#you cannot earn salvation

[yeslordmyking]

[Zechariah prophesied concerning John,] 'You, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most... [ Read devo thought and prayer for this Bible verse ]

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART FIVE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 8.7k.

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, blood/gore, violence, death, weapons, drugging, kidnapping, stalking, noncon touching, invasion of privacy, mentions of sexual assault, parasites/infections, & needles.

ada wong's yandere traits are . . .

lucid, romantic, & confident

──── Ada Wong hates the sensation of grass on her skin. Yet still, the green matter stains all her clothes.

She'll spend her days laying in fields of grass. It tickles her skin and provokes her allergies, but she cannot fathom living without it. If she closes her eyes, she can almost stimulate the feeling of being with you once again. September 28th, 1998. On that road verge with dirt caked on her skin and a dandelion in her messy hair — Ada is convinced she is the only human who has ever been touched by such intense, perfidious happiness.

A beige trench coat littered with these same stains is preserved in her walk-in closet. It has not been worn in years, not since that night in Raccoon City. There are the occasional splatters of blood and gunpowder residue, but they are insignificant in comparison to the vivid green smudges. During rough patches, Ada will take the coat from its plastic covering and hold it close to her chest. If she closes her eyes again, she can almost convince herself it is you in her arms instead of this filthy, out-of-season garment.

As difficult as it is, however, she cannot let these feelings reach her heart. She cannot let herself feel for you.

She made this declaration long ago. Six years ago, to be exact.

Y/N L/N. The name she will never forget.

Ada remembers your evocative touch, your bunny-like shivering, your skin like flowers; she will never forget how you ended her life in Raccoon City.

The onslaught of inhuman, guttural growling had died down with the echo of gunshots. All flesh-eating creatures surrounding her now lay dead on the streets of Raccoon City. Now, a heavy silence sits. And the fear that follows slices into her flesh like a jagged knife. But, not for her life, no. For yours.

Ada briskly and anxiously scrutinizes her surroundings, searching for that jaw-dropping face she fell so hard and violently for. In the end, she finds nothing. All she is met with is the flickering lights of corner shops and the crackling of fire from car wrecks. When she looks down, however, Ada discovers the crumbled dandelion you gave her beneath the foot of her heel. Hastily, she grasps the precious weed and stuffs it into her coat pocket.

From here, attaining the G-Sample, selling it to the highest bidder, and earning more money than she could ever need was irrelevant. All that matters is finding you. Her darling petal, her bunny rabbit. Her salvation.

Ada's relentless efforts to find you result in Raccoon City being torn to shreds. Searching through Mizoil Gas Station to Umbrella's underground laboratory, all her attempts at bringing you back into her arms are brought to no avail. Ada is worn down and stained with grime, absolutely exhausted with dread.

It isn't until the golden sun rises does she learn of survivors being sent to a hospital outside of the city. She abandons everything in Raccoon City and high-tails it to Fox Park Hospital. Her feet ache from its uncomfortable stance in her stilettos and her lungs throb from the constant sprint. Still, nothing matters but you.

When she arrives at the hospital, she is overwhelmed with concerned families and tireless doctors. Several nurses inquire her about her physical state, but Ada disregards their concern entirely. She thought she could hide how perceptibly enamored she is with you through sly remarks and poised disposition. Maybe she'd conjure up some flattering remark to one of the doctors and bite her lip, all to gain access to your location. However, the only trait others can garner from her attitude is a desperate, downright feral act of despair.

Sharp nails digging into the shoulders of a poor nurse, she demands he inform her of your whereabouts. When the nurse squeaks out where you had been admitted to, Ada nearly punts him to the ground before breaking into a dash. She shoves past all other bystanders and bursts through the door to your room. And the way her heart surges in her chest upon entering could rival that of a genuine, torturous death.

There you lay, unconscious on the hospital bed. Bandages adorn the bruises and scars littered on your body. A white cast has been ensnared around your right arm.

The sight is nothing short of devastating. In a moment of weakness, she had so frivolously let you escape from her embrace. Now, you had to be the one who suffered the consequences.

Softly, Ada sits beside your sleeping form and restrains the urge to tackle you into a hug. It scares her, this sudden sense of warmth she possesses for you. She takes your weak hand into hers and shivers from the tender contact. I should not feel this way, she thinks to herself. Nothing about this is okay.

Despite the experience she has in the field of romance, Ada has never obtained genuine feelings for someone. All that lay beneath the surface of her seductive veneer was nothingness, sheer dust. She'll wear that coquettish nature like a crown and revel in the sense of power she feels of having someone beneath her. They care more about her than she does about them. And she loves it.

With you, though, things are different. Much different.

In all 24 years of her life, Ada never anticipated being slapped across the face with such raw emotion. The instance was ephemeral, but all-too devastating in the same breath. Dandelion between your fingers and the playful light in your eyes — the sight robbed her heart blind like candy from a baby. A lifetime spent in the depths of Winter, who knew a mere second of eye contact was all she needed to be lunged into the heavenly warmth of spring?

Ada is humiliated upon finding herself in the depths of such a ridiculous predicament. You have turned her into some lovesick monster, entirely incapable of maintaining stability. She thought she could control it; she thought she could shove you into a box with the rest of her past lovers. But, much like every other attempt she has made involving you, she failed miserably. No matter how hard she tries, she can't stop herself from being in love with you.

With this epiphany comes another. Every bruise, every scar, every wound on your body is living proof of what your life will become if she were to take you away. As badly as she wishes to take you and drown you in her adoration, she holds herself back. To live in complete bliss would mean robbing you of a good life; to ensure her happiness would mean robbing you of yours. By taking you away, her life would begin, yes, but yours would end. And if she were to take away the precious light you hold inside, she would never forgive herself.

The syringe she managed to snag from a passing doctor clatters to the floor. A physical manifestation of the realization seeping through her mind. For the very first time in her life, she cannot be selfish. For the first time, someone else's well-being is more important than hers.

She doesn't deserve you and you don't deserve her. You deserve happiness, you deserve normalcy, you deserve safety.

You deserve everything she cannot give you.

With a trembling breath, she affectionately drags the joint of her fingers down the side of your face. The mere thought of never being able to see this sight again shatters her. But for you, she would do absolutely anything, no matter how soul-crushing the pain is. Anything.

"Until next time, Y/N..."

The next six years were a tumultuous, frenzied blur. Ada Wong, notorious for her enticing personality, has crumbled.

Head-first, the agent had thrown herself into her work. Anything to keep her mind off of you. Or, at the very least, to look at the horrors she faces in her career to further remind herself you are better off without her. Every day, she oscillates with the idea of checking up on you, wherever you may be. It would be far too easy, as told by her skills. Though, if she were to do this, she knows she would not be able to leave you like she did six years ago. It had nearly killed Ada to leave you behind in that hospital. She isn't sure if she can survive that same pain all over again.

These gnawing desires keep her awake into the late hours of the night. Tossing and turning in bed, tossing and turning the idea of how good it would feel to have you in her arms. She wraps her arms around herself and caresses her own skin, pretending it is your hands on her body instead of her imagination. She feels weak, she feels deranged. But, she cannot help it. It kills her to not have you here with her.

She wonders how your life has changed since Raccoon City. What makes you smile, what makes you cry, if you're up at night thinking about her the way she does you. The misery nearly emulates the feeling of being butchered, as if you had personally cut open her flesh and sewed your name into her veins. But, Ada would do anything for you. Even if it means enduring the same torture every day, she is satisfied with life knowing she got to hold you. Even for just a second.

After a call with Albert Wesker, she is reminded yet again why you should not be a part of her life. To be exposed to this separate world would only be detrimental to you. She could never curse you with the burden that is her lifestyle. You deserve far more than that.

Ada teases the ring on her left hand. Mere hours after the crisis in Raccoon City, she preserved the dandelion you gave her and had it pressed into a ring. Six years later, this piece of jewelry has always ensnared her finger, as it remains her only source of security. The memory of you pulls at her heartstrings the way an angel plays a harp. In fact, it is the only memory she has that she can look back on fondly, as opposed to the bloodshed she has been so frivolously exposed to.

So absorbed in the warm rain of your memory, Ada nearly forgets the task Wesker had assigned for her. Abruptly and harshly, she is once again given another reminder of why you should stay far away from her. You make her weak, as Wesker told her, and neither of them cannot afford that weakness. She was fortunate enough to never disclose your identity with him, as he may have hunted you down in retaliation to her slacking efforts.

She doesn't know what she would do if she learned you were suffering out there. Wherever you are.

Opening the file Wesker sent to her, Ada scrutinizes the myriad of information sent her way. Through the grapevine, there was hearsay of Umbrella surviving the wreckage of Raccoon City. Satellite imagery displayed a vast forest where they had set up their 'sanctuary,' as they called it. Within the sanctuary were survivors of Raccoon City, where they would be kept captive to avoid exposing Umbrella and forcing them to face the consequences of their mistakes.

Her task was simple: find out if they have samples of Amber in their possession. If so, deliver the sample back to Wesker.

Of course, with this mission arose heavy concern. Images of you being subject to Umbrella's abuse sent a serrated rush of panic through her body. Ada had practically torn herself asunder with her efforts to protect you, she never acknowledged how other dangers may have slipped through the cracks.

A consideration, one much stronger than before, is what she is faced with. Giving into her selfish desires and having you by her side would benefit her happiness, yes, but it would also expose you to the horrors of her life. Leaving you without this burden in whatever life you had chosen for yourself would most likely benefit your happiness, yes, but would expose you to peril she cannot control. She would put her life down for your happiness, after all.

This consideration plagues Ada's mind as she is flown out to the sanctuary. Since the area was under investigation by another team, she had to play this smart, no matter how badly she wished to storm through the doors and hunt you down.

Yellow tape surrounds the entire premise, and numerous police officers and detectives are scattered amongst the area. Picking the lock to a window; Ada slides into the building with flexible ease. She lands with a bounce upon a bed. The springs whine beneath her weight; the headboard creaks with frail fragility. She finds herself in a sunken mess of fluffy throw blankets and tacky plushies. Climbing out of the array after practically drowning in it, Ada straightens her dress before scrutinizing the room.

The area is naturally stale. The same way a bleak, depressing hospital room feels. However, this detail is hidden beneath the mass of decorations and clutter. It is surrounded by love, despite its dull foundation.

A rickety bookshelf and stale bedside table are settled by the bed. On them are books checked out from the sanctuary's library, as well as wilting plants, a flickering salt lamp, dusty candles, and even more heaps of plushies. Ada's heels sink into a fuzzy rug as she studies the contents. A clothing rack can be found, too, with boring clothes hung upon it. Stickers and doodles adorn the supports, as well. 

Across from this was a sofa couch that sat opposite a chunky television. Cheesy horror movies are stacked on top of the thick surface. Another plant sits by the television in a custom-painted pot, leaves adorned in brown decay. Another plushie is rested against the TV, as well. God, how many stuffed animals does a person need?

