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plush-rabbit · 6 months ago

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No name story part,,, 4? yeah, part 4. i really wanna get to the good part and i can't!! because i have to write the inbetween stuff. As I mourn my first love, Shigaraki Tomura, I will put this out. I am going to grieve, because I wanted a happy ending where he's the king of the new world and instead I get pain. and on an anniversary day no less!! blasphemy Word Count: 3K -

You wore a robe to your severance. You couldn't slip anything into it. Not a photo, not a single memory. All of your life remains above and out of reach.

A part of you wishes that you had the sense to take something with you, to slip between the folds of the fabric, folded and tucked neatly. But you doubt that it would have survived the fall. You can't remember much of it- only the way that your body crumpled to the ground, broken with gold pooling underneath you, seeping out of you, the warmth of it doing nothing to stop the chills from your body.

No. Nothing would have survived even if you had wished for it.

On nights when you’re unable to find sleep, you lay awake, empty and cold. You’re without a possession to your name, a name without any meaning here. The only one who you can speak to, has bid you goodnight long ago, and you have yet to find his room in the palace. You wish you had asked him to keep you company.

Outside of your room, you can hear the quick, fluttering steps of imps. You’ve only spoken to a few, nothing more than just pleasantries. You wonder if they would hear you cry at night, if they avoided your room and your gaze because they knew far too much.

Your back aches, and you can feel your wings- or at least the ghost of them tense and knotted in tension.

The thought passes by too quickly, whispered in the back of your mind that you doubt you had any real control over, you wonder about Heaven.

It was peaceful. You didn’t hold a title, you were simply an Angel. You were a being made of stars and kindness, molded by Father’s hands, each feather smoothed between his fingertips, each freckle and dimple pinched with love. You were an Angel, you were meant to be kind, meant to be good. You were never meant to be anything more or anything less.

Perhaps that’s why you’re here.

You allowed Adam to court you, allowed yourself to want the finer things in life. You questioned, and you wanted knowledge and reason behind Heaven. You wanted more, and now you’re no longer an angel.

Tears burn your eyes, and your hands scratch the blanket that lays above you. You have the urge to call for Lucifer, to have him comfort you again. To simply just have comfort and be told that you’ll be okay.

Your breathing is rushed, in and out, in and out, far too quick for you to control your emotions. You need to remember something else, anything else. You need to relax and think about- your mind comes to a blank. You need to think about Adam. Your hand clutches the shirt over your chest, twisting the fabric in your palm.

You close your eyes and think back to Heaven.

It was a peaceful day, one where Adam didn't have to attend a training for the Exorcists, where he could simply be with you. You both sit in a hidden part of Heaven, where the trees are lush and vines hang from the branches, flowers and petals covering the land. It was nice, a valley that Adam had claimed for himself, one where it looked like Earth before it was touched by man.

You lay on your back, your wings stretched to act as a cushion under you, fluttering and twitching under the breeze of the wind. Adam sits beside you, his guitar held in his hands, strumming along cords that are pleasant to your ears. Despite the vulgar lyrics that spill past his lips, you find his voice soothing. With the sun warm on your skin, you could almost fall asleep- you can find peace under the tree.

However, the lyrics are full of sin, lust filled and licentiousness. He hums the final words, slurring them together, ending in a curse when he can’t find a rhyme. But he turns to you expectantly, watching as you blink slowly at him. Your eyes are heavy, and your body equally so. With a smile, you muse outloud, “It’s terrible.”

“Yeah, well you don’t know good music,” he retorts, sticking his tongue out at you. You snort in response. His hand rests over your stomach, and you cover his hand with yours.

“I’ve heard bangers-”

“Don’t call them that,” he interrupts with a groan.

“And this is not a banger,” you end with a smile.

“Fuck you,” he murmurs, and you feel warmth beside you, his arm stretching over your midsection. You turn to face him, and he’s laying on his side, his other arm acting as a cushion under his head. “It’s a great fucking song.”

“It’s gross,” you tell him, closing your eyes once more.

“Tell me how.” He presses himself closer to you.

Smiling, you shift, and he follows your movements, your body entangling itself around his as he rests his head over your chest, his arm circling over your midsection. His clawed hand rests over you, the nail of it tracing delicate lines over you. His wings stretch out, one laying itself flat, and the other acting as a blanket over the both of you.

“It talks about people being together.” When he doesn’t answer, you continue. “Women and their bodies, men and theirs,” you let the last word hang awkwardly in the air.

“Go on,” he encourages.

“I’ve said far too much,” you add hastily, feathers fluttering in the air.

“On the contrary, little dove, you haven’t said enough.” You snort at the nickname, but even so, you can’t help the flutter of your feathers. “I’m only getting inspiration from you,” he adds, a hand cupping the underside of your chest. “I like writing about you.”

