#samponk religious imagery :)

[homoeroticpunz]

tw blood, violence, death

“you look so beautiful right now.”

you whisper it, more to yourself than anybody else. a prayer to the last beautiful thing you believe in. he stands on the table, a speech for the changing of tides, a promise of a better future. you don’t believe in things like that anymore. he gestures with his good hand, faithless promises spill from his lips. his face is bathed in red light, and it’s almost romantic.

you grab his hand, an action painfully familiar and so foreign all at once. you pull him toward you bodily, he stumbles. rage rolls and boils, burning your insides. red hot, the last piece of the egg that the holy water couldn't wash out. or something even darker that had lived inside you all along. you swing your axe in a vicious arc, and you take your lover’s hand clean off. a selfish act of violence, worship in the mutilation.

bad laughs and the lava descends. betrayal, but you expected this. puffy’s valiant but misguided plan to save them, to protect them. there’s more TNT. (explosions vibrate down through the obsidian walls, you search for days and find nothing. tommy dies alone. dream’s final act of violence, of control.) it ricochets out across the room, turning the vines to crying obsidian. (blood mixing with the bright purple liquid, dripping down the walls. dream’s grinning face. a shirt stained red, a lifeless body bruised purple.) foolish, like parent like child, is unable to summon his lightning and dies for it. foolish’s death is met with little fanfare, another casualty to the slow march of violence. a sacrifice to something worth believing in.

your eyes barely leave ponk. his back is to the egg, illuminated by the pulsing red glow. he looks like an angel, beautiful and gruesome. a halo of blood red, he speaks of violent worship, of sacrifice. heaven has no place for something like him.

you sit on a grassy hill looking over l'manburg. rebuilt over the empty crater, rebirth from violence. you’ve been here for a long time. you knew wilbur’s creation would not last. in fire it was made and to fire it returned. but you have faith. the old country was razed to build something kinder, something better. peace cannot come without sacrifice. ponk sits beside you. the setting sun bathes him in golden light, and he looks worthy of divinity. he tells you he loves you. you take his hand, clasp it between your own in silent devotion.

quackity shows up with technoblade and purpled, they argue with bad. you don’t listen. antfrost dies. he’s your friend. you were both early settlers to this land. you want so badly to cry, to scream your throat raw. but you barely feel anything. just a numb jab to your heart. death is everywhere, constant and looming. it takes and takes. it is all consuming with gnashing teeth, painful and tragic. there is no death with honor here. ponk escapes out the back with bad, and you are deeply thankful. he can never be your enemy, your love still a virtue.

you stand at the base of a massive lemon tree, hand over your eyes to block out the sun. he stands far above you, waving down. he is haloed by the golden sun, saintly and ethereal. you love him. your head is tipped back in reverence, watching as he builds his tree into the heavens. there is so much to be thankful for here, so much possibility. the land is barely touched, beloved by the few that inhabit it. peace is still sacred.

you stand at the prison entrance. the portal omits erie purple light. the blackstone and obsidian reflect the horrible glow. you remember why you built this. it wasn’t just the payment, it was the promise of peace. you believed. creation was your worship, you laid each brick in faith and reinforced each wall in prayer. now you know, there is no peace here. there is nothing left to believe in.