Nothing within this small expanse relates to your whereabouts or the Amber, which eases Ada's mind. She lets out a sigh of relief. It would pain her in ways she could never fathom to know you were suffering in Umbrella's disturbed idea of a "sanctuary" while she was too busy trying to forget you.

Ada walks through the adjacent threshold and finds a small kitchen. Once again, the dull appearance had been diluted with heartfelt decor. Hand-crafted paintings are strung upon the walls. Some show the childlike fun of the artist, while others display the raw talent every brush and stroke exudes. A small table is huddled in the corner with a vase of Lego flowers serving as the centerpiece.

Cooking utensils, handmade clay figures, and tea sets are all scattered on the kitchen counters. A package of chamomile tea had been left out on the same counter and the shattered pieces of a mug had been left on the concrete. Strange, but it does not pull her attention.

It isn't until something catcher her eye while on her way out does her heart pound. By the art on the wall, beyond the scatterings of band posters and paintings, a myriad of polaroids had been taped into the shape of a heart.

And directly in the middle is a polaroid of you.

It is a candid shot of you in the sanctuary's garden surrounded by lush flowers. Fat, glittery smile on your face, there is more light in your eyes than Ada had ever seen. Beyond the jealousy for the photographer who got the privilege of drowning in that gaze, a sinking pit of dread sits like a brick in her stomach.

You were here. This whole time, you were here.

It only makes sense this is your room, she should have known. Who better to bring love into such a dank estate than you? You've made something bland more lively, as you do in all other areas of life. But, she was so concerned with roping you into the violent dangers of her life, that she strayed as far away from you as she could. Still, you found yourself here in the end. She was so concerned with keeping her vigorous feelings for you at bay that her negligence had caused you to be thrust into the darkest pits of this world. And nothing she can do now will erase the sheer weight of her frivolous mistake.

Her chest expands and deflates rapidly with hyperventilating breaths. Black dots swim in her doubled vision. Her skin is sheen with sweat. Nausea swims in her stomach. She collapses onto the bed, your bed. A quiet array of whispered "no"'s evades the cramped bedroom. She can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything!

"My petal, I'm so sorry. My sweet petal... How could I have let this happen...?" Ada is completely and utterly devastated.

The pervasion of an unfamiliar voice seeps in from outside the door. Ada covers her mouth to muffle the hyperventilating breaths protruding from her.

"T said they've fled to Spain. Fucking Spain, can you believe that shit?"

"Goddamn Umbrella... If only Oliveira were still here to see this. 'Give him somethin' else to do than daydream about his bitch, 'know what I mean?"

"I hear ya. Dude's a fucking nutcase."

Spain? Is that where you could be? Is that where Umbrella has taken you?

The doorknob jiggles and Ada immediately stands to her feet. Her swift nature had been robbed from her, as her legs now felt like two bags of sand. Her head throbs violently. It sounds like a tumultuous clammer before she succumbs to the turmoil and falls to the ground.

Sweat seeping down her forehead and her hands shaking, Ada attempts to pull herself up. She grips the corner of the bed frame and pulls her entire body weight. Her stiletto then accidentally kicks something beneath the bed. Looking for identification, Ada finds a plastic case with several cassette tapes inside. As she studies it, the doorknob jiggles once more. After greedily taking hold of it, Ada swiftly takes a few more souvenirs before leaving. The polaroid of you, a flower you molded out of clay, and an opossum plushie nestled on your bed. Then, she is off.

And within the penthouse that feels more like a model house than it does her actual home, Ada sits in her office. Inside the case full of cassettes, dates are written on each tape. Upon closer inspection, there's a sudden halt in activity after October. Almost as if Umbrella has lost interest in you. She prays this is the only reason, that they had released you and let you enjoy a life filled with the happiness you deserve. Thinking of the opposite has her whole body shivering.

Ada takes the cassette player in her desk and pops the earliest tape into place. She was so invested in finding where you had run off to, she had completely disregarded the gut-wrenching effect your voice would have on her. It's so... pretty. Like the first birdcall of Spring, like gentle waves crashing against the shore.

Ada is quick to grasp her control back, shifting her attention to the actual context of your words instead of how badly she wished to hear you whisper in her ear.

The contents of the tape display an audio journal, where you recall every horrid detail of the night that changed your life. You mention Leon Kennedy and Ada rolls her eyes from the annoyance his mere name brings. Six years have passed since she's seen him, or even thought of him, for that matter. But, the irritation that cop was marvelous at triggering still lives on. Of course, he's the first thing you talk about. She's sure he'd be ecstatic knowing this.

You speak about your time working at Mizoil Gas Station. When you trail off about your coworkers, your voice perceptibly drops when you speak of one in particular. With his wandering hands, sultry words, and a compulsion to ignore every 'no' you sent his way, you admit to yourself how good it felt to kill him.

As infuriated as this makes Ada, you then speak her name, and all coherent thoughts are stolen from her. She has to cover her mouth to restrain the sharp gasp that escapes. You do not speak thoroughly of your encounter with her, much to her dismay. Only detailing how she guided you out of the police department and protected you. Still, she revels in the harmonious melody of you speaking of her.

Ada can crawl out of cloud nine when you, unfortunately, move on to the next fraction of that night. To escape the zombies that attacked you and her, you sought protection in the local gun shop. There, you meet someone she was not aware of.

Jill Valentine.

Ada's eyes narrow when you speak of this woman. She can see the obvious signs of her being attracted to you, but you could be none-the-wiser to these affections. Your inability to heed flirtation is adorable if Ada were to be honest.

There's another transition to where you meet another man. Someone who, once again, Ada was unfamiliar with.

Carlos Oliveira.

He, too, showed obvious signs of being attracted to you. Which, once again, flew over your head. Both he and Jill had saved your life numerous times and you expressed this gratitude. To you, it was nothing but a common heroic act from two hardworking cops. Ada, however, read through the lines of their actions the same way she could read a children’s book.

They are in love with you. Hopelessly so. That much is clear.

It should be obvious. This is you we're talking about, after all. As much as she wishes they wouldn't, it is simply impossible to not become irrevocably besotted with you. Even if it were feasible, it would simply be brainless not to wish to spend the rest of forever with you.

The tape whirs as it reaches its ending point. Your story ends with waking up at Fox Park Hospital before being sent to this sanctuary. However, there is nothing that implies where your path has led six years later. There are miscellaneous updates on your physical health and your mental state, but there are zero indications of where you have vanished from.

With you gone and no reliable trace of your disappearance, there are only two potential outcomes of your whereabouts. Either you are still in Umbrella's clutches or those two cops have taken you for themselves. Six years of contemplation and Ada has finally reached a solution. Not a structured one, but a solution, nonetheless.

Find you, ensure your safety, and pray to God she has enough strength to leave you after.

And you, Y/N L/N, are exactly where Ada thought you'd be. However, the circumstances of your whereabouts are far different than what she presumed them to be.

After Dr. Gorkis, the man you had once called your friend, forced you into a state of unconsciousness, you were comatose for an undisclosed amount of time. When you wake, you are perplexed over your foreign environment. Inspecting your surroundings, there is absolutely nothing that can enlighten you of what happened within the dark gap of your memories.

The room you have awoken in is gloomy, accompanied by the cracked lantern protecting you from complete murk. The stone walls surrounding you are riddled with moss and chains. Several shelves stand awkwardly in the corners, where dilapidated books and broken pots all rest on the rickety surface. A rusted plate sits by your feet. A cluster of flies hover over the mashed potatoes hardened from age and the bread overwhelmed with mold.

You search about for any familiar faces, presumably those of Jill and Carlos. This isn't the first time you've been kidnapped, after all. If they were to lurk in the dark depths of this room, it would surely be no surprise. Instead, the area around you is entirely desolate. Nothing but the sound of your bated breath fills the empty space.

Your neck aches, your head throbs, your body trembles — everything has morphed into a permanent hue of misery you do not recognize. In a morbid way, you could almost be grateful for the circumstances you were kidnapped in before. A beautiful sanctuary, then a lavish home, and now this. A cold, decrepit room with no one to comfort you but yourself.

It's almost comical, how much this has happened to you. However, when you bring your hand to your neck to ease the pain and feel the necklace Carlos gifted you, laughter does not escape you. Alternatively, you curl your fingers around the pearls and yank with what little strength is left in your body. You watch with newfound satisfaction as the pieces clatter to the rotten floorboards.

A new beginning; the next chapter. That is what this feels like.

Stumbling over to the decaying door, it whines as you open it steadily. Haphazardly scanning the area for any potential assailants, you find none. Instead, you find a narrow hallway with lit candles hung upon the decaying walls. The light they exude guides you to a large window smeared with dirt and grime. Outside, the heavy downpour of rain neglects your need to identify your current location.

Your vision then abruptly goes black and an unfathomable pain ensnares your head. It leads you to collapse against the wall as you groan out from the abysmal misery. A voice calls out to you from the depths of your mind. A sort of ghastly incantation. A whisper you would only hear in the presence of a nightmare.

"Pursue them..." It taunts, "The lost lamb is escaping. Deliver onto them... Salvation..."

And just as it had begun, it was over. Your vision has cleared, and the ache in your skull has eased. It was all over.

One glance through the filthy window and fear hits you like a punch to your gut. A group of people dressed in ragged clothing make their presence known, all with pitchforks and axes in hand. Their torches guide them as they follow the muddied path. You can only stare in trepidation as they saunter about like hungry predators in search of prey.

When you hear the chains to the front entrance rattle, you turn and race towards your escape. Up the rotten steps of the ladder, the dingy expanse of the attic does not aid you in your efforts to flee. The light at the end of the tunnel is a shattered window, where the harsh weather brings violent rain and wind into the room. Out of the window, a shed riddled with overgrown ivy sits at a nearly-perfect distance beneath. You'd rather break your ankles than get sacrificed, after all.

Ripping the bandaid off, you leap from the ledge and land clumsily. It is a thunderous collision your assailants most certainly heard. With your feet fortunately intact, you leap from the roof of the shed and sprint away from the chaos behind you.

You hear unintelligible shouts, you hear accelerating footsteps, and you hear gunshots echo from afar. Rain feels like glass as it pours down on you. They meld with your tears and sweat. Your feet are cramped in your new, expensive boots. Still, you do not look back. Even with your lungs aching with every step you take, you continue to race forward as far as your legs can take you.

Several more throbbing paces and you find yourself in the center of a village. Dilapidated houses are scattered around the grounds, while large mountains frame the small area. Shifting your gaze forward, you find a rickety signpost. Signs that once read locations had now been overwhelmed with blood. The words 'Los Iluminados' and 'Lord Saddler' were painted in the red matter.