“You do?” You perk at the mention, warmth fluttering in your chest knowing that he does think of you.

“Mhm,” he nods. “I’m writing a new song about you,” he lilts at the end.

“What’s it about?” Curiosity is laced in your words, and you let the excitement pool in your stomach, eager to hear more.

“I’m thinking about your hands.”

You can’t help the laughter that rings around you. “How would that even go?”

“Softest hands I’ve ever felt.” Your eyes open, a smile stretching on your lips, as the clouds above you move to cover more of the sun. He hums for a second, his hand patting against your arm. “Love to feel them wrapped around my-” You call his name in a warning. “Softer than any cunt-”

“Adam!” You shriek with a laugh, covering his mouth with your hand. He licks at your palm immediately, and you pull away with a grimace. “Gross,” you mumble.

“You've had worse on your hand,” he tells you with a smile, his weight is a comfort above you.

With a huff, you wipe your hand over the sleeve of his robe. “You’re a dick.”

“Dickmaster, baby,” he tells you.

“I doubt that that name is going to catch on,” you muse.

“I already have some of the girls calling me that, ya know?” He says with pride, pushing himself closer onto you. You stay silent, and he presses a kiss against your body. “Jealous, huh?”

“Sort of,” you answer honestly. “I would rather be the only one to call you something like that.”

“Ha,” he breathes out. “I’ll reserve it just for you then.”

“No, you won’t,” you smile.

“Maybe I will,” he counters.

With a pleasant memory, and an emptiness in your chest, you turn on your side. The pillow is clutched in your hand, and you let out soft whines as tears warm your cheeks. You miss Heaven. You miss Adam. You miss your wings. All you have is memories, and even then, they’ll fade no matter how much you cling to them. You’ll be in Hell until you die, until Lucifer wishes to cast you out of his home. An angel without their wings, a fallen angel deemed too pathetic for the King of Hell. You bury your head into the pillow, and you wish you had run away to Earth.

Adam isn’t sure how much time has passed since your- since you left. Time has blurred, left messy and without structure. He attends to his duties, he does what is needed of him, and even if it isn't much, if it’s all purely just to give hope to others and have them bask in his glory, he’s there. He doesn’t give himself time to think about you, to linger on you longer for a minute. He pushes you out of his mind. He’s hidden your things, stuffed them into boxes and taped it shut.

Everything that made you, you; that made you different from others, is tucked away. He hates that everything of yours, could fit into just a few boxes, and your existence is gone along with everything else. No one speaks of you, no one dares to mention your name. Whether it's out of fear, or because you’re no longer here, he isn’t sure. But you're gone.

The first few days, weeks, months- whatever it was, was difficult. He was restless, snapping at anyone or anything that came near him, like a shark that’s been starved for too long. Even if he’s tried to push you out his mind, you don’t seem to let go. Your ghost haunts him, a chill down his spine whenever he closes his eyes, your scent clinging to the bed sheets that he refuses to wash. Your laughter rings in the shared home, echoing off the walls in the dead of night. He catches glimpses of you in the corner of his eyes. He’s being haunted by you, a poltergeist in heaven.

It’s laughable.

It’s pitiful.

The door to his office opens, and Lute steps in, her mask held in her hands, her face betraying no emotion. His eyes glance over to his drink, half filled with whiskey, ice melting and condensation creating a ring on the table.

“Sir,” Lute stands talls, her heels clicking at the floor. He can only offer a grunt of acknowledgement. “The exorcists are prepared for the upcoming extermination.”

He looks up at her. She’s devoted. Loyal to Heaven, and to him. She’s his right hand. She’s ruthless and efficient. He’s always held her in high regard- all of his girls.

You didn’t agree with the extermination, claiming that the murder of souls- innocent or not, was something unnecessary. While you never wanted to hear about the casualties, the death and the gore, the wretchedness and sin that covered him in crimson, you had accepted him as he was. His brutality, his ego- him. You accepted him, you wanted him.

Somewhere, he remembers Vaggie. One of his best. Brutal and steadfast in the beliefs of Heaven and cleansing Hell from the damned. Lute was her executioner- unofficially. How Lute ripped her eyes out, and she tore her wings from her back and tossed them to the side. How he and Lute had left Vaggie for dead, an angel without their wings, hobbling around Hell, missing an eye and only hoping that their suffering will end.

And now you’re in Hell.

“Sir.”

“What?” It comes out harsher than it’s meant to be. And he turns his head, grabbing at the glass, but unable to lift it to his lips. He sighs, the condensation cold against his palm. “What is it Lute?”

“I wanted to know if there was any plan you had for Extermination Day.” He looks up at her, and he can see her falter. The corners of her lips twitch, and she tightens her fists. It’s rare to see her like this.

“About?”

