#that's where my stupid i can save them complex comes from i fall in love with broken people and i think | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bradshawsweetheart · 2 years ago

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Here we go, me yelling again🤠

But this thing lying before you, the one wearing the skin of the man that loves you like a sacrilegious coat, does not deserve peace. Bradley does. Wherever he is, if he is alive, if he is dead, if he is asleep, if he is awake…Bradley deserves peace.

The complexity of what’s going on is so masterful and I just want to cry LOL

Everyone is waiting for him to do something, save everyone.

He wonders if they’ll remember him saying that. He wonders if they’ll remember anything he said or did. He wonders if they’ll remember the way his voice trembled.

Javy baby😭 literal weight of the world on his and Nat’s shoulders

They will always remember what Miss Phoenix sounded like when Mister Bob died right there in front of everyone, his body pale and bloody and her wails deafening.

This is so heartbreaking and reminds me of the behind the scenes fact of the [REDACTED] movie where they had to cut the audio of Daniel Radcliffe’s wailing over Gary Oldman because it was too gut-wrenching🥲

“I’m a boy scout,” he answers incredulously. Like, duh. Of course. That’s how.

I just cackled LMAO

But you. You’re someone he can help. You’re someone that just shot three times.

And she’s the someone with only one bullet left now ono

“Look at these guns, huh? Who’d wanna tussle with me?”

He’s trying so hard to reassure them I’m so sad LOL

He wonders, momentarily, if it will sound like that forever now that you’ve been choked within an inch of your life.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I’m from District 12.

Coyote’s eyes fall to the ground. You can see it written across his face--the grief, the shock. His brows knit and his lips turn down.

Oh baby :(((((

“He hasn’t done anything except crop his own shirts and-and make goo-goo eyes at Gale. Right? Something isn’t right here.”

LMFAOOOOO SO TRUE!!

“Bradley isn’t my best friend,” Phoenix whispers. “Bob was.”

Oof, poor word choice Javy🥲

“You mean you?” Phoenix asks--her tone is pointed and frustrated, but you’re not angry with her.

Natasha pls😭😭

“If he’s possessed…” Phoenix starts, scratching her head and wilting beneath the sun like a flower. “Could we get him back? Or is he gone for good?”

Phoenix is me messaging Millie after every update LMFAO

“What if we burned the ax?” Coyote says. “Like, that’s what happens in The Evil Dead. They burn the book and--!”

So true Javy!! Become Ash Williams!!

“Look,” Coyote starts, glaring at Phoenix. His palms are sweaty. “We all know that you’re aching real bad about Bob, okay? But you’re not the only one who lost someone today. We all lost people today. We all lost Bob today.”

I mean… he has a point. Sorry babe. :(

“I need you guys to move the rock and lock me in there with him,” you tell them. Your fingers are numb. “And don’t let us out until it’s over.”

I’m going to throw up I’m so tense

It’s been a cruel, cruel summer.

She said it!! She said the thing!!

“Birdie…”

No. Stop right now.

“Birdie--what…what’s going on? Why am I tied up?”

No more pretending to be him you stupid mf I will literally suplex you

“Please, I know this summer hasn’t been stellar, but don’t do this! Birdie, please!”

I did laugh at this though LMAO

“You fucking whore!” He screams. “God--look what you’ve--you fucking bitch! You’re killing him! You’re killing him!”

I would literally start sobbing I’m not going to lie

“Do you think I can’t find you again? I’ve been watching you for three summers…I saw what you did with him in the woods. I saw what you did with Jakey-boy in your cabin, you whore. I see everything you do. I’m always here. I live in your nightmares!”

😦

“You’re leaving your friends again,” he whispers softly to you. “The ones you abandoned before…they’ve been calling out your name. They’ve been waiting for you. They want you to come to them. They’re all alone. And they’re so scared, dolly…they’re so scared without you there.”

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

“Hold on,” you whisper to Bradley’s body. “Just hold on, alright?”

I CRY!!!!!

So like… Jake’s dead, right? No one’s gone back for him and he’s surely bled out by now🥲

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒. 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍--𝐈𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟔.𝟗𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

Panting, you stand over his body. He’s alive--his chest is rising and falling, his lashes are fluttering, and his fingers are twitching. Already there’s a violet bruise beginning to blossom in the middle of his forehead, one that will rise and ache. But for now, as you try to catch your breath and stop the ringing in your ears, he’s out cold.

And for one fleeting moment, as everything around you becomes muffled from the blood cottoning your ears, you’re overcome with envy. Envy that he is lying down, with his eyes closed, and his body at rest. Envy that he can just be.

What you wouldn’t give to just lie down and be.

His lashes flutter again--Bradley’s lashes. He doesn’t wake, doesn’t really stir. He looks, almost, peaceful. But this thing lying before you, the one wearing the skin of the man that loves you like a sacrilegious coat, does not deserve peace. Bradley does. Wherever he is, if he is alive, if he is dead, if he is asleep, if he is awake…Bradley deserves peace.

The envy fades just as suddenly as it appears--replaced with an immeasurable, gut-wrenching rage. One that dominates the ache in your muscles and the tired in your bones and the heaviness of your eyelids and the thumping inside of your chest. It burns your fingertips--singes the ends of your hair and makes all the blood come rushing to your face.

“Fuck you,” you whisper to all this flesh and bone. Your voice does not sound like it’s coming from your mouth--it sounds like it’s coming from the mouth of a woman disturbed, pushed to the brink, close to the edge, enervated, frantic. And with a resounding and overwhelming heave, you realize that all of this is true. “I got you.”

Of course, you’re not talking to Bradley when you say this. You’re only looking at him.

He does not respond.

Reaching into your pocket, your grip still firm on the shotgun, you finger the casings you have left. Four. You have four bullets left. And for the first time today--for the first time in a few days, really--you feel lucky. Lucky like you’ve just plucked a four-leafed clover beneath a double-rainbow beside a heads-up penny.

Okay, you think. I have to move.

Coyote is standing at the bus doors, eyes narrowed on the crease as if Bradley is somehow going to slip in when he’s not looking.

It’s been almost thirty minutes since the two of you left the bus barn and you haven’t come back. Bradley hasn’t come back either, which he’s sure must mean something good. But everyone heard it--the gunshot. It’s been very quiet since then.

His fingers are beginning to tremble as he grips the butcher knife. He keeps repeating it in his head, chewing over it like a mantra: c’mon, Gale. C’mon, Gale. C’mon, Gale.

Phoenix is huddled up with all the campers at the back of the bus, her eyes wide and her mouth closed tight. She cannot rid herself of this horrified expression--and she hasn’t been able to stop crying since Bob died in her arms.

Time keeps flitting forward--children keep whispering, Coyote keeps careful watch over the entrance, Bob grows cold at the front of the bus beneath a pile of donated jackets, palms grow sweaty on the grips of knives--and she can do nothing to stop it. The world just keeps moving and she’s staying right where she is; on this bus.

You’re not back yet. And with every aching moment that marches on, she grows more accustomed to the thought of you lying dead in the woods. It is not a comfortability with which she settles into this--but merely a placid acceptance. Something she cannot change. Something she cannot fix. Another one of her friends dead and gone.

She’s just here on this bus.

“Anything?” Phoenix asks--her voice is thin and muffled from all the children crowding her, each one elbowing another for a spot beside her and away from the windows. “At all?”

Coyote doesn’t look away from the bus doors.

“Nothing,” he whispers.

It’s quiet. A few of the campers are whimpering--Phoenix doesn’t have it in her to comfort them right now. Not when she can’t stop crying herself. Not when this terrible numbness is crawling up her legs like leeches in warm, waist-deep water.

“Is Miss Nightingale going to come back?” A quiet voice pipes up from the back. Phoenix can’t tell who’s talking--doesn’t even turn her head to attempt to find out. “Or did Mister Rooster do something…do something real bad?”

“She’ll come back,” Coyote answers, his tone even and serious. He holds onto the handle of his knife harder. C’mon, Gale. “She always does, right?”

“So far,” Phoenix whispers.

She thinks of you, splayed out on the dirt, not quite fast enough to outrun Bradley. Dying just within the reach of his fingertips, your hair caught in his fists when he lunges forward, your foot slipping on a rock and giving Bradley the opportunity to come forward and take you. One minuscule mistake, one lapse in your stride, one wrong placement of your foot on the earth and you’re gone. Just like that. Just like Bob.

“C’mon,” Coyote whispers underneath his breath. He’s a few moments away from clasping his hands together and praying out loud--would even drop to his knees right now to see you again. “C’mon, Gale. C’mon, now. Get on back here, girl. C’mon.”

“Should we go looking for her?” Another camper asks.

“Mister Rooster would get us!” Another returns.

Coyote can hear it now--the way in which this will all become folklore. Another story to be told around a fire, one inexperienced mouth to another, hands sticky with s’mores as they gesture. Chocolate thick on their tongue when they utter the words he got four of the counselors and the groundskeeper.

For the first time since you left, he peels his gaze from the door to look at all the wide-eyes staring back at him. Everyone is waiting for him to do something, save everyone.

“It’s alright,” Coyote says to them. His voice is quivering. “She’s gonna come back.”

He wonders if they’ll remember him saying that. He wonders if they’ll remember anything he said or did. He wonders if they’ll remember the way his voice trembled.

The younger ones will have faint memories of this, like fingerprints pressed in drying clay--not fully molded, only an impression. The older ones will remember this all, yes, but it will become muddled and fragmented as the years roll forward. They will imagine more blood and less time. They will imagine phantom cuts and bruises and that it was night instead of day. Little details like this--like your hair color and what shoes they were wearing--will change constantly.

But certain parts will be true: they will always remember Nurse Nightingale pointing a gun at Mister Rooster, covered in blood and screaming for him to get away from the bus, from them. They will always remember what Miss Phoenix sounded like when Mister Bob died right there in front of everyone, his body pale and bloody and her wails deafening. They will remember being crowded in the back of the bus, waiting for the other shoe to drop, shoulder-to-shoulder. They will remember the frenzy of lanterns and flashlights as they scrambled from their cabins into the mess hall because there was an emergency. They will always remember Mister Coyote standing at the front of the bus and waiting for you to come back.

“Are you sure she’s coming back?” One of the children asks Coyote. Just a small little thing, barely tall enough to see over the seat. One of Rooster’s, he’s sure. Two little brown eyes peering into Coyote’s. “Or did she leave--did she leave us?”

“She wouldn’t leave us,” Coyote says instantly.

He swallows hard, looks back at the doors. You’re still not here.

“Maybe she ran,” one of the older campers offers, shaking his head as his eyes fill with tears. “Maybe she--maybe she got away!”

“No,” Coyote insists, eyes screwed shut. “She wouldn’t leave us.”

“I hope not,” Phoenix whispers. But she knows, just as well as anyone else, that if you’ve left them behind it is because you are not alive anymore. “I really, really hope not.”

A gunshot suddenly ripples across camp--so loud that it startles Coyote.

“Oh, my God,” a camper shrieks. “She shot Mister Rooster!”

“He probably got the gun!” Another says.

“Hush,” Phoenix urges. She swallows hard. “Be quiet now.”

And then another gunshot rings out--vibrates the gravel and bounces off the loudspeaker that is still playing a jumbled Kate Bush tape.

“Fuck,” Coyote whispers, his heart beginning to hammer. “Shit--what does that mean?”

The third gunshot blasts through the air before anyone can answer.

“Wait a minute,” Timmy Creighton suddenly says from the very back of the bus. “Wait a minute--that was--wait, that was three gunshots!”

“Miss Nightingale shot Mister Rooster three times!”

“No,” Timmy says, shaking his head. “That means help! Three times--S. O. S.. S.O.S!”

Coyote turns to him, eyebrow perched, hope springing to life in his chest like wildflowers after a rainstorm.

“How do you know that?” Phoenix asks, brows furrowed.

“I’m a boy scout,” he answers incredulously. Like, duh. Of course. That’s how.

“S.O.S.?” Coyote asks. “So, that could be Gale--!”

“--Or it could be him,” Phoenix interrupts, brows furrowed. “We don’t know.”

Coyote stares at her.

“But it could be her.”

Phoenix swallows hard.

“We don’t know that it’s her,” she says, shaking her head.

“We don’t know that it’s not,” Coyote says back.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“I’m not leaving the bus,” she says softly. She gestures to the children. “None of us are.”

Coyote’s brow furrows. He adjusts his grip on the knife, holds it tighter.

“But Gale is out there,” he says.

“So is he,” Phoenix returns softly. “And he’s already picked off five of us.”

Now Coyote looks at the ground. Bob’s body is only a few feet away from him. And Jake--God, he can’t even think about Jake right now. He won’t let himself think about him. If he thinks about his best friend dead, bloody, axed--he might just crumble. He might just fold.

But you. You’re someone he can help. You’re someone that just shot three times. S.O.S.. And what if he were the one that shot three times? You would come running with open arms and wide eyes. He knows it. He does. He can feel it in his soul.

“You stay,” Coyote finally says, glancing back up at Phoenix and the campers. “I’ll go.”

“But Mister Coyote, what if he gets you?” Timmy asks.

“Yeah,” another camper agrees, nodding earnestly with their brows drawn together. “Then who’s gonna save us?”

Coyote swallows hard, heart thumping. He shrugs, feigning a cool attitude.

“Couldn’t if he tried,” he says. He limply points to his bulging biceps and gives everyone the only smile he can muster--which is a very weak one. “Look at these guns, huh? Who’d wanna tussle with me?”

No one responds.

“Be careful,” Phoenix says quietly. She won’t allow the fear she’s feeling to spill over and into the air around her--not around the children. “Don’t…don’t die.”

“I won’t,” Coyote says.

And he means it.

Coyote, simply put, is more frightened than he’s ever been as he begins to tread through the woods. He’s walking as carefully as he can, trying not to snap twigs or kick stones. He’s holding the knife and his breath, glancing out the corner of his eye at every sound that isn’t Kate Bush.

The sun is high in the sky--he’d guess it’s not even noon yet. The heat pours down over him, holding him in a flannel blanket as he treks carefully. His grip on the knife is harsh--he knows for certain that it’s not going anywhere.

“Gale?” He whispers--he knows you won’t be able to hear him with his voice this low, but he’s too afraid to speak any louder in case Phoenix was right. “Gale?”

You don’t respond. His heart is pounding his chest, his blood is rushing through his ears.

He’s expecting, partly, Bradley to suddenly jump out at him. He must be ducked behind a tree, his ears perked, waiting for the precise moment to collapse Coyote with brute strength. And if he goes down, if Bradley gets the upper hand, Coyote knows that it will end in his own bloodshed.

The thought makes him dizzy.

“Gale,” he calls again, a little louder.

Again, though--nothing. Just the sound of flittering mosquitos and bumbling bees.

And it’s a few more paces, a few more steps, when he suddenly feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end like something is watching him. Like someone is watching him.

Quickly, his head is on a swivel. And at first, he doesn’t see you. Covered in blood and mud and barefoot, you almost fit in right up against the oak trees and the leaves. But there you are, yards away from him, holding the gun and the ax as you stare at Bradley’s collapsed body on the ground.

“Gale?” Coyote asks wearily, eyebrows raised.

At once, you find his eyes. Your face is calm and flat, your hair matted and your clothes thoroughly dyed with blood. But there is a ring of your flesh on your throat that is on total display right now, all flesh and no blood--and he knows it’s from where Bradley tried to strangle you. Kill you.

“Javy,” you whisper--your voice is ragged and raw.

He wonders, momentarily, if it will sound like that forever now that you’ve been choked within an inch of your life.

Neither of you move for a moment as Coyote takes in the scene. There is too much sunlight for such a nasty sight. Too much gore and blood and bugs for the sun to be shining down on you the way it is right now.

“He’s not…dead…is he?”

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “Just out cold. For now.”

Coyote nods.

“Any of that blood yours?” Coyote asks, gesturing to you with the knife.

Swallowing, you begin to shake your head--but then you remember. Your shoulder.

“Some,” you whisper to him, sniffling. “Not a lot.”

Coyote takes a deep breath.

“Whose is it?”

He’s terrified for you to answer him--but he needs to know.

Your bottom lip wobbles suddenly. You shift all your weight to your left hip and hold the ax closer to you, glancing down at Bradley. Still out. Then you take a deep breath.

“Jake’s,” you answer. “It’s his.”

Coyote’s eyes fall to the ground. You can see it written across his face--the grief, the shock. His brows knit and his lips turn down. And then he takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” he says. “And Bradley…?”

“It’s not…it’s not him,” you whisper. Sucking in a deep breath, you suddenly choke. You’re not sure what else to say, how else to explain it. “Well, it’s him, but it isn’t. He isn’t--it’s…it’s the maniac.”

You’re worried, for the first time today, that someone will accuse you of losing your everloving mind. That Coyote will scoff at you and try to get far, far away from you and your insanity.

But when you look at him, he’s just looking back at you in total earnest.

“And you know that…how?”

Shaking your head, eyes fluttering closed, you sigh.

“He told me,” you whisper. Your voice is still so hoarse--and your breaths are ragged. “When he…after he hurt Jake. He told me everything.”

“The maniac did?” Coyote asks. His fingers are tingling.

If anyone else were to say this to him, anyone in the world, he’d disbelieve them. But it’s you--and he knows, deep in his heart, that you have been closer to death and gore here than anyone else. And he believes you as firmly as his feet are planted on the earth.

“Yes,” you answer. “Please believe me. Please, I know how it sounds--!”

“--I believe you,” Coyote answers, brows furrowed. He looks down at Bradley’s body again. “So…what do we do now?”

You follow his gaze. The bruise on Bradley’s head is growing into a deep, deep purple now. Purple like the irises that have suddenly sprouted up everywhere.

“Tie him down,” you whisper. “Don’t let him out again.”

Coyote nods.

“I can drag ‘im if you can carry the weapons,” Coyote offers. He knows your strength must be waning, knows that you must be fading fast and hard at this point. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you whisper, relieved.

♀

Phoenix looks between the two of you, tired and scared and in mourning, her eyes heavy-lidded and her lips twisted.

“So…he’s possessed?” She asks.

You nod, can’t even muster the strength to utter yes.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Coyote starts, sucking in a breath.

“Yeah, it does,” Phoenix agrees. She looks at you. “I want you to tell me what you told him that’s made him so gung-ho on this possession idea. Alright?”

“She didn’t have to tell me much,” Coyote says, hands on his hips.

He glances at the nurse’s cabin, where Bradley is tied down to the bed. He still isn’t awake yet--you got him good. A pride swells in Coyote when he thinks about it; you slamming the butt of the shotgun down on Bradley’s head, preserving his life but halting his maliciousness.

“I don’t get it,” Phoenix says. She sighs in exasperation, pinches the bridge of her nose. “What about…this says possession instead of just Bradley lost his fucking mind?”

“I mean--look around us, Nix. Does this seem like a normal summer to you? Has Bradley ever so much as killed a fucking bug before this summer? Or the one before? Or the one before that?” Coyote asks, throwing his hands up in the air. Phoenix blinks at him. “The answer is a big, fat no. He hasn’t. He hasn’t done anything except crop his own shirts and-and make goo-goo eyes at Gale. Right? Something isn’t right here.”

“But why does that mean he’s possessed by the fucking maniac?” Phoenix asks, groaning. “Maybe he…maybe he hid the crazy until this summer.”

“We’re his best friends,” Coyote says, scoffing. “We would see it before.”

Phoenix’s lip twitches.

“Bradley isn’t my best friend,” Phoenix whispers. “Bob was.”

No one speaks for a moment. You take a deep breath--nearly wobbling on your feet.

“He was cut with the ax thirty years to the day of the original murders,” you point out. You think of the newspaper from earlier. July 19th--that was the publication date. But the murders had to have happened before then. “And he told me. Alright? He told me everything.”

“Well, crazy people like to talk,” Phoenix says. Her fingers are tingling. “Why are we believing him? He killed Bob!”

“We know that,” Coyote snaps. He throws his arms in the air, eyes wide. “He fucking killed Jake, too! And Reuben and Mickey. Fucking--he killed Paul, Phoenix! We know that!”