In a fit of enervation, you fall to the dirt. The substance stains your body and clothes, something Jill and Carlos put so much effort into preserving. You feel a sense of trepidation when your thoughts subconsciously drift to those two. Staring down at yourself, you see how every inch of you is still marked in their possession. The scent of Carlos' cologne still clings to his jacket that he draped around you. The shoelaces Jill quadruple-knotted have now been torn, the loose threading dirty and sticking out in awkward directions. Almost as if after all of this turmoil to escape them, their residue was still printed on you.

With air in your lungs after what felt like so long without it, you bring yourself to your feet. You clench your aching abdomen before limping forward. You then ponder over how you'll recount this absurd story to the police.

Then, you're flying.

Something wraps around your waist and yanks. Before you can comprehend it, the ground grows further, further, and further away from you.

With an exclaim of surprise, you land on the flat ledge of a mountain. You don't have a chance to acknowledge the impossible explanation of you defying gravity. Not when your breath gets lodged in your throat when you find the source of the sudden occurrence.

Ada Wong is that very source.

You stare up at her with the same disbelief she possessed. And this sight of you is surely something she will never forget.

The lick of sun in your eyes has never faltered, despite the years of chaos and disarray you’ve endured. The rain speckles across your body and cascades down your flesh, almost as if it was savoring every inch of you it got to touch. Bruises sit like kisses upon your skin; blood is painted on you like a vermillion art piece. Exactly the way it was six years ago.

Ada has found you. And the intensity of the euphoria that follows could be enough to kill a man, she is sure of it.

It is gut-wrenching, how beautifully nostalgic the sight is. This time, however, she will not allow any unwelcome guests to intrude.

Ada returns her grapple gun to the holster and crouches down beside you. A tender, gloved hand finds its way to your waist. It shivers and hovers, terrified of the emotions she'll be unable to control when she makes contact. Terrified of feeling nothing but cold sheets beneath her and waking up from this dream. When her hand does find you, as it always will, a hot chill surges through her body. Ada can hardly gather herself as the revelation settles. You are safe, you are alive, and you are with her again.

The other hand finds your cheek. The dandelion-pressed ring pokes against your skin, a firm reminder of how long this devotion has lived. She can feel the Earth sparkling in her palms with her hands on you; she can feel the warmth of the stars with your flesh against hers. Every bone, every sinew, every vein — everything good the universe have to offer is right beneath her. So, she does what she wished to do before, but was interrupted. What she has dreamt of doing for years, but was not able to do. She does what she has always wanted to do.

Her lips are on yours faster than you could think.

Everything inside her... Melts.

Rain falls like confetti. The frigid temperatures ease from the heat you share together. Every jut and curve of your lips mold perfectly against hers, as if you were made for each other. It robs her breath straight from her lungs, it robs her brain of any coherent function. The thumping of her heart batters in her ears as though it were trying to lunge from her chest with its sheer, rampant speeds. Her hands shiver with fervent need. The lump in her throat remains lodged no matter how much she tries to swallow it. What on Earth are you doing to her?

Your kiss is more soul-crushing than she would like to admit, as pride has always been her most prized possession. And it is all so stupidly cliché that Ada could almost laugh. A kiss in the rain. She never thought she would experience something as tooth-rotting and romantic as this. Still, it succeeds in practically shattering what remains of her moral compass. The suave and collected Ada Wong has been shattered. And the devil on her shoulder begs her to indulge in every last sliver of you she can.

She's a woman of self-control, but you had torn that control straight from her hands and claimed it as yours. She's a woman with tight fists and cruel words, but you have taken every rough edge and filed them down to soft curves.

When you inevitably part, Ada follows the direction your lips go, absolutely desperate for another taste. She is practically inconsolable without your warmth.

"Y/N..." She gasps out your name. It's a silent prayer for more of this, for more of you.

Dark webs of veins then spread among your face like woven spider's silk. It causes your vision to blur and your ears to ring. You wince from the sudden surge of pain and recoil from Ada's touch, something she didn't anticipate being so gutted by. The agony pumps through your veins like a drug; it has you writhing and groaning against the mud. It practically robs you of all your senses, the only comprehensible thing being the torture inflicted upon your feeble body.

Ada is then forcefully brought to reality where she is cruelly reminded of how this is not real. She cannot have you and you were never meant to be hers. No matter how badly she wishes you could be.

When you turn over, clutching your stomach in pain, she places her hand on your shoulder. Your eyebrows scrunched in confused pain, face wet from the pouring rain, lips sheen from her lip gloss. You are beautiful in the most devastating way. The sight bursts her heart open as if someone has nestled a bomb in her chest cavity. But, how she feels in this moment is not important. The one thing she has torn herself apart to prevent is now happening. You are hurting.

"What- What's happening to me!?" You cry out, a chunk of blood splattering from your mouth when you cough.

"Y/N... My petal...!" Ada's thumb rubs soothing circles on your arm while her cheek rests against the same surface. She clutches onto you like you're her lifeline, her last sliver of hope.

A voice interrupts. "Ada! I've been looking everywhere for-"

Ada rips her gun from its holster and points it at the intruder in fervent speed. She is terrified of being torn away from you like she was several years ago, she cannot let it happen again.

Luis Sera puts his hands up in defense, eyes blown wide in shock from her sudden shift in nature. In one hand of his is a dirtied white box with tape sloppily wrapped around the frame. He shakes it timidly, diverting her attention to what is most important about their agreement. Cure Ada of the infection and she'll let him take a seat on her helicopter.

Her stance does not halter, however. Instead, she throws yet another demand his way.

"Cure them." She orders. A perceptible tinge of despair is present in her tone.

When he remains frozen, Ada steps closer and presses the barrel of her gun directly to his forehead.

"Cure them or you know what happens." Her stare is violent. Her disposition is terrifying. There is nothing but the honest, undying truth with every syllable she speaks.

"I- But, our deal-?"

A gunshot echoes.

Deafening. Heart-stopping. The sound is accompanied by the harsh thump of Luis' dead body. Horrifying.

Ada takes the box from his limp grasp. She flips his deceased body over and steals the sample of Amber doused in blood, shoving it into her pocket. Using her sharp nails and an impromptu knife, she then slices the tape from the box. Once she hastily takes the syringe from its plastic enclosure, she rushes over to you.

Her behavior endures an abrupt shift when she crouches at your side. From a blood-thirsty monster to a fluffy-winged angel, Ada caresses your skin as if it were fine silk. You whimper as you float in and out of consciousness. You are so inert, in fact, you do not feel the intrusion of a needle and the anecdote seeping through your bloodstream. Ada comforts you through this entire process. Caresses to your flesh, kisses to your skin — she does it all terrified of it being the last time she ever touches you.

With the key to Luis' laboratory, she knows what her next course of action is. What she originally anticipated to be a quick check-up on your well-being had manifested into awakening her deep, irreparable fervor for you. But, she cannot let her measly emotions blind her to what is most important. You and only you.

She will stay, cure you, and pray to God once more that she has enough strength to leave you after.

And it kills her more than she ever thought it would.

When you wake, you find a blinding, fluorescent light hanging above your head. Cold metal and jagged leather nestles into your skin. The tapping of keyboards and technology humming fills the silence. You could almost roll your eyes if it weren't for the confusion overruling all. Have you been kidnapped again?

Attempting to gain mobility and move your body was entirely fruitless. Instead, a weak whine is all you can conjure. The frail sound is immediately met with the affections of someone else in the room.

Even in these circumstances — the grungy expanse of Luis' lab and Ada's dead parasite on the ground — she has never felt such euphoria. The severity of these feelings terrifies her, but she cannot help but fall into the emotions like a child would jump into a swimming pool. To be with you, there is nothing she could ever want more. But, as she has firmly stated numerous times, she cannot be selfish with you. No matter how badly she wishes to do such.

"Everything is going to be alright, petal. I won't let anything happen to you... Never again..." Another kiss is pressed upon your forehead. Ada's lip gloss stirs with the icy sweat beaming on your flesh.

One tap to the computer and the machinery whirs to life. Three lasers then protrude into you and begin to eradicate the Las Plagas inside of your body.

A horrible, gut-wrenching scream evades the room. Agony hits you like a tidal wave. You shout, you wail, you sob. You are in such horrendous pain, it is impossible to keep quiet. Your relentless squirming to escape the source of such misery was futile, as the restraints around your wrists keep you compliant and subject to this torment. Reassurances of "I'm here, petal" fail to conquer the sheer volume of your cries. Ada takes your hand, peppering kisses and nuzzles upon any surface of skin she can reach. Soul-crushing dread satiates her body upon seeing you in such pain. It is hurting her more than it is hurting you.

How could she have been so ignorant? How could she have let your suffering get to this point?

How could she have possibly lived every day oblivious to your well-being? How can she live with herself now knowing she had so carelessly neglected you?

How can she possibly live without you?

And as fast as it started, it was all over. The hum of the machinery silences. A vibrant "SUCCESS" flashes on the computer screen. Ease envelops your body like a warm blanket and for the umpteenth time that day, you doze off. It's a slumber like never before, where the sheer exhaustion derived from the most eventful 24 hours of your life has finally boiled over.

You now lay there. Lifeless.

"Y-... Y/N...?" Ada's voice barely surfaces above a whisper.

The death grip you had on her hand weakened and Ada never anticipated the sheer terror it would make her feel. The fear is a heavy weight on her chest, a tremor in her body. Something wet cascades down her cheeks. With skepticism, she brings her gloved hand to her face to identify the strange substance.

She's... crying?

Ada can't remember the last time she had cried. Her entire life she has powered through any turmoil with her chin held high and a stone-cold soul. Never was she allowed to feel, hence the secure control she has over herself. Now, however, the emotions escape through her facade the way a gunshot wound bleeds through a dirty bandaid.

Your flesh is cold, your body is painfully still. Ada can not bring herself to consider the conclusion that pokes and prods at her mind. Where the big heart she fell in love with stops beating. Where the eyes she'd give her life to gazes in forever loses their light. Where the only good thing this disgusting world has to offer is taken away.

Where she loses hold of the only happiness she has ever felt.

The clinical logic that had always benefited her has now become her worst enemy. Ada scans your body from head to toe, desperate for even the smallest sliver of life. More gasps of your name pervade the room, as well as the gentle, yet desperate nudges to your body in hopes of waking you from your slumber.

Ensuring you are safe, happy, and far away from the dangers within her own life has become her only purpose. Without you, Ada is now lost within the whorls of her empty, dreary world.

The woman is full-on weeping now. It had been so long, she had forgotten what it felt like to cry altogether. Her face twists with every ugly sob parting from her mouth. Her form convulses with each uncontrollable cry protruding out of her chest. Ada has become a mess of snot and tears, surely a sight the old version of her would be revolted by.

A cough fills the lonely silence. And the groggy sound could rival an angel's symphony with its raw beauty.

Alive.

You are alive.

"Hey, you did it...!" You manage to wheeze out upon seeing your status on the computer screen, voice dazed and crooked.