She says your name, and it sounds wrong. Your name shouldn’t be uttered, shouldn’t be whispered by anyone above. He has yet to say your name out loud. He’s thought it- wanted it, mouthed it, but he can’t voice it. He can’t give you a voice. And yet, she has no problem saying your name, even if you both shared affection for one another.

Adam looks at Lute now, as she waits for his response, and he sees your executioner. He remembers how her face contorted to pull your wings from your back. The snarl of her upper lip as she had to drag the skin, gold staining her hands as a piece of skin thinned down to your lower back. Logically, he shouldn’t be upset with Lute. It was her job- it was required of her. It was even told that she would be the best one suited for you and your fate. But still- he sees her, and he sees you on the floor, sobbing and reaching for your wings. And he sees your wings, gathered and taken elsewhere.

Lute continues, her hands fisted at her sides. It’s been some time since the two of them have been together alone. “If we see them, what are we meant to do?”

His eyes widen, and his hand tightens around the glass. “Excuse me?”

Her voice fades into noise, and he stares through her. The idea of meeting you in Hell is one that he never even touched upon. A part of him desperately wished that you were able to hide, to lick your wounds and stay hidden where those vile and filthy souls couldn’t touch you, where you could expand your power. However, wisps of thoughts, ghosts of you and who you were always lingered in the back of his mind. He’ll never admit it, he’ll never give it an actual, tangible thought, but he needed to face the ugly truth that some degenerate had found your mangled body, or that in pity and mercy, the fall was enough to- crack! His glass breaks, and amber and gold spills on the table.

“Adam!” Lute calls with worry laced into his name. She rarely does call him by his name, only in softer moments, where neither will be interrupted will she call his name. But now, there’s a flash of panic in her eyes, and he fists the injured hand.

“Shit-” he can feel the stickiness of the drink. “I’m fine, Lute.It’s just- Fuck-” a piece of glass is pushed deep into the flesh of his palm- “it’s whatever.” With a flex of his hand, he miracles away the injury, the only evidence for it is pooled on the table. “It’s a fucking cut. I’ve had worse.”

She pauses, and looking between his hand and him, she clears her throat. “Of course, my apologies. However, the Exorcists will need an answer on what will be the course of action should we run into-” the click of the first letter taints her tongue- “them,” she corrects herself.

“If we see them,” Adam muses, and the only thing that can come into mind is taking you away. Hiding you somewhere. Making sure you didn’t leave his side. He catches Lute’s eyes, and she waits expectantly, her fingers twitching in anticipation. “I’ll decide before we go down.” He sees her disappointment, the way she softens her shoulders, the soft exhale. She isn’t content with that answer, and neither is he. “Just leave me be, huh? I’ll see you later.” He waves her off, and gives his attention to the alcohol that creeps towards the paperwork on his desk. In a blink, the glass is repaired, and filled with the sweet amber.

In the solitude of his office, he stares at the wall. What would he do if he saw you? How do you even look now? Would you recognize him? Would he recognize you?

Yes. He would. Without a doubt. He’d pick you out in a crowd. He’d know it was you. He’d be so certain of it. He’d go to you in all of his glory, and he’d take you. He would take you away from it all. He’d apologize for not coming sooner, but even with his title, there are still rules that he has to answer to. He’d apologize for not doing something then, for not protecting you and doing more to prevent your punishment. But you’ve learned. You’d be better now. You’d stick by him, and you’d be safe with him.

His hands aren’t stained with your blood, and yet, he can never feel clean. Maybe he should have listened to you, maybe he should have stayed home. Let himself stay ignorant to your fate. Let himself think that you had a fighting chance. That you had fought and snarled your teeth at the others. Instead, you cowered, you looked hurt- betrayed that the ones that you held in such high regard watched you with cold eyes, unblinking and repulsed as you writhed on the floor. You were there, the only memory of you pooling on the floor, inching closer to the feet of others. Then your blood, golden and glittering, was washed; gold watered down and cleaned with a cloth, until the color changed.

Should he have sullied himself? Should he have sat on his knees, let his skin and clothes be forever stained by your blood. Have the ends of his robe forever touched by you. Let his knees mark themselves, raw and red, as he crouched to clean what was left of you. Should he have let himself touch the last bit of holiness that you had left, let it stain his nails. Should he have scrubbed at the floors until his hands were raw, until he could see his reflection in the floor, until you were no longer there. Had he sat there, and cleaned the floor, would it have been enough to bring you back, would they have taken pity on someone as great as him. Would they have seen his good deed, and let your misdeed be forgiven? Could Father have heard your cries, if you were just a bit louder? Should he have cried for you, begging and praying for mercy until you were saved.

He’ll see you. He’ll find you in hell. He’ll take you back home.

