldn’t really kill. it would just lightly harm you, however.”

armin stood wordlessly, his vision distorted as he heavily contemplated between the two plants.

and then, "do you have anything stronger?"

annie stood just as soundlessly, her turquoise blue eyes sizing the strange boy up. she struggled to decipher what exactly brought the young man to her's, what cause the blond to ask for the strongest poison she had.

her silence arose anxiety in armin, the pregnant pause causing the insistent man to blurt out an, "i'll pay you extra."

well, then. annie turned to open a cabinet behind her, the stoic woman re-emerging with a tiny, cream-colored, wool bag. she dropped it on the counter, the woman taking a small step backwards which went unnoticed by her, but acknowledged by armin.

"belladonna", her voice dropped, her form moving slightly over the bag as she leaned over the counter. armin leaned in, too, the young man feeling a hint of arousal from sharing a potential secret. the tips of annie's little lips glazed gently against the lobes of armin's ears, a shiver running down his protruding spine.

"or," she whispered, the boy struggling to not laugh as the movement of her lips against his skin tickled him. "as you might know it as, deadly nightshade."

she backed away quickly, yet gracefully, like a lake swan. it was as though the short conversation hadn't occurred.

"what are you willing to give me for it?" annie questioned, humorously observing how armin struggled to swiftly pull whatever it was out his worn-down cotton pants. he managed to have it swaying in his hand rather quickly; a solid-gold rosary decorated with red-ruby jewels shone beautifully, even in the dim light of annie's shop.

she didn't question where he'd got such a luxurious rosary from. he didn't feel rather inclined to answer it, too ashamed to admit he'd stolen it from the praying hands of the Virgin Mary statue from the temple. annie rarely visited the church, anyways. she wouldn't have realized, or snitched.

"deal?" armin questioned, bringing it closer to allow the rosary to hypnotize annie into accepting the deal.

it worked. "deal."

she took the dangling jewels from armin's fingers, her left hand shoving the little wool bag towards the blond's direction.

"they're in blueberry form," she explained, as if it was a rapid disclaimer she was obligated to give. "don't leave it around anyone who'd mistaken them for such."

"yes, annie."

"and when you use them, make sure to use every last one. it'll cause harm onto you if anyone were to discover you with them, and harm onto me if anyone were to know i sold them to you."

"yes, annie."

"okay, then," the blonde breathed, her stress alleviated as she chose to trust armin with the poison.

the young man was headed for the door, poison bag tucked into his pocket, before annie's curiosity got the best of her.

"hey, armin," she called, absentmindedly playing with the lobe of her ear. "what exactly did you need it for, again?"

armin, with the sweetest smile he mustered, swiveled delicately around as he answered with his dulcet voice.

"for rats."

armin hadn't known how to bake a pie.

he settled on making oatmeal. it was easy enough; couple of oats, lamb's milk, and belladonna blueberries.

he served it beautifully on their little wooden table; a rusted spoon on the left side of the bowl, with a cup of freshly-squeezed orange juice on the left.

admiring his work, the blond didn't anticipate eren's soft footsteps as he sauntered wordlessly into the tiny kitchen.

"what's all this?" the brunet slurred, the young man still blanketed by sleep. he blinked, fighting the rest that blurred his vision. his cyan-eyes focused on the display before him, before they looked up to meet with armin's baby-blue eyes. armin could swear he'd seen surprise behind those almond eyes, and something deeper. something complex that the blond couldn't name.

"you made breakfast?" eren questioned, his veiny hands pulling back the table's seat before sitting gently on it. "for me, pet?"

armin blushed. "yes."

"what's this?" eren probed, his fingers grabbing the spoon before he fished at the belladonna berries, raising them up to inspect. "berries? they're not in season, lamb. where'd you get these?"

the blond tensed, fighting the urge to pull his bottom lip into his teeth. it was a habit he'd done when he'd conducted a lie against eren, a habit that the meaner man soon picked up on. now, the only thing armin's little habit earned was a sharp slap on his cheek in response.

luckily for armin, eren hadn't questioned him again. he indulged in the oatmeal, his face cringing in the flavor of the berries.