Sensing thats things are going to become too heated between Phoenix and Coyote, as her cheeks redden and his eyes grow wider, you put her hand up.

“Let’s not lose our heads,” you say, voice soft and even but still gravely. “Listen, all I know is that before this summer, Bradley never so much as…he wouldn’t ever hurt anyone.”

“You mean you?” Phoenix asks--her tone is pointed and frustrated, but you’re not angry with her.

She softens when you nod, raise your blood-rimmed eyes to hers.

“Yes,” you whisper. “He would never hurt me.”

She shifts all her weight to her other hip, sighing deeply. Coyote is still looking at her, arms crossed, waiting for a fight. But then she looks up at you, eyes deep and sorrowful.

“Tell me what he told you,” she whispers, really meaning it.

Coyote’s shoulders fall--thank God. Thank fucking God.

So, you tell her everything. Every bit, every detail, every morsel. Jake’s body on top of yours. Bradley’s quiet and calculated plan. The mask that slipped. The chase through the woods. The blood that was shed.

And by the end of it, the three of you are standing out in the courtyard, your gazes listless and your guts empty and aching. Phoenix’s brows are blanched and her heart is racing and she can’t believe this is happening to her. Not here, in Maine of all places, at camp at all places. How is this happening to her? To all of you?

“So, what do we do now?” Coyote asks, voice soft.

“I don’t know,” you answer, eyes screwed shut.

“I mean, you guys tied him to the exam table pretty good, right? Will it hold him?” Phoenix asks, glancing up at the two of you. She knows, as soon as she sees both of your faces, that the answer is a resounding no. “Okay…so, what? What do we do?”

“We have to…” Coyote starts. He stops, sighs, shakes his head. “I can’t even say it.”

“What?” Phoenix asks.

You clear your throat and swat a mosquito away from your face.

“We aren’t killing him,” you say to Coyote, sad and quiet. There is no anger in your bones when you say it--he’s doing what he can. All of you are. No one knows what to do and you don’t expect anything any of you says to be right or wrong. “We can’t…I can’t do that.”

Phoenix shakes her head.

“I mean, he killed everyone…” she whispers. “Wouldn’t it be…I don’t know, just? If we did it.”

“No,” you answer. Your fingers are trembling--you clasp your hands together and sniffle. “No one else dies.”

“But--!”

You look at Phoenix right in the eyes, squinting slightly as the blood clumping your lashes flakes off. Again, you’re not angry. You understand her grief. You understand her desire for justice. You understand where she’s coming from.

“Please don’t make me kill anyone,” you whisper to her. “I can’t…I can’t do it.”

All three of you know that you would be the one to do it, because as strong as Coyote is and as vengeful as Phoenix is, you’re the only one that can stomach death. Death and its scent and its touch and its taste. Only you.

“So, we don’t kill him,” Coyote says. “That leaves us with…what options?”

“If he’s possessed…” Phoenix starts, scratching her head and wilting beneath the sun like a flower. “Could we get him back? Or is he gone for good?”

The thought of Bradley being gone forever makes a deep, endless pit open up in your belly. You feel like it will swallow you whole--so you bat it away, shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “He said he was…gone.”

Coyote leans forward.

“But in…like, in The Exorcist, they say the demon fights psychologically. Maybe that’s--maybe that’s what he’s doing, right? Lying.”

“Well, if this were The Exorcist, we’d be short a couple priests. All we have is Mable,” Phoenix says. “And I don’t think it’d be the same.”

“Oh, real nice, Nix,” Coyote says, shaking his head. “That’s a great attitude to have.”

The tension between them is beginning to grow warm--only a spark now, but you feel that it will soon be an ember glowing orange on this sunny, blue day.

Staring at the ground, squinting, trying to remember what happens at the end of The Exorcist, you’re hardly breathing.

“What happens?” You ask suddenly. “What happens, like, at the end of that movie?”

“The demon moves from one body to another,” Coyote answers, brows drawn together. “And then…the new host kills themselves.”

It’s quiet for a moment between the three of you--quiet except for the jumbled Kate Bush tape still playing over the loudspeaker. The lot of you have almost entirely tuned it out by now.

“No,” you whisper. It’s not an option. “What else can we do?”

No one says anything for a long moment.

“It was his blood, right?” Coyote asks. “Like, that’s what started the whole possession thing? He cut himself on the ax--well, he cut himself on the ax.”

“Yes,” you answer. “That’s at least what he--what he told me.”

“What if we burned the ax?” Coyote says. “Like, that’s what happens in The Evil Dead. They burn the book and--!”

“--Are we just going to keep suggesting things that happens in movies?” Phoenix asks. “Because this isn’t a movie, Javy. People are dead.”

“He knows that,” you say, heart squeezing. “Do you have any better ideas, Nix? Really.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“I mean, if blood starts it…blood’s gotta end it, right?”

“Oh, the Chekov’s gun of it all,” Phoenix grumbles.

But then her spine prickles--it’s what Bob would say.

Blood. You think about it as you look down at your hands--they’re covered in the stuff. Vital to life, but so commonly on the outside of flesh. A skinned knee. A bump on the head. A knick while shaving. A papercut.

“Virgin blood is strong--pure. Untainted. That’s what…that’s what happened last time, you see. Nurse Abbott was waiting until marriage. I picked ‘em off one-by-one until she was alone…”

“We could bleed him out,” Phoenix sighs, not serious. Her tone is sour, bitter. “That oughta show him.”

Phoenix, her brows furrowed and her lips twisted, begins to respond before you suddenly stand and interrupt them.

“We used to use leeches,” you say, eyes wide.

Phoenix and Coyote blink at you, their eyes heavy and their mouths flat and their brows furrowed. You can see plainly on their faces that they’re wondering if you’re losing it finally--if the exhaustion is finally settling in.

“What?” Phoenix asks.

“We used to use leeches--like, whenever someone had a sickness or something, medical doctors would use leeches.”

Coyote blinks at you.

“What do you mean?”

Your fingers are tingling as you wring them together, clearing your throat. There is a film of phlegm there that is making your voice hoarse still.

“Bloodletting,” you tell them. “It--I mean, it’s been around forever. We’re talking, like, 470 B.C. kinda forever, right? Of course, like, at first everyone had a really simple view of what it did and diseases and everything. But then--God, was it like two or three years ago? Some coat from Harvard attached a leech to a tike’s ear after it’d been bitten off by a dog. It was big news. And, I mean, it’s kind of the same idea as replacement therapy.”

“Like dialysis?” Coyote asks. “My grandpa does that.”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Just--just like that.”

“Okay,” Phoenix says, trying to digest your ramblings. “And what does that have to do with us?”

Slowly, you sink back down. They watch you carefully.

“If it starts with blood, it ends with blood,” you whisper. “We don’t have a lot of other options or ideas, do we?”

“No,” Phoenix answers. “But where the fuck are we gonna get leeches?”

“Yeah,” Coyote echoes, scratching the back of his head.

Shaking your head, you breathe out shakily.

“I can bleed him out,” you say. “I can do it.”

With wide eyes, Phoenix sucks in a surprised breath. Her heart is hammering.

“I was just messing,” she says, shaking her head. “Damn, I wasn’t serious!”

“I don’t think you should go near him,” Coyote says. He’s staring at the naked bit of your throat where your life was almost taken away from you. “I don’t think any of us should, really. It’s not safe. We’ll be dead meat if we do.”

“Look, if we don’t do something, we’re dead,” you say very seriously, looking into both their eyes. “Our friends are already dead. It’s just--it’s just us now, okay? No one is coming to help. Penny and Mav--shit, they’re still a while away from the next supply run. We’ve gotta do something. We can’t just keep running. We can’t just--we can’t just keep sitting here.”

Phoenix’s tongue is totally dry. She’s watching you very carefully right now--you seem somber and sober. You seem, she realizes, more stable than you have since this all started. A certain calm has come over you, one that wraps you up in its arms and keeps your ragged voice even.

“We can take shifts,” Coyote offers, his voice soft. “You can teach us how to shoot.”

You shake your head.

“No,” you whisper. “You two--you’ve gotta keep those campers alive, alright? That’s your job.”

“What even is it that you want to do, huh?” Coyote asks. He settles his hands on his hips. “Give us the download.”

“I’m gonna bleed him out,” you whisper. It all sounds so much crazier out loud--it feels like you’re talking to them from behind a thick fog, one that smells sweet and dampens your hair. “And then I’m gonna--fuck, I’m gonna stitch him up. Give him blood from the blood drive.”

“Shit,” Coyote hisses. “We don’t know if that’ll work.”

“No,” Phoenix agrees. “We don’t. And what if he doesn’t wake up? What if the blood isn’t enough?”

Spine tingling, you chew on your lower lip. The blood you’re tasting isn’t your own.

“Timmy Creighton,” you whisper.

“What?” Phoenix asks. “The kid who’s allergic to nuts?”

“That’s our savior?” Coyote follows. “We’re fucked. The kid tried to eat a Snickers bar last week!”

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “Epi--it’s adrenaline. It’s what we use at the hospital when we resuscitate.”

Phoenix furrows her brows.

“So, it can help like…”

“Bring him back,” you say. Your stomach turns, but you persist. “If I lose him, I can bring him back.”

Coyote shifts uncomfortably, the thought of losing another friend today boggling his mind. His temple pulses.

“So, what do we do?” He asks. “How can we help?”

Taking a deep, deep breath, you glance at the nurse’s cabin. You know that he’s in there--and he’ll be waking up soon.

“I need you guys to move the rock and lock me in there with him,” you tell them. Your fingers are numb. “And don’t let us out until it’s over.”

“Nightingale,” Phoenix says, shaking her head. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Yeah,” Coyote agrees. “Me neither.”

“What choice do we have?” You say quietly. “We have to do something. We have to do something.”

Coyote sighs, leaning forward to hold his head in his hands. If he loses you, too--he doesn't know what he’s going to do. He’s so tired, he’s so scared and the thought of you locked in the room with Bradley is turning his stomach sour.

“Why can’t we do it together?” Phoenix asks. “I mean, really!”

“You would just get in the way,” you whisper solemnly. “I can do this.”

“But can you?” Coyote asks, his tone edged but not malicious. He shrugs at you, mouth ajar. “He almost got you, Gale. He almost got you.”

“But he didn’t,” you whisper, still feeling Bradley’s fingers wrapped around your throat.

“Because of him,” Phoenix defends. “You shouldn’t do this alone.”

“I have to,” you whisper, shaking your head. Your eyes are wet. “You two…you have to keep the kids safe. Nothing can happen to them, alright?”

His words ring in your ears.

“And when I’ve finished the kiddos off, I’ll come back for you.”

“And what if he gets you, huh?” Coyote asks, his tone biting your ears. “Fuck--I mean, Jesus, Gale. What about us?”

“I’ll kill him if I have to,” you say, though your tongue burns when you say it. “He isn’t getting out--!”

“--We can’t lose you, too,” Phoenix interrupts. Sincerity drips from her tongue. “Please.”

Turning away from them, you shut your eyes for a moment. In all the hustle, in all the grief, you completely forgot that the Kate Bush tape is still playing over the loudspeaker. It’s loud enough for you to hear over the cicadas.

Like the sun coming out

I just know that something good is gonna happen

“Lock me in,” you whisper. You can’t look at their grief-stricken faces. Two tears fall from your cheeks. “Don’t let me out.”

“Gale…” Coyote whispers.

Glancing around camp, desolate and quiet, your heart squeezes. Only a few days ago, you were warding off Bradley and Coyote as you took Jake’s blood. Only a few days ago, you’re biggest concern was who you were going to end up with at the end of August. Only a few days ago, Bob and Phoenix were leading a game of Red Rover. Fanboy and Payback hosted finger football at their lunch table. Laughter echoed off the gravel. The lake lapped at the rocky shore. The trees were tall and sweet as they scraped the sky. You were bandaging scraped elbows and pulling out splinters. You were running your fingers through Jake’s hair, the sun warm on your cheeks, the crickets singing you a song. You were singing Joni Mitchell around a fire. You were smoking marijuana with your friends and sinking into the soft grass. You were reading Carrie by lamp-light. Lightning bugs used to land on your shins. Cicadas and owls used to sing you to sleep. Jake used to take you by the hand and dance with you in front of everyone, even if you were too shy, even if you were too embarrassed. Bradley said he loved you. So did Jake.

But it’s all over now.

It’s been a cruel, cruel summer.

“Do it,” you whisper softly. “It ends now. It has to end now.”

“You’re gonna kill him?” Phoenix whispers.

Nodding, your tongue quivers in your mouth.

“It doesn’t have to be big and scary,” you mutter. “It doesn’t have to be violent.”

“Death is always violent,” Coyote says, thinking of Jake and Reuben and Mickey and Paul. “There’s nothing peaceful about it.”

But they’re wrong. You know that they’re wrong. You’ve seen it--you’ve seen it so close that you’ve tasted it. It can be peaceful. It can be as easy as falling asleep. It can be as easy as exhaling. It can be as easy as coughing. You’ll make it easy for Bradley.

“I’ll make it peaceful,” you whisper.

It’s more of a promise to Bradley wherever he is. You’ll be gentle.

“Gale,” Coyote says, shaking his head. “I just…”

“She has to do it,” Phoenix says now, her tone soft. She looks you in the eyes, hers rimmed with red and tearful. “Bring him back, okay?”

“Okay,” you say. “I will.”

♀

He isn’t awake yet.

From where you’re standing beside him, your body numb and your eyes stuck on his placid face, you could almost mistake him for sleeping. Eyes fluttered shut, brows unknit, lips flat, body still. Except for the blood splattering his clothing and skin and the welt on his head, maybe anyone could mistake him for sleeping.

Exhaling, you look over at everything laid out beside you. Swiss army knife. Gauze. Suture kit. Adrenaline injections. Bags of blood--your blood--on ice. Universal donor. Morphine tablets. Everything you need to drain him of this evil and then bring him back.

It’s sweltering in here--that’s why you usually always keep the door open. But now you’re locked in, the door barricaded and the windows reinforced. The heat seeps in like a wave.

This will be better if he doesn’t wake up.

And with that thought, you reach for the latex gloves, slowly slipping your hands into them. No movement from Bradley. It’s not until you shakily hold the Swiss army knife that his brows come together.

A low groan falls from his lips as you bring the blade out.

“Birdie…”

Your belly turns itself inside out.

When you don’t answer, too petrified to move, too scared to say anything, Bradley’s eyes open. And your chest feels empty when you see those eyes: no flecks of gold in his irises. Just a deeper, darker brown. Void of anything except rage.

“What’s going on?” He asks, sounding remarkably like Bradley. He looks down, realizes he’s tied to the examination table, then looks back up at you with a pitiful expression of confusion eating his features. “Birdie--what…what’s going on? Why am I tied up?”

“Stop calling me that,” you whisper to him, shaking your head.

He brings how brows together, mouth ajar, then sees that you’re holding a knife. And he jerks away--a real show of wide eyes and gasps.

“What--what are you gonna do with that?”

“Drop the act,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You’re cornered.”

“Birdie, please don’t do this!” He says, beginning to wail. The heat is turning his cheeks bright red. “Please, I know this summer hasn’t been stellar, but don’t do this! Birdie, please!”

“Stop calling me that,” you demand again, your voice louder. You look deep, deep into his eyes and keep your gaze there besides the chill that climbs your spine. “You’re not him.”

He’s about to argue--about to fight you on it--when it dawns on him that you aren’t scared right now. No, no. He can tell. He can feel it. There is not even an ounce of fear in your being right now--just rage. Blinding, serious rage.

“Fine,” he says, tone calmer than before. He smiles softly. “What’re you gonna do, dolly? What’s the plan? What’re you gonna do with that?”

WIth a firm grip on the red handle of the knife, you breathe deeply.

“I’m going to cut your radial artery,” you say softly, just like you would to a patient. “It’s in your wrist. I’m gonna bleed you out…let you die. And then I’m going to bring Bradley back.”

He laughs--a big and booming thing.

“Oh, is that so?” He says tauntingly. “Well, you’ve got it all figured out, then. As if you would be able to do it, dolly. You don’t have the guts.”

“I do,” you whisper. “I’ve got the guts.”

“You love him,” he whispers. “You’re weak like that.”

Swallowing hard, you shake your head.

“I’m bringing him back,” you say.

“He’s gone,” he argues, brows knit. He tugs on the restraints--they’re tight. Too tight to get out of right away. “And he’d need a blood transfusion.”

You point to the few bags of blood on the table, still cold from the ice.

“I have it,” you whisper. “I’m a universal donor.”

“But not a virgin,” he answers, smiling still.

You lean forward, eyes pouring into his.

“I was when I donated,” you tell him.

And before he can respond, before he can do anything at all, you bring the blade down on his wrist. It’s sharp--sharp like a scalpel in the operating room. He gasps, warm blood suddenly flooding the bed, but doesn’t have time to respond before you cut the other wrist.

Writhing, panicking, he looks at you.

“You fucking whore!” He screams. “God--look what you’ve--you fucking bitch! You’re killing him! You’re killing him!”

“I’m killing you!” You grunt.

Slamming the knife back down on the tray, you step back and watch for a moment. There is hot, wet blood on your hands again. Vaguely, distantly, you wonder if you’re going to have to scrape all this blood off. It clings to you like a second skin.

The hair on the back of your neck prickles as Bradley desperately pulls at the retraits, blood dripping from his body in a steady river of red.

“You fucking bitch,” he seethes. “Do you think I can’t find you again? I’ve been watching you for three summers…I saw what you did with him in the woods. I saw what you did with Jakey-boy in your cabin, you whore. I see everything you do. I’m always here. I live in your nightmares!”

Saying nothing, steeling yourself against his words, you continue watching. You’re counting to two minutes.

“Fear is what keeps me alive, dolly,” he grunts, struggling still. “And I will be alive until the world sinks into Hell. I’ll be here, waiting. Watching. Ready to crawl under the skin of another lovesick orphan.”

Shaking your head, you just keep watching. It’s strange watching Bradley bleed out--but it’s not him. It’s not him. It’s Damien. You have to repeat it to yourself over and over again. It’s Damien. It’s Damien.

And then, suddenly and completely, he goes entirely still. He’s just looking at you as blood covers the exam table and puts metal beneath your nose. He frowns, his eyebrows coming together. His face is beginning to grow pasty.

Lip twitching, you stay completely still.

“Jake needs you,” he whispers. “And he’s the one you chose all along, right? It’s always been him. Why even bring Bradley back if it’s not him that you love?”

Saliva gathers beneath your tongue. It’s approaching--you know it is. Can’t be long now.

“I can’t die,” he whispers. His voice is weak. His eyes are beginning to shut. “You can’t…you can’t…”

And then his head lulls to the side and he is dead.

It isn’t Bradley, but a sob rips from your throat anyway. He lies completely still, blood still flowing from his wrists. And without another moment to waste, you jump into action.

Packing his wrists with gauze with one panicked hand, you reach to feel his jugular with the other. It’s weak--probably just residual blood flow.

He’s gone. The evil is gone.

“Hold on,” you whisper to Bradley’s body. “Just hold on, alright?”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: OMG WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN NEXT......

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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fatalism-and-villainy · 3 years ago

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Lannisterssss

A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings already have so many Lannister siblings feelings packed into them, dear lord.

Like, take this heartbreaking scene between Tyrion and Cersei in ACOK:

“What a disgusting little worm you are. Myrcella is my only daughter. Did you truly imagine that I would allow you to sell her like a bag of oats?”

Myrcella, he thought. Well, that egg has hatched. Let’s see what color the chick is. “Hardly a bag of oats. Myrcella is a princess. Some would say this is what she was born for. Or did you plan to marry her to Tommen?”

Her hand lashed out, knocking the wine cup from his hand to spill on the floor. “Brother or no, I should have your tongue out for that. I am Joffrey’s regent, not you, and I say that Myrcella will not be shipped off to this Dornishman the way I was shipped off to Robert Baratheon.”