A smile, albeit a weak one, breaks out on your face and Ada swears she has not ever seen a sight so breathtaking. Her hands cling to your face, searching every inch to ensure she hasn't lost the only thing she could ever love. And then, she smiles. Ada smiles like she never has before; Ada smiles like she has never known pain. It is nearly deranged, how blinding and exhilarating the emotions on her face are.

She speaks before her brain can compute the consequences of her next actions.

"I love you."

The three words are spoken with such acute clarity, it is difficult to not be completely entranced by them. Ada's eyes are blown wide as her gaze sinks into yours. Her body trembles from the irrepressible fear mixed with relief coursing through her. For the first time in (quite literally) forever, she is telling the pure, unadulterated truth. However, your lack of reciprocation causes Ada's logic to fully take control of her mind. You do not love her. And as impossible as it is, she must force herself to not love you. But God, you do not make it easy.

"I-I mean- Did you have any doubt, petal? I should be offended you think so low of me. But, with those eyes, how could I be?" The tremble in her voice jeopardizes her attempt at swiftly building vanity.

You don't respond to her, you can't respond. All you can think about is how you nearly died and how Jill and Carlos will surely slit her throat for what she has done.

Ada glances down at the ring on her finger, the very thing that has held her over these past six years. It is almost humiliating to wear it. To know its existence is because of her inability to move on from this stupid crush that has somehow harbored full control of her life. Then again, Ada cannot bear to ever part from it. The thought makes her queasy, like a boat swaying against harsh waves of melancholic uncertainty. To toss the ring overboard would mean completely succumbing to the force of the sea, to drown in the heavy mass of her feelings. Cursed for eternity with stagnant sorrow.

And even though the truth strikes like a knife, Ada must commit to the plan she originally formed. Bring you to safety and pray to God once again that she has enough strength to leave you after.

"Three times..." You whisper to yourself in disbelief, your voice a ghost that Ada can hardly decipher.

With furrowed brows and a quiet hum of question, she beckons you to continue.

"Only six years and I have managed to get kidnapped not once, not twice, but three times. That's gotta earn me a place in Guinness, right?"

She reads through your attempt at masking your prevailing emotions with humor. That playful attitude, how deeply she loves it. And how devastatingly difficult it is for her to fall out of love with it. In these circumstances, when your lively demeanor is used to shield yourself from pain, it quickly festers into something she despises.

Even through everything that has happened, you are still playful. Cracking jokes, making comical jests. Just like you did all those years ago. Ada could almost be angry at you for this, for making her fall so clumsily in love with you. Almost.

"First, it was Umbrella. They had never hurt me, so I never felt they deserved the title of "kidnappers," but I guess my naivety is what got me into this shit in the first place."

This 'naivety' you speak so poorly of is mistaken for the honest warmth of your heart. You have this beautiful ability to find positivity, light, and kindness in the ugly world. Yet again, another reason why it is impossible for her to untangle you from her heartstrings. She does not speak of this, however. She is afriad of vomiting out every syllable of adoration her voice could muster.

"Then, it was..."

You hesitate, a subtlety Ada does not overlook.

"Jill and Carlos." Their names sit like rotten fruit on your tongue.

You cringe upon imagining how those two would surely react to you now, fawning over your current state as if you're some baby lamb. They nearly have a breakdown from something as mere as a paper cut, you cannot imagine the absolute warfare they'd induce upon seeing you now. Beaten, bloodied, and your organs practically on fire from the laser-induced torture they had just endured. Though, it feels strangely good to be able to breathe without them.

"A little over six months is how long they kept me. Again, they never hurt me, so it feels wrong of me to call them "kidnappers"... When I think too hard about it, I know it is what they are, I just never wanted to admit it. God, they took my freedom like it was pocket change!"

The sneer you hold has nothing against the absolute fury stretched among Ada's face.

"In the end, I escaped. I-I didn't know where I intended to go or what my plan was, but now I really, really don't know what to do..."

To make matters worse, you curl into yourself and begin to cry. It kills her to do such, but she must hold herself back, as giving you comfort would only add fuel to the fire that is her devotion to you. And to refrain from scooping you in her arms is practically killing her. To not be able to touch and comfort you, Ada knows that this is the universe testing her. No, torturing her. Every mistake, every flaw, every selfish deed — this is the karma that caught up to her after a lifetime of running from its inevitability.

"And I'm just so scared. I know they're gonna find me again and I won't be able to escape them. I'll never be free. I'll be running forever until I either submit to them o-or die!"

A beat passes when another unwelcome, unruly sob escapes your throat. The sheer calamity of this day had prevented you from processing these events. Now, the exhaustion and anguish are too much for you to bottle up.

"Oh, petal..." As you cry, Ada's long acrylics dig into the meat of her palm.

She refrains from caressing the warm skin of your shoulder. She holds herself back from pressing another tender kiss to your forehead. To prevent herself from doing such feels like suffocating. As if the heavy mass of her burning desires became physical matter and were now crushing her.

"Ada, I can't thank you enough for all you have done for me." Your gratitude is certainly not taken for granted, as every pretty word falls from your mouth and directly into the mosaic of her heart.

She cannot be in love with you anymore. She can't, she can't, she can't.

"I'm sorry for being so selfish, but please..." With helpless desperation in your eyes, you plead as though your words do not make her absolutely weak.

She must stay strong, she must complete her plan. Find you, ensure your safety, and pray to God she has enough strength to leave you after.

"Don't leave me..."

Welp, there goes that plan.

She would slaughter every soul before she'd admit it to herself, but turning her back on it has now done more harm than good.

You make her soft.

Needy.

Hungry.

You have rendered her to the same disposition of an animal, entirely feral for any chunk of you she can sink her teeth into.

"I'm right here, petal... I'm not going anywhere."

Ada Wong has let go. And you are oblivious to the consequences of this.

The resistance she once had has now faded. For six years, these tree roots have coiled around her limbs, keeping her restrained within the suffocating soil. Today, they have untangled themselves. Ada surfaces the thick dirt to find Spring in its most genuine, vulnerable time. Bunnies chase through the blossoming flowers. Trees dance with the gentle breeze. Fresh rivers flow through the bright forest. The war has ended; the torture is over.

You are at her side and there is nothing Ada could ever want more.

When she guides you out of the laboratory, she informs you of the helicopter that will soon arrive. If you weren't seconds away from succumbing to exhaustion, you'd notice the terrifying, devoted undertones beneath her structured facade. There is a man and a woman you have seen this behavior in too well, after all. However, Ada's ability to maintain herself differs from Jill and Carlos' messy aptitude.

She says your name, beckoning you to follow her. Y/N. It feels so good to say it, to have the sugary word on her tongue. It feels so good to speak it into the air and watch those eyes gaze at her with wonder, the same wonder she has fallen so hopelessly in love with. The bliss that follows after you should be considered a crime with the sheer effect it has on her. Then again, Ada was never one to follow the rules.

The two of you both race through the many twists and turns that scatter the island. Shipping containers, cargo lifts, and barrels splattered with yellow paint, you and Ada dodge the obstacles in your path. And still, she protects you with her life. Just as she had wholly promised.

Back in Raccoon City, she had lost control. She cannot afford to lose that control again, not when losing you is a possibility. Her mindless infatuation had already thrust you into danger, she would die if she let it happen once more.

With burning lungs and weak legs, you both finally arrive at the loading docks. Ada doesn't break a sweat as she tells you the helicopter will be arriving shortly. You collapse onto a pile of brown, paper sacks, now finally given a moment of rest after so many exhausting hours without it. You could nearly cry with relief.

The creak and whine of footsteps against the thin metal floors pervade the air.

A voice speaks.

"Y/N...!?"

You both look to identify the voice.

Your stomach sinks like an anchor at sea.

Leon Kennedy.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I CARE FOR YOU STILL

AND I WILL FOREVER . . . ❞

this is what i imaged ada's flower-pressed ring to look like. and this is what i imagined the teddy bear necklace carlos gave reader looks like.

gif creds :: ada.

[sparrowsupportgroup]

hyperspecific things i daydream about for Ais’s route:

i. bar brawl

So, you know how Ais likes bar brawls? Imagine a scene similar to the one when he punches the roughneck in the demo but this time it’s multiple roughnecks and the stakes are even higher, they’re even more deadly, and a lot more is at risk - like your life, for example.

If Ais knocked out a roughneck that threatened you and he barely knew you at that point, I feel he would do even more destructive damage to any threats when he’s really attached to you if it meant keeping you safe.

So I imagine instead of Ais merely just fighting in the bar brawl, he straight up slaughters EVERYBODY(expect you of course) and now y’all are both surrounded by the carnage he created and you have to deal with the aftermath of him struggling to control his emotions, the aftermath of realizing when Ais loves someone, it’s a bloodbath for everyone else. But you already love red if you love Ais.

ii. flood

Considering Eridia is a river city, I wonder if there has ever been a flood?

This could be a bad end scenario or something, but I think it would be crazy if Eridia would have a flood except all the water is from the Seaspring.

Ais could try his best to contain the Seaspring waters but Ocudeus literally forces his hand/takes control of him and Eridia is swept away into a red, watery apocalypse.

Ais has to be tortured by the fact that he not only doomed everyone, he also doomed you.

iii. trust

Sorta continuing from the second scenario, I would love to see a situation where Ais’s self-control is put to the test.

Hyperspecific circumstance, but imagine if Ais has to carry you across the waters of the Seaspring for your safety. Of course, this is a nightmare for the both of you.

You have to anxiously wonder if Ais, known to be unpredictable and slowly losing control of his mind, won’t submerge you under the water, forcing your submission to the Groupmind and Ocudeus, if he has sinked far enough down into the darkness of the abyss to even consider betraying your trust in him in such a horrific way.

For Ais, his façade of calm is slowly splintering. He has lost so many people dear to him, some even by his own hand. He knew better than to get attached to you but it’s too late; you’re in his veins, in his blood, and he cannot purge you out even if he wanted to.

He’s holding you above the water as high he can but it’s so easy, so tempting, to let you go, to let you fall, to hold you down under the water as you struggle for your life, for your sanity, for your humanity.

But every time he toes the edge of that cliff, ready to jump off with you trapped in his arms, Ais pulls himself back. He can’t betray your trust or your hard-earned faith in him; he cannot douse the flickering hope that, against all odds, that he can protect you. That he can save you. That there’s salvation in his hands that can hurt, and will hurt again.

So Ais holds you tighter to him, so tight you’re almost melded into his skin. Whether it’s to comfort you or him, he does not know.

[raayllum]

ok quick actual thoughts run down (spoilers for all 8 episodes)

The pacing of this season was interesting with certain episodes having almost no B plots and being largely A plots with some smatterings. 6x02 I think is the first and only episode that neither Callum nor Rayla appear in in the whole show. Sometimes this meant wondering when we'd get back to certain plots but I overall really liked it and I think I'm just gonna like it more and more on rewatches

Immediate standout episodes were 6x03 and 6x06 for me. Loved all of them of course

The season in some ways wasn't as heavy as I expected esp in the first half BUT things definitely ramped up in the 2nd half and I still cried

also Janai's early season breakdown + the Katolis story lore made me feel many things about her (and about future Rayllum set up maybe of course)

Zubeia going "your brother Ezran" to Zym killed me automatic tears thinking about it for days

Loved how Astrid and Kosmo were characterized and developed. And siblings!!