"how sour," he commented, quickly washing it down with the orange juice.

armin's bottom lip was held captive by his teeth. he silently watched eren eat, the twinkle in the blond's eyes dimming with each spoonful eaten.

once he was done, he shoved his now empty bowl back. he got up, his body carrying him to the bedroom. armin followed.

the blond watched eren return back to bed. the brunet's tired form moved to the left, patting the vacant, lush spot near him.

"get in, little lamb."

armin complied. he sunk into the bed, letting himself be pulled into eren's side. he always did love how he smelled; pinecone and earth's dirt. his nose dug into eren's armpit, breathing in his masculine musk. he could feel the brunet's arm wrapping around him, his thumb caressing armin's pale stomach.

"my pet," eren purred, pressing a soft kiss on armin's golden fringe. armin curled deeper into him, his nose pressing farther into eren's warm skin. "i've got to tell you something later, lamb," eren rasped, a sudden cough bursting through his chest. he coughed for a good minute, causing armin to jerk his head up. he settled back down, however, a sudden wave of guilt boiling in his stomach.

"wake me up in a bit," eren waved, his eyelids fluttering as they shut. his lips let out a string of coughs, a string of spit shimmering on them as he spat on the wooden floor.

he fell asleep rather quickly, his breathing labored and harsh.

armin laid, incapable of sleeping as his thoughts raced with worries and sorrows. thou shalt not kill.

armin's breathing hurried, soft little huffs marched out his lips as the realization began to sink in. he got up from under eren's heavy arm, his shaky hands resting on the brunet's stomach.

"eren?" his small voice questioned, his fingers gripping onto his torso. he rocked his body slightly, in an attempt to wake the taller man up.

no response.

armin began to get frantic; his hands jolted eren's sleeping form, little tears began to form in the ducts of his blue eyes.

"eren?" he cried, madly thrusting the boy as he outwordly prayed to God.

"please, please," the pale man whined. he hoped that he could reverse it, hoped that God could hear his pleas and take mercy on this mistake. "please, eren. don't die. God, please don't kill him."

he rested his ear on eren's chest, the blond fighting the urge to not vomit on the brunet's wool sweater.

no heartbeat.

wildly, armin sieged eren's wrist. he pointed his index and middle finger into two standing pillars, pressing them sharply on eren's flesh. no pulse, either.

armin wailed, his body jerking from the bed as he fell harshly onto the ground. he yelped before stammering up to his feet.

"eren?" armin sobbed, taking in eren's slain form. the blond moved in, his head laying on eren's unmoving chest. he laid there, armin's breathing irregular and labored from howling.

he failed to notice the sound of the front door opening, or the little pat-pat-pats of footsteps.

"eren?" another voice, a female's, rung out. "you in here, honey?"

armin's spine straightened.

"armin?" the patting of footsteps entered the room. the blond didn't have to turn around to recognize who'd been calling him. he immediately knew based off the lavender scent.

"baby?" mikasa's soft voice questioned, her gentle hand rubbing against armin's bouncing back. "what's wrong? why're you crying?"

armin couldn't answer her; too ashamed, too regretful.

"honey?" mikasa tried again, before her babydoll-eyes caught onto eren's still form. she pressed a smooth hand against his forehead, before dragging it down to his heart.

she stilled.