“How safe do you think Myrcella will be if King’s Landing falls? Renly and Stannis will mount her head beside yours.”

And Cersei began to cry.

Tyrion Lannister could not have been more astonished if Aegon the Conqueror himself had burst into the room, riding on a dragon and juggling lemon pies. He had not seen his sister weep since they were children together at Casterly Rock. Awkwardly, he took a step toward her. When your sister cries, you were supposed to comfort her… but this was Cersei! He reached a tentative hand for her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, wrenching away. It should not have hurt, yet it did, more than any slap. (Tyrion V)

Just..... arrrgh! The way Cersei often comes so close to recognizing how awful their society is for women, but only channels it through her own experience and those closest to her (i.e. her daughter). (Like, there’s a scene during the Battle of the Blackwater where she tells Sansa “Oh, I’m not protecting these women for their own sake, it’s because their husbands are powerful”, where she’s so aware of how patriarchy works, but so cynical about manipulating it and treats other women as being just as disposable as society in general does). And the way Tyrion’s “this is what she was born for” wording rubs salt in Cersei’s wounds about being treated differently from Jaime as a kid.... :(

And just after this quote Cersei says “not you” when Tyrion tries to comfort her, which is so sad in its implications of her missing Jaime. I think there’s really something about how Jaime is possibly the only person she can really be vulnerable around. And how Tyrion hates Cersei but is still stung by being rejected by her - you can see the complex web of childhood trauma surrounding all three of them.

Like, there’s a quote about how Jaime dared Cersei to kiss Tyrion when they were children, and it’s kind of weirdly funny/charming, but also fascinating in terms of Jaime being in the middle of the two of them. There’s so much animosity between Tyrion and Cersei due to Cersei’s abuse of him, but they both not only love, but idolize Jaime. At the Battle of the Blackwater, when Podrick Payne saves Tyrion’s life, Tyrion has this dazed moment where he thinks it’s Jaime saving him, and thinks “Who else would save him, if not his brother?” (Tyrion XIV) It’s just so sad how he consistently upholds Jaime as this protector/saviour figure because Jaime is one of the few people who’s ever loved Tyrion unconditionally.

It’s actually interesting how Cersei is the one at this point who’s more critical of Jaime - I’d forgotten that she disapproved of him chucking Bran out the window:

“It was Jaime who threw him from that window, not me. For love, he said, as if that would please me. It was a stupid thing to do, and dangerous besides, but when did our sweet brother ever stop to think?” … “He was a child. I could have frightened him into silence.” (Tyrion XII)

It’s fascinating to me not just because it shows Jaime and Cersei being internally divided, but because it shows Cersei actually being competent and having good foresight (in contrast to Jaime being the reckless, impulsive one). Like, Cersei is actually a decent political player in the early books! I’m still salty that Martin didn’t give her a POV until her abilities were drastically slipping.

Meanwhile, Tyrion has a much fonder view of Jaime’s shortcomings:

He loved his brother’s reckless wrath, but it was their lord father he must try and emulate.

Like, it’s just interesting how he thinks of Jaime as someone to be admired and emulated, even if he rejects the image of him in favour of his father’s cold, calculating manipulations. I just.... love all of these little tidbits that give insight into the family situation.

As for Jaime - oh my god I love him. I know a lot of people didn’t like him until we get his POV in ASOS, but I think I got attached to him when I first read his scene with Catelyn in ACOK, and it was the same this time. I do love the storytelling method of only giving us one real glimpse of him in the flesh (when he tries to murder a kid) and then leaving most of his characterization up to Tyrion and Cersei’s perception of him, and then seeing him up close for the first time through the eyes of Catelyn, who hates him.

And he’s just so delightfully awful in that scene. He mockingly offers to sleep with Catelyn, needles her about Ned’s (supposed) infidelity, and, when she asks him if it’s true that he’s his sister’s lover, he says “I’ve always loved my sister” (LMAO). There’s also some cool foreshadowing, when Jaime sarcastically calls Aerys “protector of the realm”, of the reveal that Aerys was going to burn King’s Landing and Jaime killed him to save everyone.

Also, I’m obsessed with this absurdly horny description of Jaime:

Jaime Lannister had been allowed no razor since the night he was taken in the Whispering Wood, and a shaggy beard covered his face, once so like the queen’s. Glinting gold in the lamplight, the whiskers made him look like some great yellow beast, magnificent even in chains. His unwashed hair fell to his shoulders in ropes and tangles, the clothes were rotting on his body, his face was pale and wasted… and even so, the power and the beauty of the man were still apparent. (Catelyn VII)

Like...... LOL. But also! I do appreciate this part for specifying that Jaime is supposed to look like Cersei. I know casting is more complicated, and nothing against Lena Headey or Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, but I really do feel it’s thematically important that they look similar. It really helps hammer home how arbitrarily their treatment was based on gender.

#asoiaf reread 2022

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bi-bard · 3 years ago

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Never - Winchester Brothers Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Never

Pairing: Winchester Brothers X Platonic!Reader

Requested: by @shinestuart

Word Count: 1,084 words

Warning(s): torture, injury, cussing

Summary: (Season 11) It was stupid of the boys to believe that Amara was unaware of the one thing that could've killed her. Now, they had to face the consequences of dragging (Y/n) into the hunting world.

Author's Note: I kinda worked with my imagine "Milkshakes" more than anything else. I think it was where I most explicitly noted the reader as a weapon.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

I gasped as I woke up.

I looked around. It was a warehouse or an old factory. It was dark and empty. The windows were too high for me to see out of. I didn't see any light coming through them. It was nighttime.

There were candles surrounding the whole building. I wasn't pegging Amara for the "pay the electrical bill" type. She was definitely more of the, "make sure to set the mood" type.

I was tied to a metal cross. My arms spread out, wrists tied to either end. My legs tied together and to the pole behind me. There was another rope around my waist to hold me still.

Amara stood before me. Grace and power. The two elements that could perfectly instill fear. I pulled on the restraints on my arms.

"Hello," she greeted. "I believe you know my brother."

"Not personally," I bit back. I had only known them for a matter of months, but Sam and Dean had already impacted how I acted.

She chuckled.

I tugged on my restraints again.

"I know about you," she explained. "God's perfect weapon. Probably that only thing that could defeat me."

"You should be scared of me then."

"Oh, no," Amara held and hand out and I felt my throat closing. "I don't need to. First of all, the- admittedly complex- sigil carved into that pole will stop your powers. Second of all... I have an offer. You have two choices, you can die or... you work with me."

She stopped choking me. I coughed as I tried to catch my breath.

I looked her in the eye, "Go to hell."

Suddenly, she was right in front of me, grabbing my jaw so I couldn't move my head.

"What was that," she sneered.

"I said, 'go to hell,'" I replied. She let go of my chin. "I will not help you destroy the world."

"Why because it's so great?"

"Because the people I love are here."

"The people the Winchesters dragged you away from?"

I fell silent, clenching my jaw.

Suddenly, I was choking again.

"You have nothing keeping you here. Join me and I can give you a purpose. Teach you to use your gift."

She released her grip again. I spit in her face.

"No," I said with a shaky voice.

It felt like I took a phantom punch to the gut.

"Oh sweetie," she teased. "You are in for a long night."

--time skip--

She was right.

It felt like days of the same cycle. Hitting, choking, and then negotiating for me to join her.

I always said no.

I held onto my free will and was ready to face death for it.

My body was weaker now. Arms barely holding up, legs weak, my head hanging down.

I yelped when there was a sudden jerk on my hair.

"You could make this all stop," she taunted.

"Go. To. Hell," I repeated like I always had.

She growled at me and used her powers to grab my throat, "You ungrateful, cowardly, selfish little-"

Amara didn't finish her speech before she was thrown into the far wall behind me.

I could barely even process what was happening before Sam was in front of me, untying the ropes.

"Sam," I muttered, voice weak and head spinning.

"We're here, we've got you," he promised.

I reached out and grabbed his shoulders as he worked on the ropes by my legs.

"What's going on," I asked.

"I'll explain in a minute," he said.

Sam was then thrown across the room. I almost collapsed as disappeared.

I was frantic.

I pulled at the ropes around my legs, convinced that I was going to die in a minute. My legs were weak and probably had some blood flow cut off earlier.

"Hey, hey," Dean was at the side of the platform, helping me down carefully. "There you go."

"I got them," Sam promised, running over from wherever he had been thrown. "Go help Cas and Chuck."

Who the hell was Chuck?

He helped me into the backseat, "Are you okay?"

"I feel like one massive bruise," I muttered. He sat next to me, letting me rest on his shoulder. "You should go help them."

Sam shook his head, "No, I was told to protect you."

I nodded against his shoulder. I was getting tired after all that had happened.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It was my idea to drag you into this world. I knew the risk but I was just so desperate to stop Amara that I... I didn't care."

"I'm okay," I moved so my chin was on his shoulder. "I just need to work more."

"You shouldn't have to carry this weight-"

"I wouldn't have agreed to go with you guys if I thought that," I cut him off. "I'm alright now, Sam. Don't blame yourself for this."

Sam didn't speak. I knew that he didn't believe me. But he didn't speak against me either. He just wrapped his arm around me and held me close to his side.

It was only a minute longer before the others came running out. Dean, Cas, and... that must've been Chuck.

"Who is that," I mumbled to Sam.

"You alright, kid," Dean asked as he got into the driver's seat. Sam didn't have time to answer my question.

"I'm alive," I replied. "Is Amara-"

"She vanished on us," he said. Cas got into the passenger seat and Chuck sat in the back with Sam and me.

"Here, let me," Chuck reached over a touched my forehead.

I took a deep breath as I felt myself healing.

"Better," he asked. I nodded, still tired and not getting off of Sam's shoulder. "I should introduce myself. I'm Chuck... or God."

"What," I asked, now overwhelmed. "You're... You're God?"

"He's telling the truth," Dean promised as he pulled out onto the road quickly.

"Woah," I muttered. "Some of your angels are dicks."

Chuck let out a laugh at my blunt comment. I saw the rest of the car tense up.

"Yeah... that's my fault."

"Oh, I know," I nodded. "Thank you... for helping them save me."

"You're welcome," he grinned at me.

I closed my eyes, relaxing against Sam's shoulder again, wrapping my arms around one of his. I slowly let myself fall asleep.

I knew this life was going to be hard when I first met the boys and I was ready for that. I'd rather it be me suffering than the rest of the world.

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

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griffintail · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Griffin I love your work, your writing is amazing, and I was wondering if I could spare you an angsty request: Parental Tommy falls into deep grief after their child, Reader, goes into prison to tell Dream off for blowing up their home and hurting their father and Uncle Tubbo, and gets killed by Dream. Maybe how Wilbur and Schlatt react to Reader in the afterlife, and what Tommy does to try and get them back. (Inspired by this week's streams)

I went farther than with this than I planned to originally. Lol. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Quiet Uptown

Pairings: Parental! Tommy x Teenage F! Reader

Warnings: Death, Blood, Mentions of Violence, Angst!!, afterlife, swearing

A/N: (F/L) is first letter of your first name because that’s just a Tommy thing.

Sam hesitated when (Y/N) had stepped into his prison that day.

The young sixteen-year-old girl stood there; her eyes filled with determination as she waited for Sam to speak.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, standing up. “Does Tommy know you’re here?”

“No.” She answered truthfully. “He won’t realize I’m gone for maybe two hours. He wouldn’t ever let me near here but I want to give Dream a piece of my mind after everything he’s put my family through. Dad and I both own only one life after everything he’s one and I want to let him know how badly he lost.”

“I…Don’t think this is wise. You’re just a kid.”

“I’m more than a kid! Everyone seems to forget I fought for Pogtopia at the age of thirteen and lost a life for it. I went and helped dad every day in his exile when no one else would! Dream killed me for that bullshit and I refuse to let him think he has control over me and my family anymore.”

Sam could see it was more than that. She wanted to know that Dream no longer held control over her and her family. Dream had taken everything from them. Their nation, their family members, their two spare lives, their friends. Now he was locked away after Tommy won and she needed to know he couldn’t control them anymore.

“Alright. Well, I need you to read this carefully and sign it.” Sam slipped into his role as Warden.

He walked (Y/N) through the clearance steps and lead her down through the prison.

Dream was a broken man. Sam made sure his spirit was broken and the masked man had long since stopped trying to escape. The poor young girl needed closure.

…Sam was overconfident in his abilities.

“If you need anything, call for me,” Sam told her and she nodded.

And she was let into the cell.

The man of the hour was surprised by his visitor, picking himself off the floor as he grinned behind his mask.

“Well, well, well. It’s little Innit.”

“Shut up.” (Y/N) immediately said. “You’ll listen to me today.”

Dream held up his hands, giving a laugh. “Alright. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

(Y/N) looked around the small cell and was reminded of her father’s claustrophobia…that Dream caused.

“It’s fitting for you to be in here. Trapped in a box. Your life thrown in a hole, waiting to be destroyed.” (Y/N) said. “You did a lot to my family Dream, you hurt them, you killed them. There are people out there that say you don’t deserve this but I know everything you’ve done. You’re going to rot in here forever if it’s the last thing I do.”

“You’ve got a pretty big ego there.”

“You’re one to talk! You took everything from us because you couldn’t handle that we took away even a bit of your power!” She took a deep breath to calm herself and Dream saw the Tommy in her. “You tried to kill Tubbo, you were going to used what everyone loved against them. You’re a psychopath and you can’t be let out.”

“People can change though. I can change and get out.”

“You’ll never change! You’re talking bullshit and I know! Dad knows it! Sam, Tubbo, Quackity! You’re just bullshit! You’re a green little bitch and you’ll never get out! You can’t hurt us anymore. We’re in control now and we’re free from you forever.” She told him, getting in his masked face without thinking.

She never meant to go so far into the cell…Sam had asked her not to…

Dream’s grin turned wicked, (Y/N) unable to see it but she felt something in the air change and she paled slightly as she took a step back towards the netherite barrier realizing how far she went.

“I might not be able to hurt anyone…outside!”

“SAM!” She screamed, bolting for the barrier…but Dream was faster…

“DREAM! DON’T!!” Sam commanded as he tried to bring the lava down as fast as he could! …

…

“Come on Tubbo. You’re getting shit at this.” Tommy laughed as he knocked Tubbo’s wooden training sword out of his hand.

“You’re such an arse.” Tubbo huffed, going over to get some water.

Tommy grinned. He had missed this, just being to train with Tubbo for the hell of it. (Y/N) said she needed to do something Ranboo, so it felt like he was missing something during the training but he was glad to know she was able to go out in the world without him worrying. Dream wasn’t out there anymore.

The taller man was practicing his swings when Tubbo heard both their walkies beep. Someone must be calling them. Tubbo picked up his walkie, going to answer but his eyes went wide as he saw why the walkie had beeped. He dropped it, taking a step back, making Tommy look over in confusion.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tommy asked, going over to see what it was.

“T-Tommy, don’t—” Tubbo started but Tommy had already picked up the walkie.

Tommy entire world stopped as he stared at the words on the screen.

(Y/N) was slain by Dream

“This—This is a stupid fucking joke.” Tommy tried to say, looking at Tubbo.

But Tubbo had both his hands over his mouth as he was already starting to cry.

“She…He’s in prison!” He shouted as he went for his own walkie. “This is shit joke Tubbo!”

He couldn’t breathe as his walkie displayed the same message. It felt like the world around him was getting smaller as he couldn’t think of anything but those five words.

“It’s not true!” Tommy screamed before snatching up his gear.

He ran out the door to find it raining. His trident came off his back and was soaring through the air after throwing it through the rain. There was no fucking way, she was with Ranboo! Dream was rotting in a cell! He made sure of it!

His baby should be as safe as she could be!

Mud splashed all over him as he landed in front of the prison complex, soaking wet but he felt so numb. He couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t care about anything else, he just wanted to know who was playing this cruel joke.

“SAM!” Tommy stormed in.

Sam clutched the figure to him as he made his way past the empty prison cells hearing Tommy’s voice.

He failed…

This was all his fault…

Sam stared at the last door where Tommy shouted his name again before taking a deep breath and opening it.

Tommy snapped his head over and his entire world collapsed as Sam held the bloody figure in his arms. Their blood was coating Sam’s armor along with their own clothes.

“No, no…NO! NO!!” Tommy shouted as he gripped his head taking a step back.

That couldn’t be her, it just couldn’t be! She shouldn’t be here! She wasn’t here! It was all a…a dream…a nightmare!

“Tommy.” Sam let out a heartbroken voice.

Tommy looked up and looked to her neck. The (F/C) bandana was undeniable…

Taking a shaky step forward, Tommy took the girl from Sam before collapsing to the ground, sobbing when he saw what Dream had done to her. He rocked, back and forth as he held her close.

“Please…please little (F/L)…come back to me. I’m here now.” Tommy choked out his words as he stared down at the bloody girl. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Please come back (Y/N).”

He put his forehead on hers as his tears stained her face.

He let out a heartbroken scream!

And it echoed all throughout the prison, making Dream’s maniacal laughter continue in his cell.

…

“Who’s this?” A voice asked.

(Y/N) groaned at the feeling of a pounding headache before looking up.

“(Y/N), I didn’t expect to see you here first.” She heard a much more familiar voice.

She looked up seeing her Uncle Wilbur grinning at her.

“W-Wilbur?”

“Ayup.” He chuckled. “Nice to see you again kid.”

“Where…Where…” She looked around at the darkness, startling when she saw the familiar ram man and scooted away. “Schlatt.”

“Hey, brat. Nice to see you again.” He grinned. “Welcome to the afterlife.”

“I’m…I died?” Her breathing picked up.

Her head started to hurt and she gripped onto it as she remembered. The blood…the pain…daddy save me!

She startled feeling a hand on her shoulder, seeing it was Schlatt as Wilbur stood there with his hands in his coat.

“Yeah, it’s going to be pretty hard.” Wilbur shrugged. “We’ll…show you around.”

Wilbur laughed as Schlatt rolled his eyes.

“Come on brat.” He offered her a hand. “We’ll explain it all to you.”

…

Tubbo was waiting at Tommy’s base, his own heart shattering seeing his best friend sniffling as he wiped away his tears while covered in blood.

“No.” Tubbo breathed.

Tommy couldn’t think at the moment. The world seemed unreal. He couldn’t feel the rain hitting his body or the cold starting to set into him.

“My little girl’s gone Tubbo.” He muttered.

“I’m so sorry Tommy. What…what happened?” Tubbo asked.

“I-I don’t know. I just…” Tommy put his hands through his hair, his breaths coming out short. “(Y/N)—She…Holy shit…My poor little (F/L)…”

Tubbo came over putting his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. “Breathe Tommy.”

“How?! My—She’s gotten! Beaten and blooded! She must have been terrified and I—I wasn’t there Tubbo!” Tommy shouted putting his hands over his face.

“…What are you going to do?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t think, I need…I need the night to get anything in me…”

“Yeah, ok. I’ll stay.”

“No, I…I really need some time alone right now,” Tommy told him.

“…Ok. I’ll get a room at the hotel so I’ll be close by, ok?”

“Yeah, alright,” Tommy muttered before pushing past into his house.

Tubbo let tears roll down his cheeks before he looked at the prison, marching himself over.

Tommy stood inside the house and…it felt so small and so quiet. He laughed bitterly to himself. Finally, it being quiet uptown made so much sense to him. Everything felt so dull and silent.

Slowly, he went into his ender chest and pulled out his first disc. He stared down at it as he remembered finding (Y/N) after he found this disc. He ran a thumb over it as he remembered every time, he fought Dream for it till the final battle. He went to the bedroom, staring at the made bed across the room.

He went to the jukebox and put the disc in as he sat on his bed staring at the empty one. His body broke down again as he cried into his hands.

“If I had just kept the memories and you instead of this stupid disc you’d still be here!” He shouted to air. “I’m so sorry (Y/N)…I’m so sorry…”

At the prison, Tubbo stormed in with a trident in hand.

“What the hell happened?!” Tubbo demanded, Sam, sitting on his desk trying to process his own thoughts.