The characters I was most worried about dying (Aanya, Opeli) didn't and I am very happy

Knew Claudia would free Aaravos the second we knew we'd brought the wrong pearl, but was pleasantly surprised my prediction of "Callum and Claudia doing the same spell simultaneously in different locations" came true

There were also certain lines and concepts (like the quasar diamonds issue) that I was gobsmacked I got almost beat for beat. Also that damn staff - thank you!

6x08 unexpected win as a Sorpeli shipper I'll never ask for anything more what the Fuck

Gonna be chewing over Ezran and Karim's convo / end of Ezran feelings and throughout for a while

Loved all the Viren Soren stuff though outside of 6x05 nothing really got me Emotional there but maybe that'll change on rewatches

cannot Believe i'm going into season goddamn seven with CHET still on the table they need to free me from my misery I'm begging

Watching Karim not get the one W i was sure he'd get while having nothing but Ls was Funnier than it should've been

Very pleased if surprised to see Lujanne again

Aaravos' backstory was fucked up and I got it ("I cried for 100 years" plus her confusion really hurt)

The scene of Terry helping Claudia wash up left me like 😳 holy shit

also yes obviously loved all the Rayllum and "you're bad at doing things for yourself" (paraphrasing) and their reconciliation, felt very earned and natural. Also feels like we still have progress to be made for them and their dynamic which is nice

On that note Moon arcanum Callum didn't happen literally but the spirit of it that I always wanted (Rayla as his Constant Truth) DID happen so I'm taking that win so hard

The Orphan Queen totally has the Nova Blade in her tomb huh

Mutual salvation Rayllum theory I love you So Much

[see-arcane]

We go to seek the place where my poor darling suffered so much. God grant that we may be guided aright, and that He will deign to watch over my husband and those dear to us both, and who are in such deadly peril. As for me, I am not worthy in His sight. Alas! I am unclean to His eyes, and shall be until He may deign to let me stand forth in His sight as one of those who have not incurred His wrath.

Oh man, oh boy, I was not ready to hear this spoken aloud it turns out. I am going to have to personally fight Stoker and @re-dracula for emotionally compromising me this early in the morning.

Just...the hurt in those lines. The confused shame, the fear, the desperation. The essence of 'Whatever I did to earn this, I'm sorry. What did I do to earn this? I must have done something. I will be good now, Lord, I will be better if You let me survive this, if You deign to love me again. Even if not, please protect the one I love, protect our friends as You failed to protect Lucy and so many others. Please, God?'

As much as she cannot write it, cannot say it, cannot bear to think it, I believe this is as close as Mina comes to acknowledging the unfairness of the whole situation on an existential level. Hers and Jonathan's faith has been proven true--God is real! God has power against the undead and unholy-supernatural!--but now also has burned-in proof that He is fickle and unmoving when it comes to those afflicted, even against their will. Her only chance at salvation is in the hands of mortal friends who themselves are at risk of death and worse. No matter how good, how pious, how spiritually deserving the people involved are, God can and will let her and the others be just another handful of tally marks in Dracula's long winning streak.

But she cannot express that. Cannot accept that. Cannot dare to meet eyes with that reality here at the crux of things. And so she prays. Pleads. Begs.

While she's still 'loved' enough to be allowed such things.

[kurasthetic]

I don't 100% know how to articulate what I'm feeling but I can't get over how Kuras' introduction completely reverses the roles. For example...

Ais: "With his borrowed, unnerving abilities, Ais seems capable of curing you...[c]an you save each other, or will he drag you down into the abyss with him?"

Mhin: "...Mhin has come to Eridia in hopes of finding a cure, but they’ve hit a dead end. If you work together, you might be able to find answers, but can you trust someone just as desperate for salvation as you?"

Vere: "...Vere makes it clear that he’s powerful—and curious—enough to vanquish your curse...[c]an he be trusted, or does he simply enjoy playing with his food?"

Leander: "Leander’s magic can’t cure you, but the sense of normalcy he offers is a luxury you’ve never experienced. He’s determined to save you and asks for nothing in return, but could he be too good to be true?"

The common thread between all of these introductions is that they can save you. Even in the case of Leander, who doesn't pre-possess some way of curing you or start with any leads like the others do, you are still the focal point. You almost have to earn their help, or at least entrust something to them in order to get what you're looking for.

But Kuras is a little different.

His introductions states, "He could find a cure for you, but his shadowy past also puts you in mortal danger. Can you redeem him, or are you the final entry in a long list of tragedies?" Now, granted, it does mention that he could also save you. However, I'd like to note that this is a little more vague than the others. Compared to the way the other characters' introductions focus on how, exactly, they can save you, Kuras' introduction almost throws this in as an afterthought. The focus on his whole paragraph is on what he's done. The other's are shown with why they could possibly save you; Kuras is shown with why he cannot save you.

More importantly, though, is the final sentence in each of these introductions. They all are asking if you can trust or believe the LI, but trust them to do what? Save you. Even then, that's the underlying goal, is your salvation. But for Kuras, the main question is not if he can save you - it's if you can save him.

He flips the script on you from the beginning. It's ironic that with his occupation as a doctor, he's the one that seems most reticent to be involved with you at all, especially since he's saved you once already, and it's strange with his past as an angel that he's the one obvious about needing to be saved rather than doing the saving. You could almost call it selfish.

Now, does this mean anything? Maybe not! Maybe I'm reading too into it and they just really wanted to lean into the Catholic guilt vibes. If this does mean something, I don't have any idea what they could be, either. BUT it's something that has been on my mind since I first went through the information on the Kickstarter.

For someone who is perceived as the most responsible LI, why is he making you responsible for him?

For an angel seeking repentance, why is he not saving others? Why is he looking for someone to save him? What does he need saved from that the Allmother's forgiveness cannot provide?

What will you have to sacrifice to save him?

Kuras my bbg just because I'm choosing to ignore your red flags does not mean I cannot see them

[alexusonfire]

Warmth of Your Doorways - Chapter Seven

Jane Murdstone x dressmaker!Reader

A/n: In collaboration with @daydream-cement 🖤 If you wish to be added to the taglist please send me a DM!

Summary: Unbridled Rage.

November 6th, 1856

There will be no salvation for me. 

Time and time again, she came back to me. She begged for my love and what did I do? I called her a harlot. I degraded her and told her she was tarnishing my family reputation. 

Marjory refuses to speak to me and I cannot blame her. I hate myself as well. I know this is due to the hatred I have for myself due to my love of the fairer sex. I thought I had stamped out the flame of internal hate when I began loving the seamstress, but yet it was still glowing bright within me each time that sweet face brightened my doorstep. 

I am tortured as I relive those moments. She told me she regretted ever loving me. How I must have caused her such agony for her to ever say such a thing. 

This household is my personal hell. My only friend finds me despicable, my brother is proud of me for ‘remaining strong in my virtues,’ and my one true love hates my entire being. She deserves so much better than me, but I feel the need to rush to her and apologize. I want to crawl on my hands and knees through the depths of Hell in order to prove my repentance. She must understand that I have meant none of what I have said. 

Far too long, I have been held under my brother’s control. I must break free of this hold. I am not who I wish to be when he is near. I am not the woman my darling little violet deserves when I give his opinion more weight than is deserved.

I must find her. I must fall to my knees and let her know she is my one and only true love. I must do everything in my power to earn back her trust and love.

- J.M.

It had been over a week since Jane had seen you last. She could hardly eat, nor sleep, since her brother arrived nearly two weeks ago. The only task she found herself capable of was to reread her diary over and over, reminiscing the love you had shared.

After tonight’s diary entry however, she was feeling far less helpless. Her words filled her with a new sense of urgency - the need to be at your side and beg for forgiveness.

The next morning she awoke with the same vigor, gathering herself as best she could. She pinned her hair into place, put on her best dress, and gathered some of your favorite flowers from her garden before striding down the gravel walkway towards the shop. Her knees felt as though they would give out at any moment, her breathing rapidly increasing the closer she got to you. Her mind raced with every possibility, good and bad; you forgave her, you didn't forgive her, you loved her still, you hated her, you rushed into her arms, you spat in her direction-

Whatever the outcome, she knew she was responsible for it, and now it was her time to fight for you.

The shop loomed over her, and she felt a great weight in her chest just looking at it. She briefly recalled the first time she stepped foot inside, the first time she met you; how her heart had stuttered, her cheeks had flushed, how she couldn't get you out of her thoughts no matter how hard she tried. In this moment she longed for those early days, carefree and falling in love.

Unsure whether she was still welcome to use the back entrance, she chose instead to enter through the front door, the bell above it seeming far too loud. The shop was quiet, and Jane was surprised to see your workbench empty.

Much emptier than usual.

Odd.

She waited for a few moments, her stomach twisting in knots at the thought of seeing you again, still unsure what your reaction to her would be after she'd been so cruel-

"You're too late, I'm afraid."

The thick scottish drawl pulled her attention towards the back of the shop, where Mary was cleaning up after a day's work.

"I'm sorry?"

Mary laughed, continuing to wipe down surfaces and tidy up loose threads and needles.

"Well, perhaps if you'd said those words a little sooner you wouldn't be in the mess you are now, now would ye?"

Jane held her tongue against the blunt retort that lay on it. She knew she was in the wrong, and if getting to you meant getting through those around you, then so be it.

"Well, I'm here now, with every apology I can think of prepared. Is- Would I be able to see her? Please?"

The "please" caught Mary off guard- Jane Murdstone was not one to ever start or end a request with "please". Mary felt her resolve soften towards Jane, only a little, enough to be more upfront with her.

"Unless you're willing to hop aboard the next train, I'm afraid not Lass. She left for France shortly after you two had your final falling out. Said she couldn't live in a place where you existed and didn't love her anymore."

Jane had to steady herself on the nearest wall, a sudden wave of nausea overcoming her at Mary's words.

But I do love her.

I love her, I love her, I love-

"Thank you, Matron."

Jane all but stumbled out of the shop, the flowers she held in her hand tossed to the dirt as she strode back home.

You'd left. You were gone without so much as a goodbye- and why would you say goodbye to her? All of the cruel, hurtful words she'd thrown at you, the way she'd turned her back on you; she'd left you first. No explanation. No closure. The only difference was you'd seen fit to separate the two of you by countries. Could she really fault you for that, after all she'd done to you?

Upon returning to her cottage, the ravenette slammed the door behind herself. Her hands repeatedly combed over her hair, frantically thinking over what Mary had told her. How could you have gone all the way to Paris in a matter of days? Perhaps if she were to speak with Marjory, she could-

“Where have you been?”

The voice startled Jane from her thoughts and she was immediately filled with unbridled rage as she lay her eyes on the intruder who had opened her front door: Edward Murdstone.