"eren?" her voice rose, her actions mimicking that of armin's as she gently shook his arm. "baby?"

she soon realized, however, the tragic scene before her.

she screeched, her cries more piercing and gut-wrenching compared to what armin produced. her upper-body melted into eren's chest, her shrieking face burrowing into his richly, eren-scented, sweater. as if her love and horror would bring him back to life.

armin lifted himself off the bed, his body hunching over as he emptied the containments out from his stomach. the whole act before him made him sick, his heart pounding and his head throbbing.

mikasa turned her head to look at armin, a primal fear developing in him once she did. he couldn't pinpoint what it was at first; perhaps it was her bloodshot eyes, the way the white transformed into a rose-red hue, or the way her pupils were fully dilated. perhaps it was the paleness of her face, her cheeks snow-white from shock. or perhaps it was the way her raven-black gripped onto her face, the sweat that perspired served as the glue.

what couldn't escape his mind, however, was the way her mouth hung open like a dog. slobber escaped from it, her breathing sharp and ragged as she huffed. to witness mikasa, so poised and so elegant, reduced to this inhumane state was what ignited terror in armin's little, quivering body.

and so he ran, darting out the door as he heard mikasa's pained voice yelling out an, "ARMIN."

his bare feet rapped against the brutal rocks, carmine-toned cuts and violet-hued bruises were sure to immediately emerge on his soles. he payed the pain no mind, his adrenaline forcing him to run. he couldn't hear the cries and screams from the villagers, couldn't hear the way they called his name nor the yells that erupted once they quickly discovered eren's state.

he just ran. the young man ran into the forrest, past the emerald-green trees, past the mud-brown branches that stabbed into his arms. up above him, four ash-black ravens flew with him.

he hadn't known where he was going. he allowed his legs to take him where they pleased, as long as he was far from the village. far from mikasa's wailing form, far from eren's still body.

eventually, however, armin grew to realize where his body had taken him.

he slowed down, his feet inching towards the edge of the cliff. the birds above him sang, the sycamore trees swayed gently by the force of the cool, autumn air. even there, to the right of the constant waterfall, was the face of Jesus Christ.

armin found himself hunched over again, spitting out the remnants of his stomach. the adrenaline, mixed with being presented in front of an image of Jesus, had caused the blond to spiral.

"i'm sorry," he wailed, dropping down to his knees as he clasped his hands. "i'msorryi'msorryi'msorryididn'tmeanto." he breathed, before he screamed for the forrest to hear. a couple of partridges fled, yet the ravens remained. they lurked above armin, taking home on the trees and branches.

he coughed, heaving up bile and blood and the evilness that lurked deep within his spirit. judas, he could hear the villagers curse. filthy demon. he could imagine, once they caught up with him, how'd they capture him. he'd be held in the pillory, his body displayed to be ridiculed and demeaned. they'd humiliate him, just before they took him to the gallows. just like Jesus.

except armin was nothing like Jesus. the blond was a coward, running away from his crime while begging God for forgiveness and mercy.

just like judas.

from below, he could hear the pounding of footsteps, the voices of angry men and sorrowful women. his heart raced, his throat closing in fright. were they looking for him?

he choked. his dilated eyes met with stone Jesus' eyes, before they looked below. under the cliff, there'd been boulders which met with the cool stream of the water. there were bones buried just underneath the rill, some animal, some human.

the footsteps grew. armin's eyes darted back up to stone Jesus, before they met with the observing ravens. they simply squawked.

"eternal God," armin hymned, a jitter in his bones as if his soul knew what was to come.

"your mercy is endless and so is your compassion." his voice lifted with every word, his throat bobbing with every syllable.

"look kindly upon me, and increase your mercy in me." his feet inched closer and closer to the cliff's edge.

"with great confidence," he finished, his fists clenching the cotton-edging of his soiled sweater. "i submit myself to your holy will, which is love and mercy itself."

his right hand unclasped, his fingers touching his sweat-rippled forehead. "in the name of the Father," he breathed, just as the ravens began to screech uncontrollably.