“I was too late…” Sam muttered.

“That answers nothing. What happened?!”

“…She wanted to see Dream. She wanted closure after everything you’ve guys have been through…she was just a kid…and…”

“Yeah, she was a kid, so why did you let her in?!”

“Because she looked so broken. She wanted to see Dream couldn’t hurt her anymore. I-I-I thought I got the strength out of him! Then…she screamed for help…I tried to get in as fast as I could…he just laughed when I came in…”

“…You shouldn’t have let her in.”

Sam hung his low, knowing he was right.

…

(Y/N) sat watching the two men play solitaire.

“Why’d you even go and see Dream?” Wilbur asked as he laid down an eight of spades on a nine of hearts.

(Y/N) felt her throat tighten, it always making her feel weird when she did it past few days as she didn’t need to exactly breath.

“I was having nightmares, Dream getting out and sit. I just…needed to see he was away, unable to hurt me.”

Wilbur snorted and Schlatt punched him.

“Shut the hell up man,” Schlatt told him.

“Well, it obviously didn’t help, she’s here.” Wilbur rolled his eyes as Schlatt put down a five of diamonds. “And no punching, that’s round five.”

(Y/N) breathing picked up and Schlatt huffed, throwing his cards down.

“We’re not going to finish?” Wilbur questioned.

“No, you’re driving us both nuts. Let’s go kid.” Schlatt hoisted her up and away, surprising her as that was the first time, he didn’t call her brat.

(Y/N) glanced back seeing Wilbur continuing to play his game without them. She remembered Wilbur being insane before in Pogtopia. This was a whole new level.

“We’ve been here for years,” Schlatt spoke, making her look at him. “He was nuts before; he’s even more fucked up now. I’m still more me because I’d rather sleep through this shit. You know the phrase I’ll sleep when I’m dead? That’s what I’m doing.” He grinned at his own joke.

She snorted quietly, as she looked at her hands. “I just want to see my dad so bad…I lied to him as my last thing and…I miss him.”

“I know kid. It’s hard for us to get down there though. I don’t even know how fuck face managed it.”

“…Do you think he’s mad at me?” She asked.

“No, I remember that stupid kid. If anything, someone probably had to hold him back, foaming at the mouth, from killing Dream himself with his bare hands. He wouldn’t be mad at you.”

She smiled softly. She wished this had been president Schlatt and maybe everything would have been better. But Wilbur was right, L’Manberg needed to go, it corrupted everyone.

…

“Tommy,” Sam said as they stood in front of the lava wall.

Four days had passed. Tommy had a funeral for his little girl and there had been gifts and tributes for her, but nothing made it, her. He felt like he was suffocating constantly and he couldn’t take it anymore. She had no ghost so Phil’s research would give him no help. But…there was one other thing.

“You know what he’s going to ask for,” Sam spoke the obvious.

“I know. He’s not going to get it.” Tommy said, his voice dead.

Sam gripped the lever that would bring down the lava wall. “He hasn’t eaten in two days, he’ll be weak.”

“Good. Now let me in.” Tommy stepped forward.

Sam hesitated before pulling the lever. After a few minutes, Tommy was standing behind the netherite barrier. Dream grinned, his mask off as he stood up, holding his hands out.

“The man of the hour! I’ve been waiting for you!” Dream laughed.

The barrier dropped and Tommy walked in.

“Bring her back.” Tommy simply stated.

“Can’t without the book, you know what I’m going to need.”

Tommy nodded, walking forward before hitting Dream with surprising force that sent him to the ground.

“We’re…going to have a nice long chat,” Tommy told the surprised man in a monotone voice. “And it’s going to end with where you put that book or how to get my little girl back. So, let’s talk bitch.”

Tommy would get her back. He wouldn’t let this be the end.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #tommyinnit x reader #dreamsmp #dreamsmp x reader

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pan-ick · 4 years ago

Text

Golden Child Pt. 1

I literally can't remember where I found it but I read a headcannon for an angsty SBI +Reader and I loved it so much that I had to write something similar to it but I think I might have forgotten to like it, so if you know what the original is please tell me so I can credit them I was partially inspired by@helliontherapscallion's "Adrenaline Junkie" series, simply for the fact that because of them i haven't stopped thinking of inventor reader. Also let's just pretend that uh my human biology degree isn't going to waste by me writing blindness incorrectly ha ha. This is a purely fictional way that blindness works.

(REMINDER YOU IDIOT, FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS STORY: Wilbur is 26, Techno is 20, Tommy is 16, Phil is 32, SO READER IS 22, GET IT RIGHT AND STOP MESSING UP)

As soon as Y/N's wings started developing, they were instantly the favorite child. Philza still showed his love to Wilbur, but nowhere near as much as he did to his winged child. If he had to choose between spending time with them or Wilbur, he'd pick them in a heartbeat. Wilbur was usually upset when this happened, but he had gotten used to it and had learned ways to cope with it.

This was until Techno showed up. On their doorstep. Next to a freezing Philza who had sacrificed most his warmth to the young piglin. Wilbur had his thoughts on this, yhough he kept them to himself. But Y/N couldn't be happier! This meant a new friend, AND they were right when they said that Phil was just a nice person, there wasn't a favorite child! Right?

They quickly realized that Techno wasn't their friend, as the first interaction they had together was them getting a claw to the face by the piglin. Philza just simply sighed and made sure the wound would stop bleeding before tending back to the scared pig.

Y/N was only eight at the time, they didn't know what they were feeling. But whatever it was didn't feel good.

Since that day, Y/N was the new Wilbur and 'Technoblade' was the golden child. Y/N wanted the spotlight back, so they tried hard at everything. Nothing ever worked. Nothing was better than what Techno could do. Nothing was more amazing than Techno's knowledge, or his skills in fighting, or his odd way of speaking, or those stupid things that he did, or the fact that he'd always blame it on some 'voices' in his head. That he had a God complex. That he was better than Wilbur. He was better than Tommy. He was better than you...

He was always better than you. Of course. Thats what you felt when you first met. Not amazement, not the happiness of having another friend. Of course not. It was overwhelming jealousy. But he was your brother, so you had to suck it up just like Wilbur did.

But soon enough, they came to peace with this. They moved on and worked on what they actually enjoyed, not what Philza enjoyed. Mechanics. Phil would have killed you if he learned of all the dangers that you put yourself through to consider yourself an inventor. Or.... Would he?

One day your older brother approached you with his idea to create "L'manburg". At first you couldn't help but laugh. But when it was realized that Wilbur wasn't joking and that he had already recruited Tommy, they agreed to join the fight for freedom. It was a way to pay Wilbur back for being there for them, afterall.

Y/N never imagined the true horrors that they would have to go through so they could say a 'thank you' to Wilbur. They never even truly said it to him, L'manburg was already exploded and he was killed before they could say it to him. Not even saying it to Ghostbur was good enough.

Y/N was forced to suffer through watching her loved ones go mad. Sometimes, they would try coming up with inventions that could help her friends out, and some that could help some regular problems in the world for other people. Most of them didn't work, they were only able to produce goggles that could just barely help fully blind people see. But it was a step in the right direction.

Then doomsday came. Y/N didn't want to be part of it, they didn't want to even try hurting their father and younger brother. They aren't even sure how they came to that point.

Before they knew it, they were begging the man who once gave them anything in the world for him to stop. The whole server was one big family especially everyone in the homes he was about to destroy. But what they wanted didn't matter anymore. It's what Technoblade wanted, and he wanted blood.

At the last moment, Y/N remembered Friend. Ghostbur would be devastated if Friend died.

Falling down to the ground from the small warning of TNT, Friend flooded their mind.

If they couldn't save L'Manburg, they needed to save Friend. Ghostbur wasn't the same, but Ghostbur is Wilbur. They still never said thank you. They have to show their gratitude through the miracle of Friend surviving.

And so that's what they set off to do. With no mind to their own self-preservation, Y/N got up and flew as fast as they could to save Friend. But before they could reach the sheep, a large pile of rubble fell on one of their wings, almost snapping it right off. Y/N tried to get it off but to no avail, and their whole body wasn't safe. As they saw more rubble they crouched down while covering their head with their hands and covering the undamaged wing with their body, they prepared for impact.

The last thing they could speak out was almost incomprehensible.

"Wil..... Will...... Ghosbu.............. Tommy.......... Dad............."

And then everything went black. Y/N couldn't see or feel anything. Not even after her youngest brother, the ghost of her older brother, and the three fiances of the SMP untrapped them. There was nothing.

After what felt like years for the brothers, there was finally a glimpse of Y/N waking up. But they continued to drift in and out of consciousness and whenever someone tried communicating they were completely unresponsive.

During this amount of time, it was agreed that it was in their best interest for their wings to be removed. They were both utterly useless now after being crushed and would just be extra weight with unnecessary pain that can be avoided the sooner their wings get removed. Just in case Y/N was still aware of everything going on, they were put under amnesia to lower the chance of them feeling the agony of a wing removal surgery.

Slowly Y/N began more responsive to people, but never to the same amount. Everyone that took care of them were absolutely heartbroken when they figured out part of the rock that fell on them damaged a vital organ that allowed a person to see. Luck was in fact on their side for damaging their eyesight instead of the brain, however most people didn't see it that way.

Ghostbur took it upon himself to become Y/N's seeing-eye dog. He missed having Friend nearby and Y/N was the thing he connected to the most after Friend's death.

After a few months of trying to get used to no longer having sight or wings Y/N was finally allowed back in their lab with a large amount of supervision from Ghostbur. While carefully running their hands across some unfinished inventions, Y/N comes across the goggles that they made at least a year ago. It immediately smarked a memory deep within their brain, the closest thing they had felt to seeing something ever since doomsday.

"Ghostbur, what color are these?" "Oh, they're blue. Blue's a really nice color, it reminds me of Friend. Do you remember Frien- Why are you looking down at those like that? Would you like some blue, it takes your sadness away! Wait dont put them on, the glass has cracks!" Y/N snickers as the ghost tries to take them away from them without being super forceful, "I'm already blind, what's the worst it can do?"

"Dont say that!" Ghostbur gasps, "We will find a way to get your vision back, those goggles might make it impossible!"

"I made these around the time you first showed up. I ran multiple tests with them and I was able to help a blind person see the world again. Sure, it was very blurry, hard to distinguish a lot of colors from each other, we have a different kind of blindness, and its been more that a year since I last tested them, but they might still work." Y/N explains, then they turn their back to Ghostbur and put the goggles on. This time, Ghostbut only makes a sound in protest.

Blinking, Y/N could feel the stimulation in their brain that they lost along with their eyesight come back. They moved their hands from the position they were in to put the invention on to Y/N's line of sight, and they could see their hands again. Fuzzy, shapeless, hands with a few bandaids and many scars on them.

"So, are they working?"

The voice of your brother brings Y/N back to reality and they turn to look at him. They had completely forgotten what Ghostbur looked like, only remembering vaguely what child Wilbur looked liked and a brief description of how Ghostbur's appearance differed for Wilbur's.

Y/N wraps their arms around the Ghost, not actually hugging but just doing the motion to where they would hug a person they could actually touch, as they tried to not cry in front of him.

(WOOOOOO THIS ENDED UP A LOT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND I'M NOT EVEN DONE YET, SO I SEPARATED IT INTO TWO PARTS)

#sbi family dynamic #sbi x reader #slight angst #gn reader #gender neutral y/n

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dreamcatcherrs · 4 years ago

Text

toxic - sapnap x reader

+ this is an entry for the writing competition hosted by @salinesoot! go and show them some love<3

++ DISCLAIMER; in no way do I claim that sapnap is addicted to any form of drugs. this is all just fiction! with that I hope you enjoy this longer story :)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: drug addict/ex-lovers au! addict!sapnap x addict!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: months after your break-up, nick reaches out to you to put a peaceful ending to the disastrous fall of your relationship. the meet-up is rough; you're not willing to comply with anything he’s saying, and he just can't seem to get over the state he sees you in once he arrives.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5.952

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: !ADDICTION! drugs, alcohol, smoking, break-ups, swearing, manipulation (?), abandonment.

I want to put a very big emphasis on addiction, as I don't want to trigger anyone! if you feel in any way uncomfortable with the things listed above, please don't continue reading :) thank you.

playlist:

save your tears - the weeknd

so high - doja cat

apocalypse - cigarettes after sex

high - sivik

habits - tove lo

champagne problems - taylor swift

the silence in the room was violent - it lay like a thick fog between you; hard to breathe in, hard to see through. not to mention the rays of sunshine hitting your back through the windows behind you, glowing into his clear eyes and burning you up inside. but not in a nice way - not in the same way that the first intake of the tip of a cigarette would once set to a flame; not in the same way the almost glowing row of white would once going up your nose and through your system. no, this kind of burn felt claustrophobic, not freeing or euphoric at all. it felt awful - but not as awful as his sorry eyes staring over your body like you were the entrance to a pity party.

a quiet flicker sprung from the lighter in your hand, a small flame glowing under the shade of your frame. your brows furrowed slightly as you lifted the lighter to the death stick sat between your lips, silently lighting it and immediately sucking the sweet smoke right into your tired body like it was oxygen to you. removing the cigarette from your lips and letting it hang from your index and middle finger, you blew out the smoke in one big puff, eyes meeting his.

“so... what do you want?” you snarled at your ex-lover, leaning back on your seat on the counter to lean your weight on your right hand - the one without the cigarette -, watching as he inhaled through his mouth slightly, only to quickly close it again once catching some of the smoke in his mouth. he waited till the cloud was gone to speak up;

“can you... not do that in here?” was the first thing he could say to you. one year after leaving you, and that’s the first thing he has to say? it made you scoff, but you chose to put out the cigarette in the ash tray beside you anyways. funny how times can change so quickly.

he cleared his throat before adding; “I don't smoke anymore - I’ve been clean for nine months now.”

the way he said it with such pride, such happiness - it angered you. was it because you were the one sitting in the dust and ashes of addiction, and not him? well, you both knew it wasn't. or at least he would if he had a sense of memory, which you guessed he had.

all you could do was raise your eyebrows at his words, arms crossing over your chest after bouncing off the kitchen counter. “I asked you a question nick - not for an update of your wonderful life,” you spat, squinting your eyes at him. his eyes somehow softened, and you just hated to see it. because you knew it made your heart beat just a little bit faster. you knew it brung back memories that you both despised and at the same time absolutely loved to have.

he moved away from the fridge he had been leaning his back against, scratching the back of his neck as he looked at the ground instead of your eyes.

“I came to apologise.”

“for what?”

“for… everything.”

it was at the biggest college party of the year for newcomers that he met you.

he was high. he’d spotted you in the crowd, looking like a lost puppy. was that what made him come to you? no, but he couldn’t deny the fact that your innocent complex caught his attention. throughout the night, his eyes would gaze away from the conversation he had with his friends and over to you, and after a nice two rows of heroin through his nostrils, bubbling his blood and dilating his pupils, was when he noticed the guy approaching you. grabbing you, twirling your hair around his finger when you were clearly uncomfortable with it. and as if he hadn't already had about 3 already, he chugged a whole can of beer all in one go, before pushing himself out of the chair he was sat in. clay and george mumbled something in drunk behind him that his ears blocked out anyway as he moved towards the douche in front of you, combing a had through his hair.

he made it to you just as the guy grabbed your thigh with his rough, dirty fingers that god knows where had been, and with complete fury and the world spinning around him, nick grabbed the guy by his shoulder, turning him around to be met with his fist. when the realisation hit you, you visibly gasped (not that he could hear it over the loud music or the ringing in his ears), watching in shock as the guy stumbled back into the cupboard behind him, hand reaching up to grab his eye. the people around you seemed to notice as well, some stepping back a little in shock, some taking photos, some laughing and wooing for more. when nick noticed that the guy was about to get up again, and to his knowledge about to throw some punches back at him, he quickly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you to his side.

“get your filthy hands off my s/o,” he snarled, drunkenly and not very intimidating, but still made for a good effort. he didn't notice the way you'd tried to hide your disgust when smelling his alcoholic breath and his scent of weed - everything was hard to pay close detail to when in a drunken state like his.

to nick’s surprise, the guy, who by the was was way bigger than him and could probably easily take him down in one hit, backs away with a bleeding nose, and everyone else returns to partying as normal.

he turns to you, and you’re blushing. either that or you’ve just taken 10 shots in a row, but that was clearly not the case. your lips moved, but he would have to have the most powerful ears to be able to hear you over the loud music pumping through his body. so instead he leans down, lips hovering by your ear.

“what?” he slurred, loud enough for you to hear, and as if your cheeks weren’t already burning, his close proximity to you sure didn’t help. from behind, a couple of giggling girls shoved into him to get over to the counter filled with alcohol, causing him to push you further against the cupboard. his hand landed on your hip in reflex, preventing him from literally falling into you.

quickly you uttered out into his ear, louder this time; “I- I said thank you,” and closed your eyes tightly in embarrassment, because why did you have to stutter? and why did this drunk mess of a guy have to be so goddamn attractive?

he took a step back, letting his hands fall with him. he looked back at his friends - clay glancing over at him, laughing confusedly, while george was busy downing a shot with karl. he ignored clay’s signal to come back to the table, and instead leaned over to your ear again.

“you wanna get out of here?”

your eyes widened. why did this complete stranger want to leave one of the biggest parties with you? it would be stupid to say yes, yet something in you strived to know what the night could turn out like if you did. it’s not like you had much fun anyway, and what the hell, your life isn’t one filled with surprises, so what was one night filled with them gonna change?

“so... you’re a first year’er?” nick inhaled deeply, the smoke from the blunt of weed between his lips going straight to his head. you nervously scratched your elbow, kicking a harmless rock that was in the way of your path as you nodded. the smell from the stick of weed in his hand went through your nostrils, tickling your nose in a not-so-pleasant way. you chose to ignore this though, not wanting to seem fussy.

“yeah. but parties are not really my forte, in case you hadn’t noticed,” you laughed quietly, folding your arms over your chest when a cold breeze fanned your body. he turned to look at you with slightly squinted eyes, taking in your sober self.

“well, have you ever tried weed? cause I’ll tell you; everything can be a party with this shit.” he laughed at himself, sucking in smoke once again from the blunt, before turning to see you shake your head. he suddenly passed it in your direction. you stared down at it, a trail of smoke rising from the tip of it, before looking at him again. “wanna try?”

he didn't look too bothered wether you said yes or no - just high and drunk out of his mind, which actually made him look kinda peaceful and… cute? what the fuck. you shrugged your shoulders, grabbing the stick of weed from between his fingers. it was the start of college - everyone does this, right?

“do I just… inhale?” you asked, clearly a rookie and non-professional weed-smoker. he chuckled, stopping in his tracks, making you stop as well, as he fished out something from the pocket of his jacket; a lighter.

“yeah, you just gotta light it again cause of the wind. just treat it like a cig.” you raised your eyebrow at him, watching as he stepped closer to you with the lighter, waiting for you to put the blunt between your lips, and when you didn't was when he noticed your confusion and raised eyebrow. he looked shocked. “you've never smoked a cigarette before?” you shook your head, swinging your arms along with their place inside the pockets of your jacket, a lopsided smile forming on your face. his eyes widened further. “drugs? alcohol? nothing?” you gave an innocent smile, flashing your teeth at him as you shook your head. he raised his eyebrows. “damn. well, it’s no shocker to me that you don't like parties then. you've never tried real partying.”

he softly took the blunt from your hand, gesturing for you to open your mouth, before tucking it between your parted lips. he moved closer to you, close enough so he could focus on protecting the flame from the wind using his hand, and holding the lighter up to the tip of the weed stick. “this’ll be fun,” he mumbled to himself, igniting the lighter. “now you just inhale and then eventually blow out the smoke. it might burn to start with, but fuck does it feel good afterwards.”

you did as he said, squinting your eyes as you inhaled the smoke, feeling your throat burn with every passing second you of inhaling, and before you had the chance to blow it into a cloud casually, you coughed out all of the smoke, choking on the pure taste and burn of weed. he chuckled lightly, patting your back gently as he watched you gasp for fresh air.