“I find that it is really none of your business where I have been.”

Edward strode into the room, almost as if it was his own home, “Lord Barclay was here waiting to meet you Jane, but you deliberately ran off, no doubtably to commit some heinous sin.”

“Lord Barclay? Whatever for?” Jane snarled, remembering the older gentleman from moments in passing when he came to work with Edward.

“To marry you, of course.”

Jane saw red.

“You bastard! How-” Jane’s hands found the upper right hand corner of the bookshelf, and with a flourish of extreme strength, the ravenette pulled the ornately carved bookshelf to the floor. The right side of the shelf hit the wood table a few feet away, both pieces of furniture cracking and splitting upon impact. The sound of shattering glass of picture frames and the loud thuds of books hitting the floor filled the air, but none of it was as loud as the silent rage that radiated from Jane. The raging woman finally finished her thought as the sounds died down, “DARE YOU?!”

Edward was taken aback, unable to respond to his sister's rage; never had he seen her act in such a manner.

Jane’s volume only increased, her voice a full fledged scream, “YOU TOOK HER FROM ME! YOU ROBBED ME OF LOVE! AND NOW YOU DO THIS?! Are you so desperate in your need to control me that you must ruin my life at every turn?” She was snarling and spitting as she kicked though the mountain of books, wading closer to her brother.

“I-I-”

“ANSWER ME!” Jane roared, reaching out to a nearby decorative hurricane lamp, pushing it to the floor with a swift motion resulting in a crash of glass shattering.

Edward’s choice of response was to yell in return, grasping Jane by her wrist in an effort to keep her from breaking anything further, “Pull yourself together!”

“PULL MYSELF TOGETHER? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PULL MYSELF TOGETHER WHEN YOU CONTINUE TO KEEP ME FROM LOVE? I am so lonely, Edward... or at least I was until I MET HER AND YOU FORCE ME TO SEND HER AWAY. For what, Edward? Why?” Jane’s tone fluctuated as her thoughts flew from her mouth, tears beginning to spill from her eyes at the pure anger and sorrow she felt. She wasn’t withholding anything from her brother any longer. Today, he was receiving the full force of her wrath, “First it was Sarah, and then Elizabeth, and then mother and you forced me into a-a SOLITARY CONFINEMENT where I was forced to be at your side as you made a mockery of father’s name.”

With two long strides, Jane crossed the room of her home, eyes settled in on the China cabinet as she was determined to destroy every last bit of beautiful ceramics in her home.

Edward followed after her, his own rage building at her insinuation that he could be a disgrace to their family name, “You are the one making a mockery of our family’s name by- by... choosing to be so unnatural!”

His hand wrapped around her forearm, and in her frenzied rage, Jane’s free hand swung around at full force, clawing at her brother’s face and sending him to the floor. She loomed over him, her mind racing as she searched for an additional way to harm him. Jane needed him to understand the agony she felt inside.

Swiftly she gathered two of the fallen books from the floor, lifting the novels over her head and launching them downwards at her brother, “UNNATURAL? UNNATURAL? DO YOU THINK I WOULD HAVE FACED YEARS OF INCCESTANT ABUSE FROM YOU AND MOTHER IF I HAD CHOSEN TO BE LIKE THIS?”

Edward shifted away from Jane, scrambling across the floor as the books hit him. He was in utter fear of his sister. He had no excuses for his past or present behavior, and even if he did, Edward knew Jane had no true interest in hearing them. He had yet to notice the blood dripping down the side of his face from where Jane had struck him.

“GET OUT!” Jane blared, her voice becoming raw and hoarse from screaming louder than she ever had before. She repeated those same two words as she reached out and lifted piece after piece of fine China, throwing each of them against the far wall, “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT-”

When Edward lifted himself from the cottage floor he launched himself towards the front door, quickly throwing it open and spinning back to attempt to steal back some of the power away from his sister, “You will marry Lord Barclay by the end of the month and that is final.”

His bravery was only momentary as he quickly slammed the front door shut, saving himself from the pieces of china being hurled towards him. As Edward stalked away from the home, he could hear Jane’s screaming from inside, but her words were hard to make out. Her cries of despair and the sounds of breaking glass and furniture would continue far into the night as Jane mourned for the loss of her love and freedom.

--

Tags: @weemssapphic @bitch-we-have-a-hulk @yourlocaldisneyvillain @renravens @thegoddamnfeels @dvrkhcld @blessmysouljessisonaroll @opheliauniverse @ahsfan05 @ness029 @carnivorousflowers @willowshadenox @mysaviorfalsegod @myzzjolanda @bigolgay

[kazoosandfannypacks]

In regards to the Hazbin and Simpsons thing I think it's because people find the idea of Heaven being a Christians only club and literally everybody getting horribly tortured forever to be just a bit depressing. Just sayin.

[from this post about how the media tends to portray good actions as what gets you into heaven]

Thanks for the perspective, anon! There's a lot of ways I could answer this ask, but I'm going to trust that this ask comes from a place of confusion rather than malice and respond accordingly, though if it was intended with a different motive I apologize.

Firstly, I just wanna say, the Bible was never intended to be horribly depressing. It's a message of redemption, of salvation and freedom, of hope. Hope is at the center of everything for a Christian, right down to our world "Gospel," the central truth of the Bible, meaning "good news."

But before we can get into the good news, there is bad news. The bad news is that we are separated from God.

The bad news is that we consistently fail God and can't measure up to his standard of goodness. The bad news is that God initially gave us just one rule to follow, and we couldn't even do that, and every day we continue to not follow the rules he made when he created the world that he gave us. The bad news is that, as hard as it is to be separated from God here on earth, someday we'll be separated from God for an eternity in a place without his presence. The bad news is that we can never be "good enough" to earn a right standing before a truly just God.

But the good news is that we don't have to be good enough. It would be horribly depressing if heaven was a social club for the spiritually elite. It would be horribly depressing if our hope was pinned on our own ability to do good. It would be horribly depressing if salvation was self-serviced. It would be horribly depressing if our entire eternal destiny was our own responsibility.

But it isn't.

God is just, righteous, and good, and a just, righteous, and good ruler doesn't let the wicked go unpunished. But, he is also gracious, merciful, and loving, so he took that punishment upon himself. He paid the price for our sins by dying in our place. His death paid for every time we're not good enough, so that we never have to be good enough.

I know, it sounds horribly depressing to think of Heaven as a "Christians only club," but what sounds even more depressing is that Heaven is a "only the good enough can get in" club. Am I good enough? Can I be good enough? How will I ever know that I'm good enough? While I'm here on earth, can I be sure I'm good enough to go to heaven when I die? How many good things do I have to do to outweigh the bad? What is the standard, and how hard do I have to work in order to reach it?

But Jesus says "you cannot be good enough."

And Jesus says "you do not have to be good enough."

And Jesus says "I have already been good enough in your place."

And Jesus says "you don't need to work to be 'good enough;' all you need to do is believe in me."

I don't know about you guys, but that sounds like good news to me.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

oh dear, here's some lyrics for a vaggie country song about falling for lucifer's daughter oops~

I’m sinner down in hell a wingless angel who never fell ‘till the devil’s daughter so softly took my hand

Lived my life ‘till twenty five last year on earth I was alive I died and woke there at the pearly gates

The angels smiled and grabbed at me applauding at my destiny to have found my way- somehow- up there with them

One angel stood up from the rest with golden wings and puffed out chest said the first original man on earth was he

He whispered “I’ve a job for you a special one, just for the few!” he looked me up and down and said “You’ll do”

They gave me armor that fit too tight gave me a blade, told me to fight and earn the spot in heaven I don't deserve

They showed me how to use a spear told me to fly down once a year to cull the rising tide so deep in hell

With tarnished halo on my head I killed those souls already dead on ashen wings, by the hundreds, struck them down

Then there among the demons wild impossibly, I saw a child- crying as he cringed from me in fear

I couldn’t strike, he was so young I let him go, I told him run and turned as a shadow fell from above

A blade cut my own left eye free as the angels tore my wings from me and left me, saying “there’s no place for you up there.”

I threw away all that they’d gave with hell itself as my self-dug grave in an alleyway, awaiting for judgment’s call

Now here’s the part that’s hard to tell of how the princess, herself of hell found me, and gently bound up my wounds

Her taloned hands were soft and kind she knelt in filth, didn’t seem to mind and the only flame burning in her eyes was care

I caught a glimpse beyond divine as her brimstone breath mixed with mine without a word, I swore my soul to her

But of all the things for her I’ll do be her friend, her lover, and her armor too- one thing I cannot give is the truth

She's sure there’s a second chance found in even the darkest soul of sin if only someone gave to them a hand

So how could I ever explain how many souls of them I've slain and all the chances that I took away

She’s all I have, she’s all I need I fell to Pride- I belong in Greed- more than salvation, all I want is her

So I’ll keep quiet and tell half lies and burn in the fires of her eyes every time she shares her sweetest smiles with me

If that’s the price I have to pay then here in my own hell I’ll stay standing ever always by her side

Oh Charlie, if someday you know if you look at me and tell me go I’ll reach for you a last time before I do

Betrayal is the word for this faithless lover with every kiss in every night you held me as I cried

This sorry song will have it’s end only so far the truth can bend and when it breaks, I know that we will too

I lived my life ‘till twenty five last year on earth I was alive I died and woke there at the pearly gates

Now I’m sinner down in hell a wingless angel who never fell ‘till the devil’s daughter so softly took my hand

Like a moth drawn to the light I’ve no will in me to fight the Morningstar that leads me to my fate

Charlie- heaven can’t compare to any hell that has you there and I hope you never doubt that part is true  

even if it's sinful- how much that I loved you

[vincentsims333]

Ephesians 2:8-9 is a powerful passage that dives deep into the core of Christian doctrine regarding salvation and the nature of grace. The verses, laden with spiritual nuance, articulate the foundational belief that it is through the grace of God, rather than our own mortal deeds, that we are saved. This divine benevolence is bestowed upon humanity not as a prize to be earned through works or achievements, but as a gift—a token of the boundless love of the Creator.

To comprehend the full weight of Ephesians 2:8-9, let's meticulously examine the text:

"For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast." - Ephesians 2:8-9 (NKJV)

Through these verses, the scripture reveals that salvation cannot be bought, traded, or merited through human effort; it transcends our mightiest endeavors and aligns us with a humbling truth: we are dependent upon the unmatched generosity of God. These words aim to instill a sense of gratitude and humility in believers, acknowledging that our spiritual rescue from sin comes not from our own hands but from the boundless compassion of the Divine. This passage challenges the believer to rethink notions of self-reliance and inspires a communal celebration of the grace that unifies all in their journey towards redemption.