"in the name of the Son," his fingers danced down to touch his chest, the home of his heart and soul. he took a glance at stone Jesus, his unmoving figure simply studying the blond.

his fingers grazed his right shoulder, before they crossed over to his left. "and the Holy Spirit," he ended, his eyes peering down the too close, yet too far, cliff's end. "amen."

the ravens warned him how the villagers were arriving, how they'd soon capture him and gut him for his crime.

he had to move, and he had to move quick. with his prayers sent, he took one last glance down the cliff.

there was a fifty-fifty chance of armin landing on either the rocks, or the water. if he landed in the stream, he’d be taken out of lapvona, God’s mercy on him allowing armin to start a new life somewhere. if he landed on the rocks, however, he’d get to see his family again.

through delusion, coupled with the pressure squeezing on his brain, armin jumped, entrusting God with whatever were to happen.

the ravens suddenly stilled, and everything went very quiet.

the end.

#attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan #aot #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #attack on titan eren #eren aot #eren jaeger #eren x mikasa #mikasa aot #attack on titan mikasa #armin aot #eren x armin

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orthodoxadventure · 1 month

Note

I ask for a prayer. I've been dealing with increased anger and anxiety recently. Certainly a symptom of neglecting my spiritual needs the past few months. If you will, pray that I get back on the right path. Please and thank you. God bless.

I'm sorry to hear that you've been struggling with anxiety and anger recently, and I pray that both of these things improve for you. Of course I will keep you in my prayers.

Some prayers you might find helpful are under the readmore

Prayer Against Fear

O Greatly-merciful Master, Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me and cleanse me from every sadness and disturbance and cowardice. Drive away from me every spiritual choking and demonic sorrow, that I sense in my body and my soul. For You are our Joy, and the hope of all the ends of the earth, and those far off at sea. Be merciful to me, O Master, upon my sins. Take from me the heavy burden of sin and despair. Drive far away from me every sadness and laziness. Confirm me in Your Love, and with unassailable hope and unshakable faith in You, through the intercessions of Your Spotless Mother, and all Your Saints. Amen.

Another Prayer Against Fear

O Master, Lord my God, in Whose hands is my destiny: Help me according to Thy mercy, and leave me not to perish in my transgressions, nor allow me to follow them who place desires of the flesh over those of the spirit.

I am Thy creation; disdain not the work of Thy hands. Turn not away; be compassionate and humiliate me not, neither scorn me, O Lord, as I am weak. I have fled unto Thee as my Protector and God. Heal my soul, for I have sinned against Thee. Save me for Thy mercy’s sake, for I have cleaved unto Thee from my youth; let me who seeks Thee not be put to shame by being rejected by Thee for mine unclean actions, unseemly thoughts, and unprofitable remembrances. Drive away from me every filthy thing and excess of evil.

For Thou alone art holy, alone mighty, and alone immortal, in all things having unexcelled might, which, through Thee, is given to all that strive against the devil and the might of his armies. For unto Thee is due all glory, honor and worship: To the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen

Prayer Against Adversity

Dear heavenly Lord, It’s as if I take One step forward and Two steps back. Things go wrong In the most unexpected ways. It seems like the whole world Works against me sometimes. And my failure ties me up in knots. Yet I know one thing, For Your Word has told me, That I am not alone. So once again I call out to You, Rise up, oh Lord, rise up! Strike down the resistance and fear That seek to silence my faith. Give me strength and clarity To continue, no matter How hard the wind blows against me. I believe in Your promise. You will not abandon me. I trust in the resurrection That sets my soul free. You are my almighty God And I am Your beloved child. Christ won this for me Upon the cross. Only by Your grace, According to Your holy will, In Jesus name, Amen.

Prayer to Overcome Panic Attacks

Lord, I come to You and I thank You for drawing near to me when I draw near to You. To think that You are mindful of me — it overwhelms my soul. But Lord, today my spirit is heavy and my body is weak. I cannot bear the weight of this anxiety and panic any longer. I recognize I can’t get through this alone, and I pray against the very active enemy who is trying to shake my faith and tear us apart. Help me stand strong in You. Fortify these weary bones and remind me of the truth that this pain and panic will not last forever. It will pass.