“alright alright, not too bad.” he took the blunt once you handed it over to him again, easily inhaling the smoke like it was nothing to him, before blowing it out into the fresh september air in different sizes of ‘o’s. you watched in amazement as he did so, wondering how long you’d have to smoke for, for a person to be able to do that. your guess was quite a while.

he handed it over to you again, encouraging you to take it. you did. “here, keep it.” he sent you a dopey smile, watching as you took it. you placed it in your mouth just as the wind passed through you again, making your body shiver very obviously. you were stupid to not bring a jacket. in your defense, you thought that you wouldn’t have stayed long at that party anyway; not that you’d be here, walking through an empty playground with a stranger. well, not a stranger anymore - nick was his name, as you’d come to learn.

he noticed your freezing self as you inhaled again, the smoke making you cough again even when you tried your hardest not to. busy getting your oxygen under control, you didn’t notice him taking off his leather jacket before it hung heavy on your shoulders, immediately giving warming you up from the body warmth it had consumed from him.

you moved the stick out of your mouth, looking at him with a raised eyebrow, trying to play his gesture off cool. “what are you doing? you’ll freeze.”

he scoffed playfully, inhaling the fresh smell of the cool air. “I’m drunk out of my mind right now. you think I even think about what temperature it is right now?” you giggled at that. it was crazy how your cheeks were able to grow so warm despite the cold breeze flushing over you constantly, hands tugging the jacket tighter to yourself.

“thank you,” you quietly said, a small smile spreading across your face. your head started feeling empty - a good kind of empty, causing you to smile even more without even noticing. the sudden release of dopamine in your brain was causing you to feel lighter - that’s what it was, you thought.

without realising, your eyes had been closed and you’d stopped walking anymore, just taking in the feeling and the nice, fresh air hitting your skin in small waves. you felt a hand on your back, and then heard a quiet laugh from beside you. you turned in the direction, opening your eyes and smiled up at the handsome creature of a male in front of you. he smiled along with you, looking into your clouded eyes with his reddened ones, placing his hands on your neck softly.

he started laughing. and you started laughing. you placed your hands on top of his, leaning in closer to get a better look at his eyes. they looked like a cave filled with shiny crystals if you looked close enough. and you’d still be looking into them when he kissed you if he hadn’t closed them.

it was mainly a very toothy kiss, your white pearls clanging together as your smiles stayed on your faces throughout the kiss. when he pushed his tongue in between them though, they slightly faltered, and your hands flew up to hold his face in your hands as he started kissing you harder and with additional sloppiness.

you pulled away to catch your breath, and before he had the chance to lean in for a second kiss, you placed the marijuana between your lips, spending him a playful smile as you sucked in the burning smoke.

were you high or were you just crazy about this guy that you barely even knew? at that very moment you felt that the answer was both.

your brows furrowed. he actually looked… sorry? you weren't sure if you were willing to hear what he had to say - after all he’d put you through. but… something made you listen. something made you wanna give him the chance to speak up. maybe it was the soft spot you had for him in you heart, that you so badly wanted to deny yourself was there.

“look… I know I’m the reason you've ended up like this. I’m the reason you can't even let go of that pack of cigarettes in your hand. and I can't stop thinking about that every single day. I- I ruined you, y/n. and I realise- well, I’ve realised this a long time ago - I just left you here to rot. all alone. I fucked you up, and left you to deal with it all alone. and I’m really fucking sorry about that. I treated you so badly and got you into things you probably wouldn't have gotten into if you'd never met me...” he trailed off, a solemn look in his eyes, almost glowing as they stared compassionately into yours.

you broke away from them, a soft frown on your face as they trailed off to the wine shelf stacked with bottles of alcohol behind him. he was right. you knew he was. but it didn’t explain why he came here. to seek your sympathy? for you to accept his apology? to give him that form of closure? you weren’t really sure if he deserved that.

he saw the look on your face, and figured he’d continue; “I don’t expect you to accept my apology or... stop being mad at me. I just wanted to come here to finish things the right way instead of the way we left it. well, the way I left it.” all of a sudden he stopped in his tracks, eyes focused on your arm. his eyes widened once noticing the bruise on the inside of your elbow, clearly from some type of syringe or needle. he would know what that looked like.

he took swift steps towards you, grabbing your arm in shock. you were worse than he had thought. you looked down in shame when his eyes tried meeting yours.

“y/n,” he said seriously, very carefully rubbing his thumb across the mark. “you need help. like, serious help. you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

with that, you tore your arm away from him, staring into his eyes with your eyebrows furrowed and teary-eyed. “why do you care? since when did you ever care, nick? I don’t understand why you’re here - you don’t really want to help me.” you stepped away from him, heading over to the pile of ashes from the previously smoked cigarettes to get another one, but were stopped by his hand grabbing your arm.

he hugged you.

you sobbed into his shoulder,

and hugged him back.

you swallowed a big gulp of air, craning your neck as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. a pleasurable smile appeared on your face, the sweet feeling of cocaine rushing through your system being the cause of it. you lay down on the flat rooftop of the college gym, inhaling the smoke from the already ignited cigarette between your two fingers. you blew the smoke out into the air in small rings, like nick had showed you, happily succeeding in it. needless to say, you'd done it for what felt like a million times before.

nick grabbed your hand from his place on the roof beside you. you turned your head to look at him, squeezing his hand in the process. he moved closer to you, lifting your hand to his lips before placing a wet kiss onto the back of it. he gestured for you to place the cigarette between his lips, and you did so, holding it in place as he inhaled the smoke like you had. when you moved the cigarette away from him though, he pushed you closer to him by the back of your neck, placing this lips on yours in time for him to blow the smoke from his mouth into yours, catching you by surprise.

you waited till he’d moved away again to blow the smoke out, turning your head as you did so so that he wouldn’t get it in his face. he laughed at the way your eyes had widened, leaning over you to place a kiss on your flush cheek.

“did you like that?” he asked with a raspy voice, followed by a giggle and still holding your hand in his as he clung it to his chest. you looked up at him with a pouty smile, watching as his eyes crinkled at your soundless response.

“you know… we’re probably not allowed up here,” you muttered, tracing figures onto his palm

“yeah, we’re not allowed many things. including all of this cocaine, but I don't plan on stopping,” he replied nonchalantly, clawing up some of the white, illuminating powder onto his finger, sniffing it up his nose with one large inhale, before exhaling deeply in satisfaction. you watched as he did so, and it made your chest turn. something about this felt wrong all of a sudden. you felt bad, ashamed to even be sat on a roof at 2 am, doing drugs and smoking weed, when you really came here to study and make friends.

your thoughts did not just swim away once he started leaving small little pecks onto your neck, hair tickling your jawline with bubbly giggles flying past his lips. you gently pushed him off, letting go of his hand and standing up from the rooftop. your sudden distress did not go unnoticed by nick, though, and he stood up with you, stumbling, but standing, watching as you threw the remains of the cigarette onto the ground, and looked off onto your campus with a clenched jaw and stern look on your face.

nick was confused, and a little uncertain with what he should do. you'd never acted like something was wrong before, so he didn’t exactly know what to do in this type of situation. all he could do was walk over to you, standing by your side as he looked off into the same direction as you. his eyes glanced over to you every now and then, chewing on what to say exactly. he tried saying something, but stopped himself before he had the chance to even let out a squeak.

“is.. what- argh. did I do something wrong?” he finally spoke, frustrated with his own form of speech. you turned your head to him, your small smile causing relief to rush through his body. when you responded with a ‘no’, he felt a little better, but that still didn’t stop him from seeing right through that smile and into your worried self. “well, what's wrong then?”

what's wrong? you almost wanted to ask yourself that question. why would you want to ruin such a nice moment with him just because of some doubt? maybe it was because you thought that all good things wouldn't last, and that whatever this was between you was too good to be true. or maybe it was the fact that you could feel your lungs set on fire just thinking of every bad thing you’d consumed into your previously healthy body, head feeling empty, but at the same time heavy enough to keep all of the bad things inside of it to weigh down on you. maybe it was because you'd never felt so unlike yourself before as you do now, and you weren't so sure if that was a good thing anymore.

when you told him this (well, the parts about the drugs, not your feelings), he sighed heavily, placing a hand on your shoulder to fully turn you to face him. “y/n,” he started, moving his hand up to your cheek and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone, sending you a lopsided grin. “you're overthinking too much.” you raised your eyebrows slightly, looking at him with a mix of confusion and hope in your eyes. he continued; “we’re just having fun. there’s noting wrong with that! isn’t that what college is all about?”

he did his best to assure you that nothing was wrong, and it seemed to be working. you eased up - he could feel it -, yet you still had that worried expression stuck on your face, and he knew he had to do something to change that. he kissed you softly, cold nose touching yours in the process. you couldn’t help but to kiss him back, placing your hands on the sides of his neck as you closed your eyes tightly, wanting nothing more than to get lost in his lips.

when he pulled away, the tip of his index finger lightly bopped your nose, causing the very least of a smile to form on your face. that made him smile. “don’t worry, baby,” he assured you, kissing your forehead before fishing the metallic circle-shaped box out of his pocket, offering you some of the addicting white powder by handing it to you. “we’re in this together.”

his phone buzzed on the coffee table, the waves of vibrations feeling as if they filled up the entire room. someone was calling him, and you only just managed to see that the caller ID was someone named “rose” before he dismissed the call. as far as you could remember, he’d never even met someone by that name.

he put his phone in his pocket, doing up the zipper before staring across the table and over to you again. his brushing off didn’t help your curiosity from spilling out. “aren’t you gonna get that?” you questioned, wiping the wetness on your cheeks away fully from your previous outburst of tears. you could still see the tear stains on his shirt.

he shook his head. “I have more important matters right now.” your heart warmed at his words and you hated to feel that. of course you’d been on his social media since your break-up - you knew very well that the girl calling was his new girlfriend. and as much as you hated yourself for feeling it, you couldn’t help the jealousy from flaming up inside of you. you decided to hold back from saying more about it, though, knowing that it would just be your hurt and anger talking.

he stared at you for a while with droopy puppy eyes, and it made you hate this moment even more, moving around in your seat to distract yourself from the situation. but then his hand was on yours, squeezing gently like he’d done so many times before. you tried not looking into his eyes, cause you knew it’d make you weaker, but it was so damn hard when all you could feel was his eyes burning into your skin, the pity from him seeping right into you. it made you feel awful.

“I want to help you, y/n. get you out of this shithole I put you in in the first place,” he explained lowly, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. tingles trickled up your arm and down your spine, a knot forming in your stomach. you looked down at the table, away from him. “I still care for you, you know?” he gave your hand a squeeze, wanting you to look at him again.

you didn’t.

he sighed.

letting go of your hand, he stood up from the chair. your eyes followed him as he walked over to your side of the table, pulling out the chair that was right beside you and taking a seat on it. he looked at you for a while, taking in the way you looked.

your eyes were bloodshot, red streaks coming out from the beautiful crystal in the middle of your eye. those deep and dark bags under your eyes weren’t there before, the cause of them being so very obvious. you were thinner, frail, weak. you looked as if you would break if he as much as lay a finger on you - like you’d turn to dust if he tried reaching out to you. if he tried to save you. it was soul-crushing to see you in this state. he couldn’t believe he’d done this to you.

you noticed his staring. he didn’t care. you needed to know this had gone too far, even if he was the cause of it.

he pulled his phone out of his pocket, pulling up a list of names and numbers on his phone from his contacts. he gave you his phone.

“these are the places I went to when I tried getting clean. it’d be no problem getting you in there. you just have to try. have to want the help. that’s all I ask from you.” you scrolled through the contacts slowly, like it’d make a difference to the foreign names on the screen.

“nick, I-,” you sighed and shook your head. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“of course you can,” he assured you, grabbing your hand once again. you turned your head to him, heart pumping louder in your chest as you stared at him. you missed him, you realised. “you won’t be alone.”

it all happened so fast.

you pulled him to you by his hand, yours coming up to grab his cheek softly to simultaneously pull his face to yours, closing your pained eyes tightly and-

“what are you doing?”

your voice boomed through the dark room. you stood with crossed arms and a tired look on your face, having just woken up by the rustling coming from the living room, only to find your boyfriend packing his stuff with tear-stained cheeks. worry shot through your tired body as you watched him halt, staring back at you with a startled expression on his face.

“y/n? wh-why are you awake?” he quickly shoved a shirt of his into the duffel bag in his hands, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with baggy eyes.

your eyebrows furrowed. you knew what this looked like, and you realised exactly what was happening. he was leaving you. he’d been distant for the past few weeks, but you never thought it was because of you. you thought that, maybe, it was just a phase. because, he would never really leave you. would he?

you took a step towards him. “nick are you… leaving me?” you could feel the tears well up in your eyes when you heard yourself say it out loud. you felt like you’d just been hit by a truck, lungs failing and body crashing down. you didn’t understand. you didn’t understand at all.

he didnt answer, just looked down in shame? sorrow? you didn’t care. how could he leave you? how could he? you wanted to pinch yourself to wake up from this horrible dream- no. from this nightmare. but this wasn’t just a nightmare - it was reality. this was really happening.

“I-I don't understand, nick. don't you l-love me?” you sobbed, feeling your wet tears trickle down your face. here they came. the tears you hadn’t cried for so long now.

he softened up at the sight of you crying, wanting so badly to hug you, comfort you, but knowing that he couldn’t let himself. he had to leave somehow. leave this town, this drug-filled life. he had to escape it, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to with you.

“I can't stay here, y/n. I have to go,” he muttered lowly, grabbing his headphones from the coffee table and stuffing them into the bag as well. he started packing again.

“wh-why? I thought things were good between us?”

“they're not, y/n!” he yelled suddenly, causing you to step back slightly. he turned to you, a wild look on his face as his arms flailed around in the air. “I’m sick of only being able to feel good because I’m drugged up or drunk. I’m getting clean.”

he packed the last couple of things into the bag, scanning the room quickly to make sure he got most of it with him, before taking haste steps over to grab his jacket from the coat hanger. you followed after him with just as fast steps, heart beating out of your chest. was this the last time you were gonna see him? no. you refused to believe that.

“b-but you can't just leave me!” you pulled at his arm, tugging him over in your direction as he struggled to slide his leather jacket on. he looked at you for a moment, chest heaving slightly from the bad feeling he had inside of him.

“if you're not gonna let me leave, then you have to.”

you looked at him with pure shock and anger- the audacity. he sighed, calming himself down before continuing; “if you still love me you’d leave.”

you shook your head, angrily shoving a finger at his chest. “you got me into this mess in the first place! you’re the reason I’ve ended up like this! and you want me to leave?” you scoffed at his words, yelling out yours in rage as tears of frustration kept falling from your eyes.

he sighed, brows furrowed and a sad expression stuck on his face as he looked at the ground. “I’m sorry, y/n. I can't do this anymore.” he turned to grab the doorknob, and your eyes widened with the movement.

“you can't do this to me nick!,” you clawed at his arm, dragging him backwards, away from the door. but he was stronger than your weak body and easily pushed you away from him to get access to the door. you hit his back with your fists, crying out in anger as you did so.

“you bastard! you can't just leave me here!” he stayed quiet as he rushed out of the door, not even looking back as he made it out of the door, escaping your grasp on him. you sobbed even louder, walking out of the door to follow his body with your eyes as you collapsed to the ground. “I hate you! I fucking hate you, you hear me?”

nick silently cried as his back hit the elevator wall, the doors closing in front of him as he made his way downwards to the entrance of the apartment complex. what had he just done? he placed a hand over his mouth, wide eyes staring into thin air in shock. nick’s only ever done what he was raised to think was right. it’s not his fault, right?

it’s not.

for a moment, you kissed.

did he not pull away because his feelings for you were still there somewhere in the depts of him? or because he was so shocked that he was unable to think straight enough to pull away? honestly, he couldn’t tell.

but alas, he pushed you off. and all he could do was look at you, baffled, confused and feeling more lost than ever. “y/n…” he trailed off, watching as you stared back at him with wide eyes and red lips from the kiss, almost looking as if you were just as shocked as him.

“I’m… I’m happy now. without the drugs, without the alcohol, without the cigarettes. I’m with someone else now, y/n,” he mumbled quietly, hands still pressed against your shoulders as he stared at your plump lips in a flustered state. he sighed. “we can't be together, y/n. not like this.” he didn’t specify “like what”, but his eyes staring up and down your form clearly showed what he meant. you knew that already, but it still hurt you. it still hurt you that he’d moved on and you hadn't - that he was away from all of the things you now lived off of. it hurt you that he was able to find happiness without you.

he lifted your head up by your chin, and you hadn't even noticed that you were looking at the ground, and got to eye-level with you. his eyes were soft (when weren't they?) and this time, he looked like he was pleading, begging for you to hear him instead of denying him. “I want you to be happy, too. that’s why I’m trying to help you. if only you’d let me?”

your eyes dropped to the ground again, brows furrowing in thought. should you? should you let him into your heart again? into your shitty life? what if he just ended up leaving you again like he’d done before? breaking your heart into a million pieces this time instead of just two? you looked up at him again, biting down on your bottom as you made your final choice.

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Matured

Corpse Husband & Little Sister Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Sibling Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse’s search for a roommate ends shortly after his little sister calls him, telling him she’s moving out of her high school dorm in the suburbs following her graduation to attend college in San Francisco.

Requested by @bugger2002 Hi darling! Thank you so much for this adorable request, I had such a fun time turning it into a fic! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Alright, it’s been a month since Y/N announced she’d be moving in with me - no, she didn’t ask if she could nor if I’d want her to, she straight up casually informed me she’d be moving in with me since she’s starting college. I’m lucky she even thought to tell me, knowing her it wouldn’t have been so strange for her to just show up on my doorstep with a grin like “Alright, I live here now.” Having a six years younger sister who can act both younger and older than me - sometimes both at the same time - is a bit complex. Obviously, my protective and nurturing brotherly instinct kicks in whenever she complains to me about something, but seconds later she tells me she’s taken care of it already and I feel like a fool for overreacting even if it was only internal. She’s calm and rational when she needs to be and a reckless airhead whose only goal is to have fun when she wants to be.

And judging by her and her friends’ main methods of obtaining said fun I can see how much alike we are: playing drunk video games, drunk darts, drunk pool. You see, there’s a lot of drinking involved and that’s something I’m greatly unhappy with and have scolded her on countless times just to get a fake promise, probably with fingers crossed behind her back - that she’ll cut down the alcohol. Not to mention she’s not even old enough to drink so I’ve been very insistent on her cutting her bad habit. She’s tried calling me hypocritical at times but she can’t do so rightfully since I’m, you know, of drinking age. So she’s basically bound by law to follow my advice and orders.

At least now that she’ll be staying with me I’ll be able to keep a better eye on her. A rascal high school student will either mature-up in college or go even more downhill. I aim to make her fall in the first category, but I’m making no promises - she’s very unruly, just like me. Damn, never did I think my own traits would come hitting me in the back of the head like a boomerang but here we are.

Regardless of all the crap I’ve just spewed about her, she’s a wonderful girl. She’s always been my pillar of support and never gets tired of it. She never misses a call of mine and has never not replied to a message of mine, no matter how drunk she’s been. She’s never skipped a Saturday night Skype call, no matter how busy she’s been. She’s never let herself forget she has a brother who often times needs her by his side.

Once she even talked one of her friends who has a car and a driver’s license drive her all the way to my apartment complex when I was having a really bad anxiety attack and legit couldn’t talk on the phone. She went door to door to find which apartment I live in and stayed with me the whole weekend she was supposed to spend at a music festival or something. It’s not wonder she’ll be a med student - she’s always wanted to be a nurse and has practically been my personal nurse since she was twelve. She maybe wasn’t always physically present to help me, but she’s a great instruction giver for when I need her and she’s unable to come to my aid.

Well now, we’ll both be there to aid one another.

“BEEP BEEP FUCKER!“

I nearly flip off my chair at the distinct yelling coming from directly below my window. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, and it’d always bring a smile to my face without fail.