In examining these evocative verses, we see how they confront human pride and dismiss the idea that we could ever stand before the majesty of God, claiming that we have earned our place by our own actions. It gives believers a perspective on faith that counters the notion of executing a transaction with God, instead inviting them to embrace a relationship grounded in trust and the acknowledgement of our own limitations. It is this profound realization of receiving unearned mercy that ignites the spiritual journey into deeper faith, compelling us to reflect our gratitude through lives transformed by His love.

Open your heart as we ponder these sacred words, allowing the magnitude of divine generosity to wash over us and transform our understanding of how we approach the ever-present quest for meaning and our relationship with the Eternal.

[walkswithmyfather]

‭‭Romans‬ ‭5:1‭-‬6‬ ‭(NLT‬‬). “Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory. We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love. When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners.”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2:8‭-‬9‬ ‭(ESV). “‬‬For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.”

“A Gift Already Given” By In Touch Ministries:

“We don’t have to strive for God’s favor; we just need to receive and believe.”

“In today’s passage, Paul uses beautiful language to describe the believer’s position in Christ: “We also have obtained our introduction by faith into this grace in which we stand” (v. 2, emphasis added). This grace is no puddle that barely gets our toes wet. It’s a mighty ocean that stretches on forever. And it’s grander than we could ever fathom.

God’s grace is an essential concept for believers to understand. He freely offers His favor to mankind because Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross granted forgiveness and salvation to anyone who believes. However, many people think they are enjoying God’s kindness when what they are really trying to do is earn it. And the Lord is very clear that works cannot save us (Ephesians 2:8-9).

Serving God in order to gain favor or ensure that He continues to bless you diminishes the beauty of His grace. You can do nothing to deserve His kindness! He pours it upon believers freely. So receive it, beloved, and live free in the knowledge that while your efforts are welcomed and cherished by God, grace is a gift already given.”

[Photo by Benjamin Suter at Unsplash]

[fantastic-nonsense]

redemption and forgiveness and atonement are all different things that have different requirements for the person who did harm and the sooner everyone understands this the sooner we can all move on to more interesting fandom discourse

Redemption is a personal reclamation of morality; it's the acknowledgement that harm has been done, that you are responsible for that harm, and you will move forward with the intent to act better. It's salvation and rescue; it's being freed from your previous mindset regarding the harm you caused other people.

Atonement is redemption in action; it's the ongoing work to apologize to those you've hurt, repair those broken relationships, and fix the harm you've caused. It's reconciliation and years of hard work to prove you are sorry for your past actions and have changed.

Forgiveness is an act that only victims can engage in and it technically requires no action or response from the perpetrator. It is a personal and voluntary decision that someone who was harmed makes to release their overwhelming negative feelings towards the person or group that harmed them. The core of forgiveness is resolving the continued personal impact the harm causes for the victim and how they want to live their life in relation to the perpetrator.

Forgiveness is often tied to the perpetrator engaging in some sort of reparative process to heal the hurt they've caused to a victim, but it's not necessary. This is because forgiveness centers the victim and their feelings about being harmed. The perpetrator is de-centered from the conversation and can theoretically be forgiven without redeeming themselves or engaging in any kind of atonement process; likewise, someone can refuse to forgive a perpetrator regardless of the steps and actions they take to repair the harm they've caused. Because forgiveness isn't something a perpetrator can earn or buy; it's a personal choice and decision of the victim.

So yes: a character can be forgiven without being redeemed and a character can be redeemed without having atoned for their actions. However, a character cannot atone without first redeeming themselves, because to atone they must first recognize that their actions were wrong and seek to do better.

[lord-shitbox]

obsessed with the idea that redemption and forgiveness is something you have to give yourself & im approaching kuras fast.

like..people find salvation thru religion but ultimately you need to make the choice to let Yourself feel like youre ''saved'' or absolved

whethr or not kuras has earned redemption in the eyes of his god or whoever he's wronged in the past is something he has to live with but ultimately that shouldnt dictate whether or not he can move on in his life. like . idk you hurt people and sure you may deserve to suffer in recompense but yuou literally cannot do that forever. sometimes you have to accept you did wrong and forgive yourself & do better moving forward

[sonicasura]

Madness Combat: Analog Horror

I just realized that Madness Combat also has potential in the analog horror category. Like on the surface, it's a web series consisting of simplistic looking creatures being violently chaotic to the point reality breaks. The graphics alone makes it even more comical. Until you realize the potential context.

A post apocalypse realm where reality itself is slowly destabilizing, non-stop violence in every flavor that buying a hot dog could get someone killed, scarce resources where cannibalism becomes necessity, the dead roam the earth and not even purgatory is safe. Either you adapt or die in the madness driven Nevada. Now imagine something like that breaking into our world.

Project: Madness

An advanced survival simulator game meant to craft various scenarios for learning purposes. These situations take place in a digital construct based on U.S's Nevada and are based on the user's input. It was originally meant to be a simple game for public consumption. What Project: Madness became would wrought a horror unlike no other... And this was just the start.

In Osceola, Michigan there's a mysterious stop sign that only appears at night. An odd thing where crimson paint meant to embolden it's warning is instead replaced with dead grey. It never stays in one place as the sign will disappear the next night and emerge halfway across the county.

Should you see this particular sight, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY. Do not stop, keep running but never look away. You aren't alone as the sign's owner is always there. Those who invite Tricky the Clown into their homes have a welcome party of blood and horror.

Yalobusha, Mississippi is considered the most religious place in the United States. Churches that worship various forms of Christianity can be found everywhere. Rumors have it there been sightings which revolve the Messiah, Jesus Christ.

A figure who walks the dead of night with a halo that shines brighter than the sun. Many fanatics often sought out their savior in hopes for salvation. The ones who don't find him should be grateful. What they really seek is merely a monster that believes he's a savior. Jebus brings disaster to those who get too close.

In the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia, disappearances involving hikers and campers has skyrocketed. Any investigator who gone searching for these lost souls soon follow the same fate. No leads have been as time went by.

That is until an broken VHS camcorder was found in a pool of bloody gore with a intact tape still inside. Officials call off the search immediately and lockdown the area. Now they know the terror that comes when one runs afoul of MAG Agent Torture.

A string of grisly murders ransacks West Virginia's country side. The Mothman Killer Crimson rightfully earn their legendary name. Piercing blood red eyes are the only warning you have to run from absolute disaster.

Very few survivors cannot even describe their assailant lest they die of sheet fright. A reaper who rules over the dark and heart tainted black maddening bloodlust. The moment you enter the sight of Hank J Wimbleton, it is too late.

And these incidents are beginning to spread...

That's it for now! Until next time folks, continue to thrive in the madness.

[thedragonsfate]

ok but helioc followers being doomed inherently if they have any tragic or untimely death because they're taught that "Helio wouldn't let that happen" and similar principles

Being taught to live for the afterlife but also to expect worldly challenges like murder/tragedy/etc are something you are like. Immune to somehow? In living?

You are devoted to Helio and in so you will have a peaceful death, one that is fair and just and I'm befitting circumstances. Or at least that if you are subject to a tragic death, Helio will be there to hold you with open arms and some kind of REASON. Something to bring a wholeness to the upset of not getting what you've been taught to expect.

This idea that you are helioc and so your death is Helioc. Helio must have a plan for you, and your death will not be untimely, and if it seems so it serves a greater purpose that is theologically rewarding. Because of course it does.

You are helioc and so you don't just die for no reason. Death is a moment of respite and a crossing into everlasting life and it will ALWAYS be for a greater reason if not simply your salvation.

Helioc followers (and followers of sol) learning that sense of disdain for their non or "wrongly" faithful peers due to that sense of superiority. That sense of superiority extending past your feelings about others and into your expectations for how you will pass into the afterlife.

That superiority creating a fellowship that EXPECTS Helio to save them in the living world - because you've been good, it's not your time yet, Helio wouldn't let that happen to you, his faithful servant. You are faithful and he would not punish you with a an unjustified death.

You are ENTITLED to a befitting death into afterlife because you are Good where the world is Bad and you do everything you can to remind those who do not follow your god, to relentlessly try to convert them, to fall into the trap you fell in so long ago shaped by fear, by a victim complex, by isolation from other groups that makes you hostile toward them, even if behind a smile.

A world that is Fundamentally and Observably polytheistic, where the Helioc unfortunate enough to befall a tragic, untimely, or unexplainable death are -doomed- to the faith upon meeting their Deity. Because unlike those of the faith who have passed peacefully or for their own martyrdom or whatever else, you show up to the corny gates and something is Wrong. Your god comes to you with love but he did not protect you in the way you're certain he was supposed to. In the way you were taught you DESERVED.

This is not a reward for your devotion and it cannot be justified. Your god is a Fratboy of Corn who is unable to answer your questions because to answer your questions truthfully would be to unravel the principles fundamental to your religion. To acknowledge that "bad things happen [to good people] because Things Happen" is to admit that being Helioc does not Save You from the wrath of the cosmos. That being Helioc does not make you uniquely and automatically good, and therefore safe from the happenstance of the world. That the good people you watched suffer did not Earn it in some way, they were just dealt that hand. The hard times befallen upon your worldly siblings is not something that happens because they weren't "devout enough."

to admit Helio is not inherently more holy than any other deity, is the kind of truth that can destroy this type of faith, and Helio needs to stay alive. Gods are not of the material, but they're dependent on their followers to survive. To bend to what their followers preach and create as their religion in this SPECIFIC way means that you can no longer be truthful about these matters when (if) they ask. In the right hands it could destroy him. He needs the unwavering faith the church has built to stay as strong as he has been, because that it how he's maintained the power he's had until now. He no longer knows another way. And that's excluding whatever influence Sol/the church of Sol has on him and his domain.

Helio not only cannot answer truthfully, but is DESTINED to get himself out of dodge quick upon being asked. Because as above so below, and the church is not known for its ability or willingness to take responsibility.

And if youre disillusioned enough, or angry enough, or sharp enough to put that together from an interaction in any way similar to Kristen's in freshman year, then the betrayal of your own God is GOING to take over.

Maybe you're like Kristen and you start asking questions, maybe you're like Buddy and take the rageful hand that offers to ressurect you the way your own God "should have".

But to die in the way they died automatically puts them in a position that if they are to get to heaven and ask questions, or have conflicting feelings strong enough to get you thinking, then they're DOOMED either to be disappointed with Helio or to dig deeper into deluding themselves. This of course will not always trigger a loss of faith, ans plenty of people leave the church in living for a myriad of reasons - we saw this with the summer of endless night. But there's something so interesting in the way the nature of your death could be further reinforcement of your ideals or completely shatter them in one fell swoop, even upon reaching the place of blessed afterlife.

because the Church of Helio seems different from the other religions we've seen in game in that over time the modern faith has been been BUILT on expectation and a sense of deserving more than others. And to die in a manner directly opposed to your own sense of entitlement is all that the latent anger may need to break that follower-deity relationship

Of course Kristen met Helio and was immediately unsure about her direction in life. On the other side of that coin, of course Buddy let his faith go to come back to life to serve a corrupt god of rage. They're children killed young and devout, who's deaths are orchestrated by powers out of their hands, and not in line with the ideals taught by your god.