Fill me with Your joy, peace and perseverance, Father. Restore my soul and break the chains of anxiety and panic that bind me. I trust You with my panic and I know that You have the power to take it all away. But even if You don’t, I know I don’t have to be a slave to my fear. I can rest in the shadow of Your wings and I will rise and overcome by Your unwavering strength. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Bless My Enemies, O Lord

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Enemies have driven me into your embrace more than friends have.

Friends have bound me to earth, enemies have loosed me from earth and have demolished all my aspirations in the world.

Enemies have made me a stranger in worldly realms and an extraneous inhabitant of the world. Just as a hunted animal finds safer shelter than an unhunted animal does, so have I, persecuted by enemies, found the safest sanctuary, having ensconced myself beneath your tabernacle, where neither friends nor enemies can slay my soul.

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

They, rather than I, have confessed my sins before the world.

They have punished me, whenever I have hesitated to punish myself. They have tormented me, whenever I have tried to flee torments. They have scolded me, whenever I have flattered myself. They have spat upon me, whenever I have filled myself with arrogance.

Bless my enemies, O Lord, Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Whenever I have made myself wise, they have called me foolish. Whenever I have made myself mighty, they have mocked me as though I were a dwarf. Whenever I have wanted to lead people, they have shoved me into the background. Whenever I have rushed to enrich myself, they have prevented me with an iron hand. Whenever I thought that I would sleep peacefully, they have wakened me from sleep. Whenever I have tried to build a home for a long and tranquil life, they have demolished it and driven me out.

Truly, enemies have cut me loose from the world and have stretched out my hands to the hem of your garment.

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Bless them and multiply them; multiply them and make them even more bitter against me:

so that my fleeing to You may have no return; so that all hope in men may be scattered like cobwebs; so that absolute serenity may begin to reign in my soul; so that my heart may become the grave of my two evil twins, arrogance and anger; so that I might amass all my treasure in heaven; ah, so that I may for once be freed from self-deception, which has entangled me in the dreadful web of illusory life.

Enemies have taught me to know what hardly anyone knows, that a person has no enemies in the world except himself.

One hates his enemies only when he fails to realize that they are not enemies, but cruel friends.

It is truly difficult for me to say who has done me more good and who has done me more evil in the world: friends or enemies.

Therefore bless, O Lord, both my friends and enemies.

A slave curses enemies, for he does not understand. But a son blesses them, for he understands. For a son knows that his enemies cannot touch his life. Therefore he freely steps among them and prays to God for them.

#prayer #prayer request #prayer req #anxiety #mental health

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ramcharantitties · 4 months

Text

Yes, Officer

Part-1

S/n: I'm sorry for this week old fic but here's the first part. I didn't know if this was good enough to post but I didn't want to go ia, so. Hope you like it <3

Angel stared out the window, the falling autumn leaves setting hopelessness in her heart. Nothing would help these days, the growing anxiety taking over everything in her mind. She was too young to be this stressed, only in her 20's, yet the weight crushing her shoulders was leaving her crying at odd hours.

"My daughter must be the next to reign the empire of Delhi", her father's words never left her mind, engraved like hot iron on a child's skin. Delhi, the bustling city felt more developed in the last decade than ever. Angel wondered if Delhi was teasing her too, telling her she wasn't apt enough to rule a city. With the oncoming opportunities, came oncoming threats- both to Delhi and her throne.

No matter what she said, this decision was strictly taken by her parent's old advisor- who often acted like your guardian. Dada didn't pester, the stubborn man in his 60's, ready to stab everyone in sight ever since the incident. There were oppositions who believed you were not the correct choice for the throne- but your father knew better. To burden young shoulders for the people than to wait for a messiah, if he comes. She laid back on the chair, sighing. They must be here anytime.