I rush to get up from my desk chair and open the window but when I do so, she’s no longer on the sidewalk. There’s only a car I recognize to be the one of the friend that drove her here during that nightmarish episode I explained earlier.

Before I can ever back away from the window, I hear my front door swing open and a yell echo from down the hall, “Corpse! How many times do I need to tell you to lock your door, damn it!”

“The same amount of times I’ve had to tell you to cut down on the al- WHOA!“ She doesn’t let me finish the sentence and jumps me the second I step out in the hallway.

“Missed you, stupid!“ She says, her legs wrapped around my waist as she ruffles my hair, “I’ll trim your hair later. Why have you let it get so long?“ She questions, furrowing her brows at me while running both her hands through my mess of a hair - she has a point, I’ve let it get out of control. While doing so, she seems to get an idea all of a sudden so she quickly climbs down, reminding me of the huge height difference we have now that her feet are on the floor. “I know you two have met before, but I think you need to re-meet...“ she says, turning to look at her friend who’s smiling timidly at her. She sends the flustered girl a wink before turning back to look at me, “Corpse, I’d like you to meet Abbey, my girlfriend“ she says proudly, skipping over to the blue haired girl and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Y/N pushes up on her tiptoes and places a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. It’s adorable to see her shorter than yet another person she clearly adores to annoy.

I smile at the two girls, holding back a chuckle as to not embarrass Abbey more, “Well then, nice to meet you Abbey. You should know you are one strong soul to be putting up with all that.“ I purposely don’t look at Y/N as I motion towards her, earning me a pissed off “Hey!“ as a response to my remark, “Stick around for dinner, don’t worry neither of us will be cooking.“ I point at myself and then at Y/N as if to reassure her she won’t be a victim of food poisoning.

“Actually...“ Abbey says, tilting her head to look my shortie sister in the eyes as if taunting her to say something.

She finally caves, raising her left hand as though she’s volunteering, “Ugh fine, I may or may not have taken a cooking course and may or may not know how to cook a decent meal. It’s whatever, really.”

To say I’m impressed would be an understatement. I’m impressed, shocked, surprised and flooded with joy that my sister has finally decided to start maturing. “Cooking course, huh? When did you decide living off of takeout isn’t a nice way to live?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “Oh no I still go full weeks with only takeout and cereal, I just needed a distraction because...well...” she trails off, her gaze dropping awkwardly as she fishes for words or perhaps already has them found but doesn’t want to spit them out.

Abbey huffs, taking Y/N’s hand and lifting it to show off her wrist where I catch sight of a batch of colorful handmade bracelets, “Because these aren’t gonna earn themselves.”

I raise an eyebrow, puzzled as to what exactly she’s referring to.

Y/N sighs, taking one of the bracelets, playing with it nervously, “I have one for every month I’ve spent without getting drunk - Abbey made them for me. I need a distraction to stay sober so...I took up cooking.“

I can’t remember a moment I haven’t felt proud of my sister. Y/N’s always been on top of her shit, drunk or sober she knows what she’s doing. She’s mindful even when she’s reckless, thinks soberly even when she’s been drinking heavily. She’s always proved herself to me and to the people who think of her as a lowlife without even trying. She lets the world breeze by her without thinking too much of it and yet she still mesmerizes me and many of the people she meets - Abbey has now officially joined the club.

But, all things said and considered, I think I’ve never felt as proud of her as I do right now, seeing those six bracelets on her wrist - half a year without getting drunk. I know she wouldn’t lie to Abbey, she rarely lies to me too, so those bracelets have been earned and well-deserved and that makes me feel like the Y/N I remember is not the one standing in front of me right now. That silly girl is still in the suburbs, making a shitty-ass choice of messing up her liver. A grown woman, a responsible adult has taken her place though, and I couldn’t be more glad.

“Y/N...“ I finally manage to utter her name, making her gaze meet mine, “I’m so fucking proud of you.“

A smile slowly stretches the corners of her mouth upwards, her eyes shning in a way that has nothing to do with the lighting in this hallway. She’s not a crier though, I know those tears are gonna stay right there, stubbornly refusing to escape her eyes, “Thanks, Corpse. I’m proud of you too....” she says, nodding her head slowly, “I can overlook the untrimmed hair.”

Sigh

Y/N will always be Y/N no matter what I guess. That’s a good thing - I love her just the way she is.

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year ago

Text

The topic of Hell is complex.

Since it's something you don't and can't know about, no, it's not. The bible tells us everything we need to know. If it didn't, then the bible has failed at its primary mission. If hell is hard to understand, then your god has created a system that even its adherents can't navigate. Failure for your god.

Christians believe that the Holy Spirit prompts a person toward himself. That is, each person will have a point in their life where God will offer them his hand to secure them from their freefall.

LOL. 🤣

Must exist first. You have to do that before you can make any kind of assertion like this. 1 Peter 3:15. Piling assertion on top of assertion doesn't solve your problem, it makes it worse. All you're doing is going deeper into "who can use Thor's hammer?"

The freefall which, again, your god set humans up for in the first place. Bible is unambiguous about this. It's the result of the plagiarized mythology (Epic of Gilgamesh) which used to have multiple gods doing different actions, which are all now attributed to a single inconsistent god.

The freefall from your god shoving people out of the plane and then saying, "hey, if you sign up to be my butler, I'll let you grab my hand and share my parachute. Otherwise, you go splat. Ground's coming up fast.... Up to you. Free will."

Superman will save you from falling and never ask for anything in return. He'll offer his hand unconditionally. Why is your god a lesser being than Superman? Why can't your god do anything without a motive? Why is your god abjectly incapable of altruism? If his love was unconditional, he would have already saved me without asking me or requiring my worship. He would have been so altruistic that I would never even know I was in danger, and he would be so good, so ethical, that he'd never bring it up simply in order to bolster his own ego.

In my job, I do that all the time. I fix things before they ever become actual problems, and people never know that there was an issue. I never tell them. Why is it that I'm more moral, more altruistic than your god? Why does it need the drama, the spectacle of putting people in danger in order to make a big deal about saving them?

Exodus 7:2-5

Thou shalt speak all that I command thee: and Aaron thy brother shall speak unto Pharaoh, that he send the children of Israel out of his land. And I will harden Pharaoh's heart, and multiply my signs and my wonders in the land of Egypt. But Pharaoh shall not hearken unto you, that I may lay my hand upon Egypt, and bring forth mine armies, and my people the children of Israel, out of the land of Egypt by great judgments. And the Egyptians shall know that I am the Lord, when I stretch forth mine hand upon Egypt, and bring out the children of Israel from among them.

Your god didn't just help the Israelites escape. It concocted an entire pantomime show by brainwashing the Pharaoh and orchestrating a magical arms race solely to "multiply my signs and my wonders," so that "the Egyptians shall know that I am the Lord." It's using humans as pawns in his stupid dramas. It says explicitly that it's inventing scenarios for it to show off. Your god is prideful and arrogant.

A good god wouldn't need the adulation. It would do the right thing because it's the right thing. It could have quietly plucked the Israelites from Egypt, popped them into a nice grassy meadow and sent them on their way. "bUt fReE WiLL!!" you might say. You mean like the free will of brainwashing the Pharaoh in order to kill the Egyptian first born?

And why on Earth do you think this profoundly perverted behavior is "good"?

To blaspheme the Holy Spirit is to deny that help, to turn away from him.

Must exist first. Can't turn away from what isn't there. Again, fault of your god. Nobody else can be responsible for your god's failure to make itself known or to exist at all.

Bigfootphobia is turning away from Bigfoot, to deny his love and turn away from him. This is how sensible what you said is.

The verses you pulled from, Rev. 4 and 7, are not indicative of what Heaven is to be like for all eternity – both are snapshots of Heaven at a specific time. Using these verses in this way would be akin to showing a lazy day in my own life where I lay around and play video games and then claiming that’s all I do all the time.

Sure it is. How could you ever claim to have different or better information than the bible?

It literally says "for ever and ever" and "day and night." Calling it a "snapshot in time" is disingenuous. It's also incoherent, since there is no time in an eternal, timeless domain. But that's a plot-hole in the mythology. In an eternity, one second, one year, one million years are the same. You can't have a realm that's "timeless" and then argue about a "snapshot in time." There's no time to snapshot.

In truth, the Bible is pretty sparse on details about Heaven, save God will be there.

So, you have no basis on which to scold me for taking the bible at face value. Evidently, you don't take it at face value, but you don't have a good reason why, because there's no enough detail.

You tell me that it's a "snapshot in time," in order to justify calling me wrong, and then insist that we don't really know. Which is it? You're trying to pretend it's "not indicative" on the one hand, and then that it's all murky and unclear on the other. This is some bullshit you're trying to pull here. (As we'll see, it's also typical.)

And you're the same person who rambled about the "reality" of hell. I don't think you've ever really examined how contradictory your beliefs are. The cognitive dissonance must give you a constant headache. It's giving me a headache and I don't even know you.

“There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, ‘Thy will be done,’ and those to whom God says, in the end, ‘Thy will be done.’”

These are the words of a tyrant and overlord. If you don't agree to submission, I will make you submit anyway. Either choose slavery or I will enslave you by force. Evil.

in order for forgiveness to be received

For your god's mistakes, for nothing I've done, for the entrapment of The Fall. Which again, your god is singularly, solely responsible for. I don't need forgiveness. Least of all from a god who thinks torture is a justifiable "punishment." Sorry, "outcome." We're using euphemisms to make you feel better about your "loving" god's wickedness. We're replacing "eternal torture" with "outcome."

I do not follow Jesus out of fear. I do not worship God out of fear. I follow Jesus out of genuine love,

No, you don't. You already admitted it. And you can't genuinely love when there is a gun pointed at your head. Or, certainly, you can't claim to know or confidently claim so. Because there's an uncontrolled variable. Which, again, you admitted. There is a risk, a threat, duress. You cannot "genuinely love" unless the duress is taken off the table. So this is obviously false.

I believe that you believe it. But that's what Stockholm Syndrome is about. They all claim to genuinely love their captors. It isn't true though. Your god commands obligatory love. It says that it's the first and most important commandment. A command, a demand, a compulsion, an order for you to love.

"Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?" He said to him, "'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. ' This is the greatest and first commandment. And the second is like it: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Yes this. Obligatory, commanded love. Like a parent with a raised fist telling their child to love them or suffer the... "outcome."

A god who commands, orders you to love him, with the threat of eternal damnation for failure, does not understand what love is. Love is a reaction, not an action. You cannot command love, you can only earn it. And your god never earns it when it demands both love and obedience from the very first.

Your god of demanded love doesn't understand love.

Matthew 10:37-38

He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me.

This is narcissism and cult leader language.

Luke 14:26

If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.

He has existed for all eternity and has all eternity ahead of him, and what he needs most is for tiny little humans to make him their priority rather than each other. You can't make him greater, you can't make him lesser, you can't uplift him or bring him down. But you should pour all your attention into this sucking black hole.

Yet again, your god's narcissism shows plainly. A benign god would want humans to be good to each other first and foremost. A perfect, timeless, omnipotent god wouldn't need the love of sinful, tiny humans, because it can take care of itself. Or should be able to. It should say "no, no, I'm fine. I'm all powerful, I don't need anything. You all need to look after each other, because you're vulnerable and fragile." It should be self-assured enough to look after its own emotional needs. Or, more importantly, being perfect it should have no emotional needs. A perfect being cannot have deficiencies or needs of any kind. A god that needs worship or love - or anything - is, by definition, imperfect. It's an immense, cosmological being, and it needs to make itself the most important thing, rather than the fragile, vulnerable people looking after each other being the most important thing? This being is obviously fake.

'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

To fulfil this commandment, Xians don't have to be good to others, they only have to do things in the the name of "loving" them. Such as telling them they'll burn in hell, or that they're evil sinners. They can claim that the most vicious, spiteful things come from a place of "love," and never have to actually demonstrate moral, helpful or beneficial actions. Especially when they base their actions on the needs of the god, as primary, as commanded, not the needs of the neighbor. Xians don't care about other people. They care about doing to their neighbor whatever they think will ingratiate themselves to their god.

When you have to prioritize your god above everyone else anyway, this is a recipe for doing anything you want in the name of your god and because of "love."

People holding up "god hates fags" signs will say it's out of love, because god told them to. The "fags" are at risk of damnation, and they need to be warned and told. They need to know they need to renounce their homosexuality and be saved. That's love. What gay people actually want is to be left the hell alone. But the "love" for the "neighbors" is not derived from their needs, but from the god's. Humans always lose out to your stupid, narcissistic god. There's nothing you can't justify entirely based on its wishes, and that carrying them out constitutes "love" for others.

Here is a list of victims of religion. Most of them committed these atrocities out of "love." Here's a taste:

At one point, she heard a gurgling sound coming from the bathroom and told investigators that she saw that the bathroom door was locked. She unlocked the bathroom door and saw Martinez holding the boy under the faucet of the bathtub, according to the complaint. Romelia Martinez told investigators that she screamed at Martinez to stop several times, but he told her “he had to do it,” according to the complaint. Martinez told investigators that, during the bath, he observed the child “have an unnatural fit of rage” and this led him to hold the 6-year-old’s head under the faucet for “five to 10 minutes,” the complaint said. Martinez also told investigators the hot water was casting out the demon.

They were doing all of this out of "love." What kind of a parent would leave a child to the threat of damnation from god by not casting out the demons? Right? This is the world your bible established, of magic and demons in pigs, and supernatural beings fighting for dominion over human souls. So you don't get to claim that they acted unXianly or contrary to doctrine.

“The Pope went to the continent most ravaged by AIDS, and told them they couldn’t use condoms. So don’t tell me religion doesn’t do any actual harm.” – Bill Maher

The Catholic Church decided that AIDS was better than damnation due to contraception. They did this out of love. What's more loving than being more concerned about their eternal afterlife than their Earthly wellbeing?

It’s an exhortation to be aware of the gravity of it all. Jesus is here to talk eternity, and it’s wise to prioritize forever over our earthly tenure.

This is exactly what I mean, thank you. Screw the real world that actually exists. Screw real humans. Screw the planet and everyone and everything on it. Screw all the generations to come. Anything can be justified in the name of an imaginary afterlife delusion.

This is "in the world, not of the world." You don't belong here, you don't need to care about here, and you can't wait to leave. You're just a visitor passing through. This world, this life is just an inconvenience, a transit stop, getting in the way of your more important eternity.

Bomb a building. Stab your partner. Drown your child. All of these can be justified by "love." Easily. Look at the Binding of Isaac. Abraham "loved" his son so much he was willing to murder him to satisfy and earn the favor of god. Xians actually see this as a good thing, which means they don't get to tut-tut when a parent does it today.

"God is love," right? So, whatever someone believes is what god wants is, by definition, a loving deed. Right? Cause god couldn't want something that isn't loving, because god is love. Right?

So someone can easily set their neighbors on fire because god is love and god wants them to set their neighbors on fire, so setting your neighbors on fire is love.

https://www.newsweek.com/7-year-old-boy-dies-after-being-punished-not-knowing-bible-verses-3-charged-1315946

Timothy and Tina Hauschultz, and their son 15-year-old Damian Hauschultz, have been charged in the death of 7-year-old Ethan Hauschultz. According to court documents, Ethan was forced to lug a 44-pound log around the yard for two hours over a one-week period for not knowing Bible verses. When Ethan failed to perform the task, he was punished with beatings and buried in snow while not wearing a coat or boots.

This is what Xian "love" does. No, you don't get to No True Scotsman this away. You don't get to pretend, based on your own preferences, that they were biblically, Xianly wrong. They weren't. They were following the rules, the commandments. Love god first, above all else, love others, within the bounds of loving god.

And there's much worse than all of this in the Good Book™ anyway.

The commandment to "love" god and the commandment to "love" your neighbors easily supersede the commandment not to kill, or anything else.

And the bible says that this is all okay. Whatever it might have violated in terms of the other commandments doesn't matter. Sins washed away, just as the bible says. None of it matters. You can't really trespass against humans, because god will wipe it away anyway, as long as you "love" god. With that kind of certainty and divine authority, what can't you do?

You didn't refute what I said, you proved it. You made it clear that any atrocity can be justified by putting the god first, humanity second, doing in service to the desires of the god, and calling it love.

This is exactly what happens when you put an indestructible, immortal being ahead of vulnerable, fragile humans. Which is exactly the wrong order. A god should never be the first priority - god can look after itself. It can take care of his own needs - or shouldn't have any if it's perfect.

Again, your god doesn't understand love or morality. Love is earned. And you can't make others love you. And a god who needs you to look after its needs more than the needs of other humans is a megalomanic egomaniac. Or fiction.

The closest dynamic to the human-god relationship would be that humans are the grown-ups, your god is the toddler. The grown-ups are talking and your toddler-god comes into the room and demands all the attention. You're not allowed to talk to each other, only to watch the toddler play and dance and say how talented and clever it is. That is, praise. When it doesn't get it, it throws a tantrum, makes everyone's life hell, demanding love and attention and a juice box. It's understandable from actual toddlers. It's abhorrent, narcissistic and perverted from your god of everything.

So, I guess I agree with you. A good God would put the needs of his creations ahead of his own hubris. Christians believe he did.

Nope. If your god wanted to fix the problem it would have. It's all powerful. It would have known how to, since it's all-knowing. It would have wanted to, since it's all-loving. It could have committed suicide as a goat in a farm somewhere, with no fanfare, no spectacle. Or it could have changed the rules it created, and removed the need for primitive blood magic. It didn't.

It performed its magic ritual in the most manipulative way: by tricking humans into killing him, ostensibly to pay their debts, then demanding reimbursement. This is manipulative and selfish. If I pay off your car loan, and then start charging interest from you, your children and your grandchildren for generation after generation, at the threat of breaking your legs if you fail to pay up, then that makes me both an opportunist and an extortionist. This is your Jesus. You don't get to give a gift and then demand reimbursement, or to constantly remind the recipient day after day after day what you did. If I pay off your car loan and every five minutes bring it up for the rest of my life, then I probably didn't do it to be a good person, I did it to foster obligation from you. At some point, you're probably going to tell me to shut up or otherwise stop feeling indebted or obligated to me. With good reason. Your Jesus was a selfish asshole. Everything you people tell us about what he (supposedly - since he doesn't exist in history) did, and what you owe him confirms the swindle.

Your accusation of my “complete nonsense” was actually deeply confusing to me. Mostly because it was hypocritical. You said:

It's not confusing at all. You can't pretend to know what happens after death. You simply can't. It's not possible. You don't get to make those kinds of assertions. Any attempt is dishonest and anyone can reject it outright.

That atheists can know that the bible is all fiction is trivial. We can read where the bible came from, how it was invented, how it was created, what stories it borrowed from mythology, how ahistorical it is, how plagiarized it is, when pieces were added, what parts are forgeries... we know more about it than you realize. The resurrection story is a known forgery. Mark ended after the women left, and everything after is known to be fraudulent. The nativity story doesn't even appear in Matthew as it was invented long after, and the crucifixion violates known history; the most important part of crucifixion was leaving the crucified up to decompose as a warning to others - Jesus would never have been taken down. This can't possibly be a surprise if you've ever watched any historical recreations with dead bodies in public cages or strung up on poles. This isn't that complicated, and it's not even controversial among bible scholars, yet Xians don't seem to know any of it. You can look these things up yourself.

The bible is a tangible thing that can be evaluated. We can figure out it's a complete fairytale, because we can examine it. Believers themselves tell us it's a fairytale when they make the excuse that something is "a metaphor." That's literally an admission that something is not true. Most Xians admit Genesis is "a metaphor" and not true, because of everything we know about the formation of the universe, the formation of the solar system and Earth, the nature of the cosmos, the emergence of life, the evolution of species, how natural phenomena occur, the development of language... believers will tell us that it's nonsense, that it didn't happen. Even Jewish scholars admit that Exodus didn't happen. Aside from the literal magic, the logistics of 2 million people leaving Egypt and getting lost for 40 years in an area you can walk across in 10 days is laughable and ridiculous. It's trivial that it's not true. Meaning the first two books, which underpin the entire mythology, aren't true. The first two books of the bible are fiction - even believers admit that. So the bible begins as a story of fiction, and never tells us when it becomes actually true.