#adam x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #adam #hh adam #hh adam x reader #hazbin adam x you #adam hazbin #adam firstman #i want to spoil everything #i was also listening to lady gaga and i really wanted to write for ghostface again #that fic story had potential #picture perfect #also such a good name too

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lulu2992 · 2 months ago

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My beaded creations

And now, the rest of my collection.

Part 2: Alphabet beads

A simple “The Legend of Zelda” bracelet on the left, and on the right, a design inspired by the Sages’ Medallions from Ocarina of Time, but in French: Lumière (Light), Ombre (Shadow), Esprit (Spirit), Eau (Water), Feu (Fire), and Forêt (Forest). Fire is dark pink instead of red but it works.

A very long necklace (can also be worn as a very thick bracelet) made of all the Zelda games’ titles. Each section is independent so more can be easily added when new games are released. Also, if it breaks, I don’t have to remake the whole thing...

Bracelets and rings for a few fictional characters:

Bracelets: Midona (Midna’s French name, from Twilight Princess) — Ghirahim (Skyward Sword) — Babydoll (Sucker Punch) — Vaas Montenegro (Far Cry 3) — Lakshmana Min (Far Cry 4).

Rings: Babydoll — Ghirahim — Vaas.

A few quotes from Sucker Punch:

You see, your fight for survival starts right now. You don’t want to be judged? You won’t be. You don’t think you’re strong enough? You are. You’re afraid, don’t be. You have all the weapons you need. Now fight. (Vera Gorski)

You are safe, it’s all safe. — Now relax, and just let go. (Vera Gorski)

Let the pain go. — Let the hurt go. — Let the guilt go. (Vera Gorski)

Everyone has an angel. (Sweet Pea) — Defend yourself. (The Wiseman)

Bracelets inspired by Far Cry 3:

Vaas’ famous quote: The world is on a diagonal. — I am the balancing point.

Left: Quote from Citra: Rage against the darkness.

Right: Please define “insanity”.

Quote from one of the trailers, “The Savages: Vaas & Buck”: We’re not the savages. — We are the shepherds. (Buck Hughes)

Two quotes (in French) from two songs in Beauty and the Beast I think are cool:

Left: In the French version of “Beauty and the Beast”, “Histoire Éternelle” (it means “Eternal Story”), Madame Samovar (Mrs. Potts) sings C’est vrai, c’est étrange/De voir comme on change/Sans même y penser (“It’s true, it is strange to see how we change without even thinking about it”). The original English lyrics are Bittersweet and strange/Finding you can change/Learning you were wrong. I think about this quote (the French one) often…

Right: In “Belle”, the villagers sing La tête ailleurs et ce petit air audacieux/D'un chat sauvage sous une ombrelle (“In her own head and with this little daring look of a wild cat under an umbrella”) to describe Belle, and I love this description. In English, it was simply Look, there she goes, that girl is strange, no question/Dazed and distracted, can't you tell?

Two other French quotes, this time from video games:

Left: In The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, when Gaepora sees Fi (Fay in French), he quotes a few ancient words: Le guide de l'enfant, hors de l'épée s'élance. Juvéniles sont ses traits, mais grande est sa sapience (“The child’s guide, out of the sword leaps. Juveniles are her features, but great is her sapience”). I really like that we had rhyming alexandrines in French. The English localization said, “The youth will be guided by one born of the blade--one who is also youthful in likeness yet wise with knowledge immeasurable.”

Right: Quote from Child of Light. When he appears and notices Aurora crying, Igniculus says: Quelqu’un pourrait-il m’expliquer/Comment, sans pluie, l’eau peut tomber ? The original English line (Will someone please explain/How water falls with no rain?) means the same thing, but I just liked how it sounded in French. Also, to be honest, the alphabet beads I bought are for French people and we barely use the letter W, so I didn’t have enough W beads :’)

More video game quotes, this time in English. One is from BioShock 2 and the other is from Far Cry 5:

Left: Evil is just a word; under the skin, it’s simple pain. (Eleanor Lamb)

Right: Cherish this feeling. Let it carry you. (John Seed)

Three more English quotes I like:

Left: The Alice In Wonderland quote that appears at the beginning of Far Cry 3: In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

Center: Quote from the FFVII Remake announcement trailer (E3 2015): The reunion at hand may bring joy; it may bring fear. But let us embrace whatever it brings, for they are coming back.

Right: Lyrics from the song “A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes” from Cinderella: No matter how your heart is grieving/If you keep on believing/The dream that you wish will come true.

Finally, here are two quotes from Lady Gaga songs:

Left: Don’t be a drag, just be a queen/Don’t be a drag, just be a queen/Don’t be a drag, just be a queen (“Born This Way” - Born This Way)

Right: It’s not a statement as much as just a move of passion (“Aura” - ARTPOP)

Thank you for looking at my beads :)

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