When Angel's dinner was poisoned two days back, her first thought was what her parents must think when she finally died. Would they be proud, or still love her as their daughter, or they wouldn't care, that she was a disappointment? Eventually a servant was passing by, at such ungodly hour, that saved Angel. She was rewarded with a prize money worth 500 Rs. Ever since, Dada made a decision that a trained police officer, from the Indian Imperial Army must serve as your personal bodyguard for the next three months, until the next ruler of Delhi is decided. Angel made protests, proposed questions, and shared information against the decision but everything was futile. She finally slumped down, agreeing.

A whole human, trained, with potential- just to protect you? It seemed insensible. That man could probably save crowds of innocent people, or punish troops of criminal but he would just stand here, making sure if she had enough water or not. Angel held her head in her hands. She was happy in the back of her mind.

Ever since the parental figures disappeared, Angel only faced manipulation and mistrust in her life. It felt like a sin to make friends, to drink freely or enter crowds. And now that the election days are coming closer, she felt trapped in herself. Every single movement was noticed, and most likely followed. A bodyguard didn't sound half bad.

Angel could hear the frequent words of Dada down the hall, followed by another pair of steps. She stood up, quickly, smoothing out her dress. A firm knock on her door echoed. "Angel?" Dada called out, impatiently waiting. She opened the door of the room, moving away to let the guest enter. A man in his brown uniform entered, almost three inches taller than her when she was in heels. He smelt good. Angel stood behind them as Dada explained everything to him. From the back of his head, he looked strong and firm. Angel cocked an eyebrow. After all, why would a trained police officer agree to a job like this?

"Angel?" Dada called out again, his hand reaching where she stood. Angel pranced forward, to face them. If this was her bodyguard, she was in a trouble. His chest buffed out, his eyesight peeking over her. Handlebar moustache and long eyelashes. His upper lip was hidden by the hair, his beard clean shaved. Angel gulped, leaning on the table. She did not expect him to have such an effect on her. Angel, busy staring at the man, missed most of the details Dada dictated to him. She leant closer to him. "A. Ramaraju" she muttered to herself, before going back in her position so they wouldn't notice. Well, nothing misses from his eyes. Her eyes, finally turned to the elder guardian.

"This gentleman is your bodyguard. He's a strict police officer and he will be checking everything, from what you eat and drink, where you go, everything. Once the elections are over, you will have a team of bodyguards anyways. But he should be enough for now". Soon, Dada left, and the police officer made himself comfortable in front of her table.

"I don't expect you to be so formal with me" Angel looked at him up and down. "I am solely here for my job, ma'am" Ramaraju's voice had a dusky yet chocolaty tone. It was heavy, but not harsh. "Please introduce yourself" Angel sat her hip on the edge of the table. "Alluri Ramaraju, police officer in India-" "I know that" Angel interrupted the man. His gaze still hasn't lowered down to her, but he could see the diary in her hands. "You have, single handedly, caught a wanted person in a riot with almost the population of a town. And you injured many others. And this is the only most recent news of you, I can skip through various others" Angel peered up at him. "Are you going to tell me why you are really here?" "It has nothing to do with this job" Ramaraju's posture didn't budge. The stoic man, still as a statue.

Angel sighed, getting up. "I don't need a bodyguard" she stepped forward, taking a closer look at him. He smelt really, good. "You must talk to the-" "I don't need to talk to anyone" Angel said, trying to match his eye level. He wouldn't. "You're going to submit a report tomorrow that says how you don't want this duty and want to be back in the field. Is that clear?" Ram didn't answer, neither move. He stared straight ahead, unbothered. Angel took that as an acceptance, might as well be a surprise. "You may leave now" Angel went back to her work, sitting on the table, as Ram turned around and marched out of the room. That was the last of him she saw that day.