This is actually really easy stuff.

"Hell" is not a tangible thing that can be evaluated. You can't examine it. You don't have access to such a thing, because you're not dead. If you were dead, you couldn't claim to know it. If you claim to know it, you're not dead. They're mutually exclusive.

This is also really easy.

Insisting that this is my motivation won’t make it true

You told us yourself. You admitted to being in freefall (your word), that you needed to be rescued because the alternative was hell. That's literally you're afraid. There is existential stress or duress. If hell wasn't something to be feared, then why would you need to be rescued from this "freefall"? You spelled it out, and now you're pretending you didn't say it?

I'm not "insisting," I'm naming what you described. You might not like it, but people often don't like it when their therapist points out their anger comes from fear or loss. Doesn't mean it's not true. Just means you've never examined or actually thought about why you believe what you believe. Based on your own words, it's fear. You're obligated to love god - if you don't, hell - you're in freefall so need salvation - if you don't, hell... all roads lead back to fear. And the thing is that there's no way for you to prove otherwise, because there's no way - or no intellectually, theologically honest way - for you to eliminate that duress. To know what you would think without that duress and coercion, because it's divine and ever-present. But you don't even notice it because it's the water Xians swim in. But someone from the outside who doesn't have that duress can spot it immediately.

You live on Planet Xian with a higher atmospheric and gravitational pressure. And it's just normal to you.

Making the claim that a group of people with access to the same document ought to, each time, come to the same and united agreement, without any outliers, on what the document says and how it ought to be employed is wildly dishonest

This is an admission you can't know if you're right. This is the problem with faith. It leaves it up to the believer to decide what it all means, and the god becomes subservient to the whims of the believer.

If they're all valid, then you don't get to tell me that I'm wrong, do you?

If, not only is there no single unified understanding, but it seems there can be no single unified understanding, then the bible is worthless as a guide for your god's wishes or knowing what you need for salvation. Or that you need it at all. If much of the bible is metaphorical or merely interpretation, then salvation and even your Jesus and your god could well be metaphorical or just an interpretation too.

I mean, this becomes completely unachievable:

1 Corinthians 1:10

Now I beseech you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that ye all speak the same thing, and that there be no divisions among you; but that ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind and in the same judgment.

And you've erased this entirely:

Ephesians 4:1-13

I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called, With all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love; Endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body, and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling; One Lord, one faith, one baptism, One God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all. But unto every one of us is given grace according to the measure of the gift of Christ. Wherefore he saith, When he ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men. (Now that he ascended, what is it but that he also descended first into the lower parts of the earth? He that descended is the same also that ascended up far above all heavens, that he might fill all things.) And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers; For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ: Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.

And this looks pretty poor:

2 Timothy 3:16-17

All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: That the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works.

Since none of y'all can agree on what it means or what you should to to be "perfect."

I mean, I'm just the one just saying that you don't have a shared understanding. You're the one going even further and admitting that you can't. I didn't even say that. And yet you've refuted tenets of the bible in order to make your defence. Because I'm not the one saying that you should have a shared, unified understanding, it's the bible.

And you're missing or avoiding the point. You don't get to tut-tut someone else's faith because you disagree with it. You don't get to scold someone about their interpretation because you disagree with it. You and they share the same book. They came to different conclusions than you, but you used the same mechanism: faith. Of course, this was filtered through your evolved secular morality to come to those conclusions, but your god's word can be used in any way any believer might like.

That's not an endorsement of your faith, your religion or your scripture, it's a condemnation. It's literally worthless, and you have no doctrinal basis for regarding yourself as being better than the "god hates fags" bigots. You stand on equal footing.

At some point in the future, I’ll try and put down my thoughts on free will and duress into a post answering some of these charges

Free will cannot have duress. They are mutually exclusive, by definition. Otherwise it's not free.

free | friː | adjective (freer | ˈfriːə | , freest | ˈfriːɪst | ) 1 able to act or be done as one wishes; not under the control of another 2 [often as complement] not or no longer confined or imprisoned 3 not subject to engagements or obligations 4 (free of/from) not subject to or affected by (something undesirable) 5 given or available without charge 6 using or expending something without restraint 7 (of literature or music) not observing the normal conventions of style or form. 8 Sailing (of the wind) blowing from a favourable direction to the side or aft of a vessel.

I've highlighted definitions that are relevant. As already covered, you admitted to duress, obligation, commandment, the gravity, the risk, freefall. Here's a further example from you:

It’s an exhortation to be aware of the gravity of it all. Jesus is here to talk eternity, and it’s wise to prioritize forever over our earthly tenure.

Ergo, your faith, belief is not free.

You might like to pretend otherwise, but it's pretty straightforward. And I really don't care to hear your silly rationalizations and mental gymnastics to try and get around the dictionary.

Here's a really easy way to prove me wrong: use your free will to believe in Odin. Sincerely, honestly and purely. Go on. Just for five minutes. Your god won't mind, after all, 1 Peter 3:15.

Yeah, you know as well as I do that it's not free will.

Here's the dirty little secret of the Xian bromide, "fReE WiLL!!": it's the battlecry of a believer who wants try to transfer the responsibility of their god onto humans. The same god that they will thank for everything good, they pathologically will not hold responsible for anything bad. Because their god, despite being an all-powerful, eternal, timeless being, is too weak and incapable of bearing responsibility for its actions (like creating evil), so they must alleviate it of what it cannot bear, and it must instead be borne by humans. They say "free will" and like "bibbity bobbity boo," the magic spell transfers the responsibility to humans. Except it doesn't.

When you rescue your god from responsibility, you admit that it cannot withstand that responsibility. Meaning it's either tiny and weak, or imaginary. An existent, all-powerful god could bear that responsibility. An existent, all-loving god would bear that responsibility, willingly and enthusiastically. It wouldn't need you to rescue it.

(Of course, there's a profound irony in here. Xians use Jesus as a literal Jewish scapegoat - they're covered by the blood of Jesus, Jesus died for my sins, etc, etc - to alleviate themselves of their own responsibility. And then they use humans as a scapegoat to alleviate god of his responsibility. Xianity is, in a way, a responsibility shell-game. This is not surprising when your ideology comes from primitive people who had no idea how the world works.)

Your accusation that I am somehow inventing my own religion is curious to me

Which is it? You can't have it both ways. You can't defend your religion on the basis that everybody understands it differently and that you haven't decided it all by or for yourself.

That's what's truly dishonest. Pretending that you haven't authored your god while defending the fact that you all do.

Lumping all Christians together, creating a strawman of their beliefs, then proof-texting and pointing to outliers in the Christian demographic and anecdotal evidence is not on the level.

No True Scotsman is a fallacy. I didn't strawman Xian doctrine. I explained it. Your defence is that any Xian can ignore what they want, decide whatever they want, interpret it however they want, without worrying about whether it's accurate to their god's wishes. The believer is the ultimate authority, not the god. I already recognize this, but Xians pretend it's not true and claim their god is in charge, when it's clearly not, by their own admission.

You can't have both "it's open to interpretation" and "god is the ultimate authority." That's patently absurd and self-refuting. Interpretation makes you the ultimate authority. Meanwhile, none of you are ever concerned about whether you actually got it right.

And no, I didn't lump all Xians together. That's a bald-faced lie. I said that you and they share the same bible and you both use faith. My point is that you aren't together. I did the exact opposite. But you have literally no more basis for saying they're wrong than they have for saying you're wrong. You and they share equal footing, equal standing. And you already admitted that Xians can't be unified in their understanding, that you can't claim to be more correct than they are, that you can't repudiate their actions or their beliefs, because they're no less legitimate than yours. So, I'm right here.

My sisters, all of them, are terrified of the ocean.

If your sisters are terrified, then they have an irrational fear, just like your religion. Why? Because you framed it as they. So, you're not "terrified" of the ocean. So, what, you don't take the ocean seriously? Oops. Your dishonesty is so easily exposed. I can barely believe you tried something so patently dishonest. Your entire framing refutes it.

You described them as terrified. Well beyond anyone else who takes it seriously. That is, they're terrified beyond what is normal or rational. Sailors, or indeed, anyone who goes on the ocean takes the ocean seriously, but they don't fear it, much less to the level of terrified. Fear and "take it seriously" are not one and the same. You dishonestly tried to conflate two separate things in order to pave over the abject terror inherent in your religion, and accidentally revealed the reality in the process.

People who fly take it seriously. They put on their seatbelt, they pay attention to the safety demonstration, they make a note of their nearest exit. But there's an obvious difference between a passenger who takes it seriously and a "terrified" (your word) passenger. We can spot them a mile away. There's a difference between your sisters being "terrified" on a plane, and the hundreds of other passengers. Unless your sisters have direct, traumatic experience with the ocean or a plane flight, they've been taught to be terrified. Again, your analogy is more apt than you probably realized.

The difference, of course, is that the plane is verifiably real. As we've already covered, you don't get to claim that "hell" is, so you're "terrified" (your word) of something that you only think is real, like the child who's terrified of the monster in the closet. You're beleaguered by something that's only in your imagination.

What's really alarming is that you think "terrified" is a reasonable normal. This is your analogy here, I'm just following it through. Your sisters can simply stay away from the ocean. But you seem to be saying that you live "terrified" - again, your word for what you described as "take it seriously" - of hell at every moment of your life, but you simply accept that as normal. That's so sick and perverted. I often say that the biggest victims of religion are the believers themselves, and this is a great example.

When you describe what life is like for you, it sounds torturous. I can't help you, but it reinforces my commitment do doing everything I can to foster the demise of this abominable, reprehensible, anti-human ideology, and spare others.

I love when Xians explain their religion. It becomes worse and worse and worse with everything they say.

Utterly abhorrent.

From “Born Again Again” - “Episode 29: How Atheism Is Different Than We Thought” Joe: Actually, in an extension of that is how much more mental space I have to be in the moment right now, period. As a Christian, I’m… how crazy is it that I’m constantly thinking about how there’s spiritual warfare, literally thought there were demons and angels invisibly flying around my head, trying to fight over me all the time. You know, so I’m preoccupied with that, I’m preoccupied with my sin and trying to be holy, and I’m preoccupied with eternity, and trying to do good for the kingdom, and… Katie: So, where does all this information come from, Joe? Joe: The bible. Katie: And where did that come from? Joe: I don’t know. Katie: Who wrote it? Joe: I don’t know. Katie: When was it written? Joe: I don’t know. Katie: How many authors wrote for it? Joe: I don’t know. Katie: What order is it supposed to be in? Joe: I don’t know. Katie: And how many books are left out of it? Joe: I don’t know. Katie: Yeah. Joe. Yeah. Katie: What’s our faith based on? Joe: I don’t know. Katie: Okay. Joe: … what my parents say? Yeah. (laughs)

Aren't you tired? Aren't you just exhausted from trying to prop all this up and pretend it makes sense?

"Faith" is optional and unnecessary. Abandon it.

"A Christian is a person who wants to give up great things in a real life, for mediocre things in an imaginary one. More importantly, they demand you do the same." -- Mark Twain

Before any Xian insists this isn't true, then why do you keep threatening me with hell? If you're not trying to coerce me into doing the same, then why do you keep telling me all the evil things your immoral god will do? Even when you start off with such inanities as "god is love," when I reject them, you always revert back to form.

"Our religion is based on love, Sheldon, not fear." "So, what happens when people don't follow the rules?" "They burn in hell."

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mrkcore · 4 years ago

Text

𝐄𝐏 𝟏: 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓 - 𝐥.𝐡𝐜

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: lee donghyuck x fem!reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: college!au (cs - computer science major haechan, psychology major y/n)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, slight angst

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): suggestive innuendo(s), infidelity, drinking

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k

𝐚/𝐧: the first chapter of the and they were roommates! series :D send in an ask or comment here to be added to the taglist! (sorry for the delay, i have been really unproductive so uh, yeah)

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

you’ve been stuck with haechan for about a month. you’ve successfully avoided him for the majority of the time, he’s still a bit flirty, but he’s been pretty quiet too.

except for when he streams. did he mention that he was a streamer? unfortunately no, you had to find out the hard way.

“haechan, can you fucking tone it down?” you storm into his room after enduring half an hour of his screaming on a thursday night. “i have an essay due tomorrow and it’s 30 percent of my mar-”

you see a professional looking mic, webcam, and another monitor with what seems like comments flowing in constantly on the screen.

“oh…” you trail off taking in all the equipment in front of you as haechan looks up at you.

“oh hey, sorry about that, jeno and renjun were being noobs and i needed to teach them a lesson, chat knows. i’ll keep it down, sorry.” he turns back to his game in front of him, completely unbothered.

“yeah.. uh sorry for barging in, thanks.” you say quickly and dash out his room, hearing the other voices from his headset laugh.

your face is hot, and you feel so embarrassed.

anyways, lesson learned.

a few days later, you were complaining to your friend about haechan on a zoom call–as usual.

this time, however, she needed to spill the tea about her thoughts.

“ma’am, what is this tension,” she jokes. “i can feel it from miles away.”

“hey!” you snap back. “need i remind you that i have a boyfriend? and haechan? ew no, he gets on my nerves too much for that.”

“oh right, your boyfriend.” she rolls her eyes. “i think you need to visit him, you’re so uptight all the time, i’m gonna get wrinkles if you keep complaining to me about shit.”

“oh right, restrictions have been slightly lifted, i can probably go visit him.” you remember reading about it in the news.

“yep, go.” your friend sips on her iced coffee and you laugh.

the next day, you go through with your plan to go visit your boyfriend.

all prepped and ready and you were going to walk out the door before you hear haechan coming out his room.

“oh, good morning, i’ll be out for a bit, maybe the whole day.” you say to him.

“good morning.” he yawns. “look at you all dolled up and pretty, where you going?” he smirks as you roll your eyes.

“visiting my boyfriend,” you scowl out. “now if you’ll excuse me, i better get going.”

“oh great, hope you enjoy your time with him.” he smiles and you think he’s going to be nice for once. “don’t forget protection.”

you groan. of course he had to ruin it.

“thanks haechan.” you yell behind you as you walk out the door.

it takes around 1 hour to drive to your boyfriend’s university, and an additional 10 minutes to his apartment, and you’re giddy the whole time.

you’ve missed human interaction.

and no, lee haechan does not count.

you’ve missed the warmth and fuzzy feeling of an embrace, of having someone’s arms around you, protecting you from the outside world.

you couldn’t wait to get cuddles.

hopefully your boyfriend likes this surprise.

gleefully walking into the building, pressing in the password to his apartment complex. completely missing the creaking coming from his room, but as you entered, you hear the voice of another person, who was definitely not your boyfriend.

you stomp right up to the door, and push it open.

there’s two people in the bed, and your eyes glower at your boyfriend.

“what?” the girl screams, scrambling to cover herself.

“babe?” your boyfriend is frozen on the spot as the girl looks at him as if he just said the most bizarre thing ever.

“babe?” she seems angry now. “you said you were single? what the fuck?”

“yeah, i think he lied to you.” you say coldly. “do you have anything to confess, ‘babe’?”

“you’re a douche, what the fuck.” she gets up and gets dressed. “i’m so sorry, he told me he was available, i would literally never agree to sleep with anyone who’s taken.”

“yeah, it’s okay.” you say, kind of relieved, and the two stare are you like you’re an alien. “at least now i know what type of person i was dating.”

and you turn to walk out.

“wait, babe please.” your ex tries to run after you. “y/n, let me explain.”

“no need to, we’re over.” you turn to say. “you need a ride?” you ask the girl.

“yeah sure.” she says. “don’t call me.”

“babe please, can we talk this out?”

you couldn’t believe it. you drove 1 hour to see him and he has the audacity to pull this shit and expect you to just easily forgive? nope, lesson learned.

pfft, and he said long distance would work.

“no we can’t, now if you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere else to be.” you grab the girls arm and walk out the door, slamming it in front of your ex’s face before he can catch up.

“do you have any plans for the rest of today?” you ask the girl after entering your car. she shakes her head while you smile. “great, any bar or night club recommendations you have?”

“uhh, bar then nightclub?” she suggests.

“i like the way you think.” you giggle. “i’m y/n btw.”

“yina.” she smiles back at you as you pull out of the parking lot.

a few hours later, and way too many drinks in, you’re at a table with yina, spilling your deepest secrets about your relationship with your ex.

“can you believe he made me wash his socks?” you take a sip before continuing. “and with my hands too!”

“what? that’s disgusting!” she listens to you rant in disbelief.

“yeah, he said that his socks were precious and the washing machine was too harsh on the cotton or some crap.” you snicker as you recall the other stupid stuff he told you. “ah the shit i did for love.”

“men are trash,” yina says. “cheers to that.” and you both down the rest of what’s left of your drink.

fast forward another 2 hours, you’re wasted. absolutely wasted.

yina held you back a little bit, but its no use. you needed this.

“y/n, it’s like 11 pm, you’re drunk, i’m barely sober, i think we should call someone to come and get us.” yina tries to reason with you while you shake your head.

finally after 10 minutes of bickering, you finally agree.

“here’s my phone, you can call anyone.” you rest your head on your folded hands after handing her your unlocked phone. “anyone but haechan.” you start to doze off. “anyone but haechan…”

“hbbhng” you jolt up, feeling the warmth of your own bed.

how did you get back home?

groaning, you feel your headache. you feel the vomit coming up your throat as you gag.

you almost fall trying to get out of your covers.

“woah there, be careful.” haechan is suddenly barging into your room, holding onto you so you don’t fall on your face, guiding you to your bathroom.

you’re too nauseous to wonder why he’s even helping you or even bother screaming at him like usual.

he pats your back soothingly as you vomit into the toilet.

“there you go, that’s it. i’ve got you.” he reassures you.

“what are you even doing helping me?” you’ve washed up and downed some water, you’re 100% sober now.

“wow,” haechan chuckles, rolling his eyes. “after saving your ass last night, this is the thank you i get?”

“what do you mean you saved me?” you’re genuinely confused by what he means.

“this yina girl called me from your phone, telling me that you’re blacked out drunk in a nightclub at 11:32 PM, on a saturday. asking me to come and get you.” he says, matter-of-factly. “i call a cab, get to the nightclub, haul your ass out the club, drive yina back home, and then us. where during our commute back, you wake up, start crying, and when we get home, you’re bawling about how your boyfriend cheated and you were a dumbass for thinking he would change. remember now?”

you’re in shock.

yina called haechan? you remember clearly that you told her not to, this is so embarrassing. you even cried about your ex to him? oh dear lord you wanted to crawl back into your room into a deep pit and never come out.

haechan must’ve noticed your distressed expression because his face turns softer.

“hey hey hey, sorry, that was a bit mean. you just got out of a relationship, that was really inappropriate of me and i do not blame you for wanting to relax a bit.” he tries to comfort you once again. you’re in even more shock by his words. “honestly, me driving you back home, and taking care of you was the least i could do. it would have been so mean if i just left you guys there.”

you wanted to burst out into tears.

this is the nicest thing you’ve heard in about 6 months.

unfortunately, haechan doesn’t know that.

“oh gosh, jheez, i’m not helping aren’t i.” he’s panicked by your emotional state. “uhm, to make it up to you, i’ll watch one of those scary movies with you?”

your tears instantly are sucked back into your eyes in excitement.

“really?” you ask, just making sure.

“yep, ahaha.” he laughs nervously, but happy to see your mood lighten up.

“you free tonight?” bouncing up and down practically.

“yeah…” haechan is a bit scared. “aren’t you going a bit too fast though, princess? you jut got out of a relationship.”

you gasp and slap him in the arm.

“okay okay! that was a joke. yeah i’m free, i have an essay due, but i’ll be done by 6.” haechan says.

“sounds good!” you b-line for the kitchen, your stomach is completely empty. “see you then haechan!”

oh how haechan regrets his offer.