The difference being how entrenched you are when that happens, and who's there to pull you out.

[thefaithbroken]

A dissertation about Zevlor that I've been meaning to write and post for some time…

Some of this is from my bio for him and some I will elaborate further upon than I do there, but here we go. // @thefaithbroken

Zevlor has been through hell, figurative and literal. A protector by nature, it was as obvious an action as breathing to become a paladin of Helm, to become a Hellrider. His strong sense of justice and his drive to defend those who could not defend themselves had him rise quickly in the ranks. It was not long before he earned the title Commander.

For a time, all was well. He was proud of his work, of his calling, of the good that he did.

And then Elturel fell.

You remember the shattered windows of Elturel's High Cathedral, the burning black sky of Avernus beyond.

In its horror, the Blood War unites you. Tiefling, dwarf, and elf alike huddle behind the shields of your paladin order, waiting for salvation. But when it comes… disunity.

The returned city casts you out, the devils who dragged them down to hell. In the end, it is not your paladin oath that is broken: It is your Faith itself.

Those of his order stood together, united in the face of possible enslavement or annihilation… until the danger had past and there was time for such ugly things as resentment, fear, hatred, and racism.

After all they had endured, after how they all had stood together and defended their home, after they had all placed their own lives in peril to defend those who needed their aid—just as Zevlor always had believed should be done—to be cast out… broke both his faith and, in many ways, him.

He was weary, wartorn, betrayed. But his people, the frightened Tiefling refugees also cast out, needed him, looked to him to guide them through the perils of the Wilds and to Baldur's Gate. He was the one with the most experience, the most authority of the lot. They looked to him and he set aside his own pain and brokenness in order to do what he could for them, so little as it might be. Older than most there, powerless with his faith left in shambles, a greater ruin even than Elturel, still he agreed to lead them. Who else was there to whom they might turn? Most of them had never held a sword, perhaps never even ventured outside of their city, in all of their lives.

Yet, even despite his knowledge and his experience, they lost many along the roads, to all manner of dangers and threats. Their numbers had substantially dwindled even before the gnoll attack… and he set each one like a mark against his very own soul, the burden of his failures, the reasons for the guilt that hunched once strong shoulders. He was not worthy to lead them. He had failed them at every turn. Without his abilities as a paladin, with his faith shattered as it was, what use has he been to them? If he has done anything at all worth note, he cannot see it. Yet, he does not ask for them to take up arms as well. Does not demand of these survivors to become soldiers. He assures the ones who wish to help, tries to encourage them even when he would have given up from the moment the order to leave was given if it hadn't been for this duty. He asks nothing of them, and takes everything upon himself, weary as he is.

That is where the story begins anew though, isn't it? Gnolls and goblins and brave, heroic adventurers, some small spark of hope rekindled at last… How surprised he is at every turn when the leader of the adventurers not only agrees to help, but even offers, does so without asking anything in return. It shocks him every time and you can hear it in the breathless, stunned quiet, particularly if the leader of the adventurers doesn't take the payment he collected from the refugees for their help in ridding them of the goblin threat. He even gives the leader his own Helm-blessed gauntlets if the player sorted Kagha. Every time he is met with kindness and aid, he is left stunned and perhaps even a bit verklempt because Elturel had shaken him so much, had broken him so much, had left him hopeless.

But these adventurers who owe them nothing had done everything in their power to help him and the other refugees, perfect strangers to them, simply because it was the right thing to do. It isn't much in the grand scheme of the world turning, but it means everything to him, which is exactly what Cerys says when you meet her at Last Light.

"The way Zevlor talked about you, I'd thought you would be ten feet tall." [ Potentially paraphrasing as I can't remember the exact wording, but that's the gist. ]

He hadn't stopped talking about the leader, about the one who returned at least some hope to him, not from the moment they left the Grove. It was the first time since Elturel fell that he felt a spark of something again that didn't feel like loss or suffering.

If only he had known how it would go from there…

What hope had been rekindled by the travelers was challenged by the Shadows as fear and uncertainty once more gripped him. Were these shadows not the same that Halsin had warned the travelers about? And yet, Cerys assured him it was only a quick detour to avoid an owlbear on the road. If his scout was so certain, then perhaps it was, in fact, the best path.

Except that it wasn't.

Not far from a place that could have been their safehaven from the shadows, it fell upon them: the might of the Absolute.

Enthralled and dominated by a being of god-like power, his brokenness, his vulnerability, his self-doubt and his guilt are what the Absolute sees and what it uses. What is it that captures him? The thought of having his power restored to him, not for his own gain… but that he might at last truly protect his people, might prevent the loss of any more lives, might at last be able to live up to all that they had asked of him when he, in his mind, had failed them so many times along this journey. The Absolute singled him out as the threat, as the one who would cause the most trouble if he was aware at the time of the ambush, and it made certain that it wouldn't be, showing him exactly what he wanted to see: him able to keep his people safe…

As they were slaughtered around him, or blindly fled into the darkness.

And by the time he can snap out of it, there's nothing he can do. It's too late. Asharak, Ikaron, Memnos, and others — dead. It's his fault. It's his fault that he was too weak. It was some personal failing of his that lead to this, clearly.

So he goes with the cultists. Lets them take him away to Moonrise.

So much for hope. So much for heroes. What a fool he had been.

There was only him and his weakness and his failure… and the dead…

Yet, upon being freed in the Mindflayer Colony by the leader of the adventurers, he fights like a madman, helps to clear the room of any and all threats, offering a glimpse at the warrior he was and still is beneath the grief. And then you can speak with him.

For this, I will use my paladin, Thraeya and the dialogue options she chose.

Zevlor: Hells, I didn't think I was going to make it… Thank you. I… I owe you an explanation. Much more than that. But first, please… The others. The ambush — tell me they survived.

Thraeya: They found refuge. But what the hells happened out there, Zevlor?

Zevlor: You've heard some of it, I'm sure. That I froze, or broke, or some other lie that is kinder than the truth. We were ambushed by cultists, yes. And then I heard… her. Their false god, whispering promises in my mind. I would be a paladin again — with a god's purpose, a god's power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their saviour. By the time I regained my sense, it was too late. I did not just surrender to the Absolute. For a moment, I welcomed it.

Thraeya: It sounds like you were being enthralled. It's not your fault.

Zevlor: It would be nice to think so. But whatever these monsters twist us into… I believe that it begins in us. I won't make excuses. I can't make amends. But I know something of what you came to do — I want to help, i- if you'll let me. Ketheric is below. He thinks you are no longer a menace. Descend and show him how wrong he is. If there are any more survivors to be found, I'll find them and lead them out of this place.

Thraeya: Find your people. They need you.

Zevlor: They have you… Go, my friend. Please. Let me do this much.

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As an aside, most of the responses you can choose are less than understanding. Several of them are outright condemning, much as the tone I dislike that has been taken with the writing in answers to Gale. And, honestly, the way Zevlor talks about himself also reminds me quite a bit of how Gale talks about himself. As though he has no worth or value beyond what he can do for others—right from when you first meet him in the Grove and he says that he'll repay your kindness—as well as for feeling that there is no way he can redeem himself, no way to make amends, no way to atone. There is something inherently wrong with him.

It frustrates me to no end that the game and its writing team have chosen to treat a character like Zevlor in this manner, as though the very narrative condemns him for something utterly beyond his control. As many times as certain adventurers get charmed by harpies and Tasha's Hideous Laughter and Otto's Irresistible Dance cast by just regular, ordinary opponents, I find it a bit hypocritical to hold it against Zevlor that he gets dominated by a literal deity-level being.

We give Minthara a second chance when we recruit her despite how many deaths she's either responsible for under orders of the Absolute or would have been responsible for under the Absolute, nevermind anything she might have done or been part of as a Lolth-sworn drow.

We don't hold all of Astarion's past against him, despite all the lives it affected forever.

We don't condemn Shadowheart for being part of Shar's cult despite all of the destruction wrought.

We don't blame Lae'zel for her people literally being willing to go wipeout whoever stands in their way — including an entire monastery as well as the Flaming Fist and the tiefling scout.

We don't fault Karlach for not helping the people of Elturel while she was in the hells because she was focused on doing whatever it took to survive.

We don't hold it against Wyll that he made a bad decision because he wanted to save his city.

We don't blame Halsin for the Curse falling and for his inability to fix it all this time, or even to keep the Grove in order and Kagha, his own student, on the right path.

We don't blame or condemn or ostracize any of them for their worst act or worst failing or worst decision or worst moment.

Yet the game seems to slant towards immediately writing off characters like:

Zevlor [ who was literally in the worst mental state possible while still trying to help others and was taken advantage of because of it and then subsequently blamed by the very people he strove to protect and had protected until that point even when he was struggling, to the extent of Cerys basically saying 'fuck him' despite the fact that SHE is the whole reason they ended up in the Curse anyway even if you explained to her what happened, and Zorru — who has exactly no right since he took off and abandoned the Tiefling who the Githyanki kill — basically says he better not see Zevlor or else. ]

Nere [ who is arguably in the same boat as Minthara, if not worse for having been a drow male in Lolth-sworn society, and if you converse with him after you convince him to free the gnomes, you can even actually see the shift in his demeanor and tone, to the extreme of going from talking in third person to talking in first, as well as him seeming almost addled and confused ]

Gale [ who much of the fandom makes no secret of saying that somehow Mystra was the real victim and Gale was the problem — thanks, Larian — despite the fact that even Minsc says that where he comes from, they teach their wizard boys to be silent lest Mystra steal them away, nevermind all of her canon behavior and atrocities outside of the game ].

On the whole, the fandom pardons almost all of the team characters in some manner or other, while condemning some of the very others whose stories are quite similar. Why is that? This game literally revolves around the concept of trauma and the fallout from it, and yet… apparently the effects of trauma should hold weight only for some characters? Is that the takeaway?

Zevlor should be condemned and ostracized because he was suffering, Nere should be killed and his head taken to the Myconids despite being a puppet under the Absolute, and Gale's best ending — according to some of the very people at Larian in charge of the stories — is to kill himself for the greater good because he wasn't ready before but he can do it now.

Wow.

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But, I digress, Zevlor is a good person who has been through literal and metaphorical hell while trying to help people who needed help, despite the fact that he didn't even feel like he could help himself. In a moment of weakness, he was taken advantage of and enthralled, and he blames himself for all that followed — and the narrative itself seems to blame him in turn.

Instead of pointing fingers, throwing blame, and directing venom at a man who already thinks he isn't worth the space he takes up, you should be able to sit him down in camp with a warm blanket and some food beside the campfire and reassure him — just as you do with all of your companions, each in turn — that he did what he could, that he isn't defined by his worst moment, and that the world is still better for him in it. What's the most important is what he does next. And you would see him absolutely crumble.

Zevlor deserves the world, and no one will ever convince me otherwise.