____________________________

Tagging: @ramayantika @yehsahihai @vijayasena @raat-baaki @nerdreader @panikk-attackkk @jkdaddy01

#ghungru #ram charan #rrr #rrr movie #desi tag #fanfic #ram x reader #ram x wife!reader #rambheem #rrr tarak charan #yes officer

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royalvelvette · 3 months

Text

dumpster diving for a girlfriend

Read on AO3

Rating: Mature

Characters: Vaggie, Charlie Morningstar, Razzle, Dazzle Minor Appearances: Adam, Lute

Warnings: Aftermath of Injury, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-con

Vaggie is… not doing great in this one. Her first POV scene contains a sentence that could be interpreted as her wanting to die (it's the last one), and her second contains explicit discussion of the fact she expected to die right at the beginning.

The Threats of Rape/Non-con tag is because Vaggie assumes that's why a demon saved her. It's kept intentionally vague and is a false assumption, but it is there.

I do recommend reading this one on Ao3 (link) due to better filtering capabilities wrt format if those subjects are triggering.

Word Count: 1398

Every staggering step sends another bolt of white-hot pain through Vaggie’s back. Taking her uniform off had been the smartest call – but did it ever hurt, peeling it off – even with her casual clothes underneath, the exorcist uniforms were designed to be skin tight. But she had to get out of the streets. The other exorcists had returned to Heaven, and sinners were beginning to emerge.

As she was now, Vaggie was easy pickings.

(Lute, towering above her, sinful filth-

It was a child – just a boy, not even past her hip-

Adam, taking her halo; better not get found by another sinner, Vaggie – always with the soft ‘g’ but at least he used her name-

shehatedthemshehatedthemshelovedthemdontleavemepleasepleasepleaseimsorry)

She stumbled, half blind, down the alley – her centre of gravity was all wrong, her wings were gone, fuck – her hand caught a dumpster, and she used it to lower herself to the filthy ground (perfect for filthy sinners like her), trying not to aggravate her wounds into bleeding again. What was left of her vision was fading in and out with the beat of her heart. Vaggie let her good eye drift shut.

Sinners were meant to die on Extermination Day, after all.

Charlie’s feet hurt. They always did, in the hours, days after the exorcist army retreated until the next year. But she couldn’t rest, not yet – there were entire swathes of the city she hadn’t been to yet, more possibly-injured-but-not-dead (there were less and less of them, more just dead, but she had to hope. She had to.) she could help. So what if her feet hurt? So what if her side was bleeding sluggishly where a stray bullet from a territory dispute hit her? So what if she hadn’t slept in nearly two days? She needed to help her people.

(Maybe this year, someone might even say thank you, instead of growling at her to fuck off. Maybe.)

She ducked down an alley to avoid one of the ever-growing fights. This alley had two exits, thank fuck, because she probably wouldn’t be able to go back the way she came unless she felt like waiting for a couple hours. She’d just have to double back after, check the main streets this alley cut her off from once the fighting died back down to pre-extermination levels.

(Why did they have to fight now, when so many dead sinners were still lining the streets? Couldn’t they at least wait for friends and families to recover the bodies of their loved ones? Or at least until the cannibals had cleared the worst of it...?)

Her eyes caught on something as she came closer to the corner of the alley. Something was against the dumpster – no, not something. Someone. Charlie rushed over, already reaching out to feel for a pulse. As she did so, though, the sinner’s eye fluttered open (fuck, fuck, the other one was missing, and it didn’t look like it was supposed to be). She flinched back from Charlie’s hand, but Charlie didn’t notice – she was already digging through her pockets for her bandage wrap. That missing eye looked recent.

It would probably scar. She could only hope it didn’t become a defining feature, like some sinners scars did. Bandage wrap in hand, Charlie reached towards the sinners face – hesitating for just a second when she flinched. But her socket needed to be protected – an infection wouldn’t kill her; never did, but it would be really fucking unpleasant.

Charlie murmured an apology under her breath and pressed forward. It only took a couple minutes to wrap the socket; two minutes of the sinner holding stiff like Charlie was about to snap her neck.

(If Charlie were anyone else, she probably would have.)