6 o’clock rolls by, and you choose “the shining” to watch with haechan. anticipating the terror it would bring him.

and you were right.

every jumpscare, even the smallest sounds, haechan would screech in fright. the last straw for him was the knock on your door.

“AHHHH!” he screams, almost knocking the popcorn out of your hands.

“calm down, dude.” you say, standing up to open the door.

to the unfortunate sight of your ex.

“y/n?” he says, softly.

“what are you doing here? how did you find out where i lived?” you were very sure you never gave him your dorm address.

“your friend gave it to me,” the eye bags he has are very evident. “listen, can we talk?”

“no?” haechan suddenly butts into the conversation. “you literally cheated on her, she doesn’t owe you anything.”

“who are you? her rebound?” your ex frowns.

“her roommate, and if you even bothered to keep up with y/n, you’d know.” haechan returns the frown.

“it’s between me and y/n, you have no business telling us what to do.” your ex is getting more aggressive now.

“that’s funny, i was the one who was called to drive her home while she was out drunk, i was the one who listened to her talk about how she regretted believing you again, i was the one who held her hair back when she was vomiting this morning from her hangover.” haechan again returns the energy. “you tried to contact her, but she blocked your number and you had to get her address from her friend. you never even cared to ask her beforehand, and now you wanna try and show up to seem like you care? bullshit. now if you’ll excuse us now, we have a movie to finish.” he slams the door in his face and haechan surprises you for the millionth time today.

your ex bangs on the door for about 3 minutes before giving up, and you guys sit in silence as the movie still plays.

“hey haechan.” you try and start.

“AHHH!” he screams again, scaring you this time.

“JHEEZ BRO I WAS TRYING TO START A CONVO, CHILL OUT.” you scream back.

“okay, i’m fine, yeah sorry, continue.” haechan pants out.

“thanks for that.” you say, genuinely. “not even joking, you didn’t have to do that.”

“well i did, because that dude was a douche. literally having the guts to come over here and try and ask for forgiveness after he cheats. unbelievable.”

“yeah.” you fiddle with your fingers anxiously.

“i like this side of you,” haechan breaks the awkwardness. “you’re usually uptight, little-miss-perfect, and cranky, so i like this raw side of you.”

“mhm, i realized that now. sorry for being such a bitch.” you admit.

“no, i honestly deserve it. but i hope we can be friends now, it would be great to have real conversations with someone, you know?” he says.

“seriously?” you hit him in the chest as he chuckles.

“i’m joking! i swear. but seriously, friends?” he asks.

“yeah, friends.”

and that’s where it started.

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crystalirises · 3 years ago

Note

FundXD au thrid part? Maybe the final confrontation between Dreamxd and George? imagine George offering to take Fundy's place, but XD teases him because he obviously only loves Fundy now (before Mumza saves the day!! or whatever you had planned if you already had something in mind).

Not me accidentally posting it separately. But anyway, here's the third part! I'm sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy this.

But yeah anyway, please do take heed of the trigger warnings. This is probably now what I consider the darkest and the most uncomfortable one-shot I've written. Like in terms of themes, yeah I am just: oh wow I wrote this huh...

So yes, please do heed the warnings and do not read it if any of the the warnings make you uncomfortable.

TW: Forced Relationships, Forced Kissing, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Captivity, Implied Harm, and A Lot of Dark Implications

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/84740365

“A radiant day for a wedding, do you not think so, my fox?” If only the mattress could swallow him whole. He buried his face on the silken sheets, pressing the pillow to the top of his head, wondering if he could suffocate himself if he tried really hard enough. “Beloved? You’re quiet.”

He rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to scream.

After a moment, he felt the twist of vines against his ankle, gently pulling him away from underneath the covers. Fundy let himself be dragged, having learned the hard way that clawing at the bed to keep himself from getting dragged was a bad idea. He shuddered at the bad memory.

“My darling star, don’t you agree that today is a splendid day for our wedding?”

No, he did not agree. There was no day where he’d ever even consider marrying the god.

“I don’t feel well. Can we move the wedding?”

“Do not lie.” The room turned colder, the chill of ice piercing through his skin that he nearly buckled underneath the pain. Then in just a second, the cold was gone. He was still in his their bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the glass-stained windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of color. XD was holding him by the elbow, their spherical head never faltering in its cheery smile, if one can call it a smile. The god pulled him into their embrace, holding him with such warmth that Fundy wanted to cry. They shouldn’t be so comforting. “You are well.”

“Ya…” Fundy felt like throwing up, “...well…”

For a god who had lived as long as the world, XD was not as patient as Fundy had hoped. It had only been a week, but the god had given up on Fundy’s flimsy excuses. Fundy had used every excuse that he knew: headaches, fevers, coughs, even “fainting” that one time XD had actually gotten him to stand on the altar. They had grown tired of waiting. Fundy turned his head towards one corner of the room, their wedding outfits only seemed to mock him. He shivered within the god’s hot touch, XD didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, but they noticed the way he was staring at those, arguably, beautiful outfits. XD led him towards them, holding him by the arms.

“I could change your suit if you wish, anything for you, my fox.” Fundy paled, refusing to look at the suit now that it was in front of him. It was in a beautiful hue of orange pastel, decorated with a pastel green flower pinned to its chest. XD had chosen to wear a dress for the wedding, and if Fundy wasn’t being held there against his will, he might have even blushed at the thought of the god in a dress… walking down the aisle. It was a mostly white dress which faded into a pastel green in the middle and into a forest green at the bottom. “You could wear a dress if yo—”

“No.” Fundy already loathed the suit, he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to wear a dress. At least XD didn’t mind, though - and Fundy knew it was stupid to feel - he found it somewhat adorable that XD wanted to wear a dress. The wedding dress suited them, even if Fundy didn’t want to marry them. The god hummed behind him, a low sound that had no lyrical or musical tone to it whatsoever, before picking him up. He shrieked, holding tightly to the god’s shoulders.

“My dear fox, the wedding will be divine, it shall take place the hour between day and night.” Fundy had a few hours of freedom. Then… He clenched his hands, angered that he no longer had his claws to tear into the god’s skin. “The wedding venue has not changed from the last time we tried to marry, but, sweet fox, would you wish for any new changes? What do you wish for?”

His only wish was to go home.

The god leaned down and Fundy knew what was to come. He closed his eyes, letting the god do what they wanted. Maybe he should have heeded his papa’s advice. Maybe he shouldn’t have befriended the god who seemed too kind to be true. Maybe he should have stayed at home and lived a normal life instead of searching for… he didn’t even know anymore. But he knew he missed his home, he missed his dads. He missed the normal life in their little cabin in the fields.

Once the god leaned away from the kiss, Fundy let out a sigh. “I want cake.”

---

“Wil, I love you, but now is the time for your ritualistic shenanigans.”

George tapped his foot on the muddy ground, placing his head in his hands as Wilbur ignored him for the tenth time. Wilbur had refused to say what his secret was, in favor of showing what his secret was. If George had known that said secret would involve Wilbur drawing intricate symbols in the mud, George would have gone deeper into the forest on his own instead.

After a few more seconds of agonizing silence and waiting, Wilbur finally stepped back, gesturing for George to come near him. He raised a brow, choosing to stand beside Wilbur despite the nagging voice in his head telling him to leave and go look for their son. George took in the symbol that Wilbur had drawn. He’d traced a circle in the mud, and within the complex lines, George could make out five symbols. The lines merged to showcase a woman. In her right hand, she held a blade. In her left, there were musical notes and discs emerging from her palm.

At the bottom of the symbol, the lines converged to create a pair of angel wings.

“Wil, is now the time to show me that you can draw—” He cut himself off once Wilbur started to chant under his breath. He stepped back, doubt racing through his mind. George had never been interested in magic, being more talented in redstone and engineering, but he feared those who excelled in the practice. Magic meant gods, and gods meant double-edged deals. “Wilbur…”

The symbol began to glow a light gray hue, the smell of metal and death tainting the air. His fear doubled, but he didn’t try to run off. Nervous as he was, he trusted Wilbur, his dear husband.

A splash of cold landed on his cheek, he brushed it away, but then a downpour of rain began to fall around them. The ground turned muddier, nearly grasping onto their legs. George looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of sunlight. It was raining despite the warm sun rays that were filtering in through the trees. The intricate symbol wasn’t affected by the sudden storm, its glow intensifying underneath the torrent of water. George didn’t know why, but he felt sick. A sickness that wasn’t nausea, it was worse. Like someone had taken a sharp pickaxe and started to chip away at his heart. He held a hand to his chest, grasping for Wilbur’s arm with the other.

Wilbur’s chanting had grown louder despite the rain, almost like he was fighting against the noise. The light gray glow had taken over the entire drawing, the lines scorched away by its brilliance. Then the world began to shake, and for a moment, George could hear screaming.

He slipped once the earth started to sink. Wilbur pulled him up just as the ground gave way, the symbol had caved in, going deeper and deeper until he could see bright red. He shuddered, but Wilbur held him close. He had half a mind to throw his husband an irritated glare. If his husband would stop with the theatrics for a moment and actually tell George what his secret was, then maybe he wouldn’t be second-guessing everything that's happening right now. He glanced back down at the hole. Wilbur had just opened a gateway to the underworld. Despite the red lights of the underworld, the chasm let out a chilling cold that seeped deep into George’s skin and soul.

“You’re a hellspawn, is that the secret? If so, it was not much of a secret I already knew that, Mr. Soot.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to George’s cheek. Once Wil had left George on stable ground, he watched as his husband walked close to the chasm. Wilbur reached down a hand. George wondered if Wilbur was asking to get kidnapped. “Wilbur, the dead can’t help us.”

“You’re correct. Zombies are pretty shit at… everything. Skeletons… perhaps.”

George took a breath through clenched teeth. He knew Wilbur was worried about Fundy too, but he couldn’t afford to waste anymore time with Wilbur and his shenanigans. XD had taken their son, a wish god had taken their son and George knew the god would refuse to let Fundy go.

“Wilbur, please. We need to find Fundy. XD would do anything they could to keep our son from ever leaving them, we have to go.” He pleaded, but Wilbur was too busy looking into the chasm.

George loudly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rain continued to pour around them, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d lose his way down the forest path due to the mud that was beginning to drown everything in its path. He turned to leave, but then a voice broke through the silence.

“A sunshower…? Did you forget to tell your own mum that you're getting married, Wilbur?”

---

Fundy flitted about the room, pressing his hands against his ears as the rain continued to pour outside. He didn’t know why XD had thought it would be romantic to marry one another while a storm threatened to destroy the land, but the constant tapping of the rain on the ground was beginning to grate on his ears. Despite the heavy rain, he hated the warm sunlight even more.

Why couldn’t the weather just be either gloomy or happy? It was a mockery of his life.

He glanced down at his suit, fixing the green flower so it wouldn’t fall off by accident. He didn’t know what XD would do if anything were to ruin their “special day.” He huffed, pressing his head against the glass window. He could see the neverending forest from there. XD had insisted that they live on one of the highest trees in the forest. They wanted to give Fundy a good view.

When XD had first shown him their abode, Fundy had been ecstatic to see the entire forest. He collapsed on a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands. Now everything felt like a big joke.

It was so wonderful before, but he saw through the roses, and now knew their thorns.

He looked back up, worried for a moment that XD would be standing in front of him, ready to whisk him away to the altar. There was a shift of movement at the right side of the forest, perhaps XD reimagining the wedding venue now that the rain had completely ruined the god’s chosen outdoor setting. He took momentary pleasure at the thought of the weather going against the god’s wishes. No, today was not a radiant day for a wedding. But Fundy knew that a “little” storm wouldn’t stop the god. They were too excited, too eager to get the ceremony over with.

Fundy winced, maybe his constant escape attempts had been the cause of that rush. It had only been a week since the god had taken him captive and kept him in their domain, but Fundy had spent every day trying to find a way to escape. He’d given up after the fifth escape… after… Fundy pulled his knees close to his chest. He didn’t want to think about it. But he had to. He had to keep a reminder in his mind about how much he loathed the god and what they’d done to him.

The first attempt wasn’t even an attempt, it was him screaming until XD forced him to sleep.

The second attempt had begun the moment the god had gone into stasis, or the godly equivalent of what was sleep. The god’s hands were wrapped around Fundy, keeping him close to their chest, but Fundy had managed to sneak away after hours of slowly moving. He’d gotten to the door of the bedroom, unlocking it with a bobby pin that he’d found in one of the drawers. He’d gotten down the tree by the time XD realized he was gone. They’d teleported him back to the bedroom, vines growing against the surface of the door, effectively keeping him locked inside.

The third attempt was Fundy painstakingly cutting through the clump of vines after XD had left him to prepare for their wedding. He’d gotten through half of them by the time the god had come back. They’d been disappointed in Fundy, sad that he hadn’t even gotten dressed in his wedding suit yet. Then in a blink of an eye, the vines had grown back, with even more thorns than before. Then XD had whisked him away to the wedding venue, where Fundy then pretended to faint.

The fourth attempt was Fundy getting so frustrated that he took a chair and threw it at one of the windows. The glass shattered on impact, and he’d quickly tried to squeeze through the space, not caring for the shards that pierced his skin. XD had not taken that escape attempt all too lightly.

The fifth and last attempt… he’d convinced XD to give him some sand and gunpowder.

The god had been furious, even more so than what they’d been after the fourth escape attempt. Fundy had nearly killed himself in the process and had even attacked XD out of anguished rage.

Well… XD made sure Fundy could never attack them again.

Fundy sniffed, wiping at his tears. He didn’t want to be crying at his own wedding.

---

It was odd to have a wedding without a wedding officiator. Fundy kept his gaze on his hands, his fingers trembling each time XD traced his knuckles with their thumb. He could feel his throat dry up, his head heavy with nausea that he thought he was actually going to faint and fall over.

“Do I take Fundy Lore-Soot as my lawfully wedded husband?” XD paused, “I do.”

Fundy found it ridiculous. XD had taken up the mantle of wedding officiator, and if Fundy didn’t know any better, he would think that he was part of some comedic play or some big cosmic joke.

“And do you, Fundy Lore-Soot, take the god of wishes, XD, as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

Fundy gritted his teeth, he could feel the god’s magic in his throat. He could barely breathe a few seconds ago, but now it felt like he needed to speak like his life depended on it. “I do. I do. I do.”

He trembled, uncontrolled anger racing through his veins. It was torture to say ‘I do’ once, but the god forced him to say it three times, like Fundy was as desperate as them to get married. XD pulled him close, their gaze hot against his skin. He wished he would melt, that he could melt against the god’s touch and be swallowed by the grass. Anything that could set him free.

“Then by the power vested in me as the god of wishes, I now pronounce us married for eternity.”

The god leaned close, “I may now kiss the groom.” Fundy tried to move back, but the god had formed one more pair of hands. One hand held his hands, curled gently around his wrists. One hand was cupping him by the waist. One hand was on his chin, pulling his face up and towards them. The last hand was at the back of his head, pushing him forward and keeping his head in place. He closed his eyes, losing himself in his mind, refusing to accept what was happening. He focused on the life he’d lost, and his dads who would no doubt why he never came back to them.

After what felt like a lifetime, the god finally let him go.

Well, they didn’t. But they’d stopped kissing him in favor of picking him up.

XD laid him down on the altar.

Fundy blinked, holding onto one of XD’s hands out of fear. The god chuckled at the “endearing” display. “H-hey… the wedding’s over, ya? Time to head home, right? W-what are you doing?”

“The ceremony is not yet over, my star.” XD tilted their head, “You are still mortal.”

Any thread of cooperation they had established broke with that proclamation. Fundy screamed, pushing himself away from the altar just as a series of golden chains rose up from its sides. They wrapped around his arms and his legs, pulling him back down on the altar’s marble surface. He wailed, tears slipping past his eyes. He thought he’d only endure it for this lifetime, that the god would have no choice but to give him up to death at some point in the future. XD watched his struggle, summoning an intricate dagger. “Don’t worry, my sweet fox, I shall make it painless.”

“I OBJECT!”

---

George pushed past the leaven doors, not caring that the action caused the whole entrance way to collapse to a flimsy pile of autumn leaves. He stood at the end of the wedding venue, drenched from the rain. His heart beated loudly in his chest, his ears ringing as he made his way down the aisle. Wilbur was still by the entrance. George had told him to wait before he actually entered.

“Papa—” Fundy’s scream was cut off with a hand, the god having swiveled around to face whoever had dared to ruin their perfect day. George kept walking down the aisle, anger racing through his bones. His son looked so frightened. He clearly didn’t want to be marrying the god.

“Let him go, XD.”

“Why ever shall I do such a thing, my dearest friend, Georgenotfound? I have no intention of ever letting my newly wedded husband leave me. My old friend, I believe you are a few seconds too late. Fundy and I are married.” He heard Fundy scream out a protest, muffled by the hand that the god had left. George could see the tears on their son’s face, and his gaze turned towards the dagger that the god was carrying. He took the chance to look behind him, catching Wilbur’s pale gaze. His husband was looking at the dagger. “Leave before I cast you out. You are tresp—”

“I’ll take his place.”

The only sound that could be heard was Fundy’s fit of screaming. Wilbur was silent. XD had merely tilted their head, the god’s cold gaze meeting George’s eyes, piercing right through the goggles that he wore. He swallowed down the sickness he felt at the thought of marrying the go. XD had been his best friend once, and George had never thought of them in any other way. But the god had taken his friendship as romantic affection. “Fundy doesn’t love you.” The god reeled back, the ‘XD’ carved symbol on their head disappearing, only to return as golden chains that surrounded their white spherical head. “You and I know he doesn’t love you, and neither did I.”

George shook his head, “But I am willing to stay with you if you let him go.”

He met his son’s eyes, holding Fundy’s gaze for as long as he could. He worried it might be the last time they’d ever see each other again… if it went wrong… George shook his head. It won’t go wrong. He turned back to the god, the chains still present. “We could pretend like nothing has changed. I could stay here with you for all of eternity. We could be friends again, you and I. It must have been lonely when I left. You were never really great with making friends with others. We could try again. Just you and me, stuck in this forest forever. Like how it used to be. I won’t run away anymore. I won’t leave you ever again. Let Fundy go, and I’ll stay with you forever.”

The god was silent. For a moment, George thought they would agree. Then the ground disappeared from underneath him and a large hand was painfully gripping him by the leg. “No.”

Sharp cold pierced through his leg. The god glared down at him, “You are nothing to me.”

XD looked over at Fundy, “He… He is everything to me now.”

George placed his arms over his head, preparing himself for the fall. He heard the loud screech, and then his leg was free. He closed his eyes, but instead of hard earth, he fell into a pair of warm arms. He opened his eyes, embarrassingly laughing once he’d realized that Wilbur had caught him. His husband placed him back down, looking at his leg with worry when George stumbled. It wasn’t broken, but XD’s sharp cold magic would keep him from properly walking for a while.

Wilbur helped him away from the angered god. George looked up, watching as the hand that was previously holding him rotted away. XD screeched, turning to them, their golden chains glowing with a blinding light. A scythe appeared within view, striking the wish god right on their face.

The Goddess of Death entered the wedding venue, a disappointed look in her eyes.

“You should have let my grandson go, God of Wishes.”

=============================================================

Ambiguous ending but uh... I have preferred ending and it's def not the bad one.

Clarification for the title (which can't be seen here but is in the ao3 version): So a sunshower is a weather phenomenon where it is raining despite there still being sunshine. While the rain is not as heavy as a storm, I changed the rain here to be that like a rainstorm despite the sunlight that is still present. The reason for this is because where I'm from (or at least according to my mother) when a sunshower happens, that means a kapre and a white lady are getting married (or well, other Filipino mythological legends are getting married).

I just think with XD here being a somewhat monster of a god... well, poor Fundy having to marry him.

The sunshower is basically an indication here that a god is getting married, that's why Mumza asked Wilbur if he was getting married (also Wilbur is the god of music here, not all that powerful against a wish god).

#fundy #dreamxd #dreamwastaken dsmp #fundywastaken #fundXD #wilbur soot #georgenotfound dsmp #georgebur #goddess of death kristen #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

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