Work done, Charlie rocked back on her knees, taking a good look at the sinner for the first time since she had noticed her. Her first thought was,

Whoa, she’s really fucking pretty,

Which... wasn’t helpful. Her second thought, whoa, she’s about to yak, was slightly moreso, in that it let her get mostly out of the way in time as stomach acid splattered the ground (and the bottoms of her pants) where she had been just a moment ago. The sinner heaved, once, twice, before it faded to a truly awful sounding cough. Charlie reached over the vomit, rubbing her hand against the sinner’s shoulders.

She wasn’t expecting the sinner to scream and proceed to pass the fuck out.

Shit.

Vaggie was confused when she woke up again. Partly because she hadn’t expected to wake up – she vaguely remembered a demon approaching from the end of the alley not halfway blocked with trash cans; partly because she woke up somewhere different than she remembered being. Vaggie grabbed her spear (which was leaning against the bed she was in, for some reason – maybe the demon thought she’d be out longer?) and used it to get out of bed.

The movement sent searing pain through her back, but she wasn’t going to just... lay there helplessly. Not in a demon’s bedroom. Not when the only reason a demon would have saved her was...

... not important. Setting an ambush was.

There wasn’t anywhere to hide in the room itself – there were three doors (shit, this demon came from power, shitfuck), but barely any furniture except the bed and a desk covered in paper. If she knew how much time she had before the demon returned, Vaggie would investigate – anything to give her an advantage, that might save her – but there was humming coming her way from one of the doors.

Vaggie dropped, crawling under the bed, spear and all. She bit her lip harshly to keep herself from screaming – everything hurt.

The door she could still see opened. She heard the demon – female? - say something, but couldn’t make out the words over the ringing in her ears. She gripped her spear tighter. She had one shot at this – she had to make it count.

Charlie opened the door to her bedroom (all the other rooms were cobweb infested messes), humming. Razzle and Dazzle followed behind, Razzle with a bowl of broth, Dazzle with a tray holding a glass of water and painkillers. A stone dropped into her stomach when she saw the bed empty, and the angelic spear gone.

Oh, no, she thought. “Oh, no,” she said.

Razzle and Dazzle set their loads on her desk, each already flying to one of the other doors to check the closet and ensuite. Charlie watched, anxiously – if the sinner had left in the condition she was in, there was no way she would survive the territory disputes. She had to still be here.

Please, please let her still be here; let Charlie have not failed one more of her people.

Razzle emerged from the closet first, shaking his head. Charlie offered him a wan smile, holding out her hand for him. Razzle flew over quickly, eagerly accepting his chin scritches. Dazzle came out of the ensuite then, braying a negative as he flew over.

Charlie sighed. “Thanks, guys,” she said, bonking her head first against Dazzle’s, then Razzle’s. “You can go back to cleaning this place up.”

Razzle made an inquisitive sound, nudging against her hand.

“I’ll be okay,” Charlie said, trying not to let her voice shake. “I just... need a nap.”

Dazzle churred in the back of his throat, tugging at her hair.

“It’s okay,” she said again. “I’m just gonna nap before going back out... I couldn’t help her, but there’ll be more sinners out there. I’ll help them.”

Neither Razzle nor Dazzle looked like the believed her – why would they, she could feel her eyes begging to overflow and it was tricky speaking past the lump in her throat – but they finally left the room. Charlie sighed again as the door closed behind them before turning and walking over to the bed.

Only to stagger back, cursing, as the angelic spear darted out from the space underneath and stabbed her shin. Charlie fell onto her butt, still cursing – the sinner emerged from where they had been hiding under her bed (she hadn’t failed, she hadn’t failed, she could still help-), brandishing the spear towards her.

Charlie stared up at the sinner in front of her, holding one of the only things in Hell that could actually hurt her, and all she could think was.

Oh.

#op content #my writing #chaggiefirsts #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #fanfiction #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #charlie hazbin hotel #vaggie hazbin hotel

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