Chaos and Calamity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rootsofthestories) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2015-08-08 12:27 pm
rootsofthestories) wrote in rainbowfic2015-08-08 12:27 pm
spilt ink, avocado
Name: Sebastian
Title: you'll have me believe anything (i put my faith in you)
Story: Take Me to Church and I'll Take You to War
Colors: Spilt Ink: 25. No storm is so bad that you can't learn something from it. You can grow in a storm. You can thrive. Rain cleans the air.
Avocado: 20) You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name / It felt good to be out of the rain / In the desert you can remember your name / 'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain -America: Horse With No Name
Supplies: paint-by-numbers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Religious themes? Which isn't a warning so much as it's a content note.
Word count; 852
Notes: Now I think this is the last one, as I need to leave the house soon. I've been meaning to do the Avocado prompt for a while now and I have been trying to form it into words for....I don't know. But I am pleased to ahve done the thing and oh, I do love these two so much.
He can't say that it's his own doing that sets him free. He can't say that it was his will, his strength, his desire to survive.
He can't say he had anything to do with being set free.
No, he knows that if he had been left alone, left with them, he would die. He would have caved under the weight of worship, under the blows of being a sacrificial lamb and died under an altar, though he couldn't guess which one.
But he's not dead, he's not a lamb any longer. He's supposed to be free, be happy to taste the fresh air and know that the only gods who he has to bow to are the ones he chooses.
But as he walks, as the sand touches his bare feet and the chill in the air wraps around him, he know she'll bow again. There's too much in him telling him to drop to his knees at every church, pray to every statue and whisper secrets to every angel.
He is not a creature unto himself anymore, but a being given to gods who may not even want him.
"Little boy, little boy, where've you been?"
She sings the words low ans sweet, almost like a seduction, rather than a call to get his attention.
He doesn't look at her, can't make his eyes rise to met hers. She tastes of power, of something more than a mere human. There are gods in these deserts, roaming and hungry and he has no idea if she's come calling to him for his worship or because she's just that kind of bored.
"Come on now," she purrs, wiggling her fingers like she's trying to coax a stray kitten. "You're gonna looka t me sometime, may as well be now."
He swallows hard and hs knees want to go weak, he can feel them trembling at the sound of her voice. Gods above, why do they do this to him? Why do they insist on playing, on making him think he has anything like a will of his own anymore.
He lost that, lost it on too many altars, too many prayers to gods who were starving, or worse, to the ones who were gluttons.
He raises his head, not looking her in the eye but hoping he studied her enough to appease her.
"I'm not here for what you can give me, sweet thing." She says, her all whiskey and metal. "I'm just here to give you something you might want."
She holds out a flask to him but he doesn't move to take it. Instead he watches her, caution in his eyes and hesitation on his lips. He's so thirsty, the desert holding little in the way of water for him, but he can't help but not lunge for it.
"My Lady," he says, voice cracking as he speaks. "I'm..."
"You were mine before they got to you," she whispers, stepping right up to him, her lips brushing his ear. "I claimed you first and you are mine to do with what i will."
The change in her manner of speaking, the almost harshness to which she speaks makes him cringe but he knew she was right. He wasn't sure if she had been his deity, if she had been the one who claimed him so long ago when he was still a boy playing in the water with a best friend and their big dreams, but he knows now.
"Yes, Lady."
he takes a drink, the liquid tasting of whiskey and blood but feeling as if it was water on his dry throat. He's dizzy with the contrast but savors it all the same. It's her, so very her with all hr contradictions and her comforts.
His knees give in them, hitting the ground with a soft thump and he feels himself begin to shake. Tears prick the corners of his eyes an dis hands are clawing at the sand to get some sort of purchase, some handle on the feelings that are suddenly colliding with him like a wrecking ball.
"Lady, I'm so--" He sucks in a breath, trying to articulate the things he needs to say to her. His emotions are horror, are rage and pain and aching. They are longing and and sadness, they are many and varied and he doesn't know what to do with any of them.
She bends, her skirts blending with the sand so that he can't tell if she's just a part of the sand or something that's actually there.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers to him, her hands, soft and smelling of bonfires and leather, reaching to hols his face and stroking his cheek. "I'm so sorry my dear, sweet boy. It's going to be easier now. It's not going to hurt as much."
And he believes her, by everything alive, he believes her because she is his Lady and if she says it's going to stop hurting, he has to think it's true.
He has lost so much but they infused him with enough faith to move mountains.
Title: you'll have me believe anything (i put my faith in you)
Story: Take Me to Church and I'll Take You to War
Colors: Spilt Ink: 25. No storm is so bad that you can't learn something from it. You can grow in a storm. You can thrive. Rain cleans the air.
Avocado: 20) You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name / It felt good to be out of the rain / In the desert you can remember your name / 'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain -America: Horse With No Name
Supplies: paint-by-numbers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Religious themes? Which isn't a warning so much as it's a content note.
Word count; 852
Notes: Now I think this is the last one, as I need to leave the house soon. I've been meaning to do the Avocado prompt for a while now and I have been trying to form it into words for....I don't know. But I am pleased to ahve done the thing and oh, I do love these two so much.
He can't say that it's his own doing that sets him free. He can't say that it was his will, his strength, his desire to survive.
He can't say he had anything to do with being set free.
No, he knows that if he had been left alone, left with them, he would die. He would have caved under the weight of worship, under the blows of being a sacrificial lamb and died under an altar, though he couldn't guess which one.
But he's not dead, he's not a lamb any longer. He's supposed to be free, be happy to taste the fresh air and know that the only gods who he has to bow to are the ones he chooses.
But as he walks, as the sand touches his bare feet and the chill in the air wraps around him, he know she'll bow again. There's too much in him telling him to drop to his knees at every church, pray to every statue and whisper secrets to every angel.
He is not a creature unto himself anymore, but a being given to gods who may not even want him.
"Little boy, little boy, where've you been?"
She sings the words low ans sweet, almost like a seduction, rather than a call to get his attention.
He doesn't look at her, can't make his eyes rise to met hers. She tastes of power, of something more than a mere human. There are gods in these deserts, roaming and hungry and he has no idea if she's come calling to him for his worship or because she's just that kind of bored.
"Come on now," she purrs, wiggling her fingers like she's trying to coax a stray kitten. "You're gonna looka t me sometime, may as well be now."
He swallows hard and hs knees want to go weak, he can feel them trembling at the sound of her voice. Gods above, why do they do this to him? Why do they insist on playing, on making him think he has anything like a will of his own anymore.
He lost that, lost it on too many altars, too many prayers to gods who were starving, or worse, to the ones who were gluttons.
He raises his head, not looking her in the eye but hoping he studied her enough to appease her.
"I'm not here for what you can give me, sweet thing." She says, her all whiskey and metal. "I'm just here to give you something you might want."
She holds out a flask to him but he doesn't move to take it. Instead he watches her, caution in his eyes and hesitation on his lips. He's so thirsty, the desert holding little in the way of water for him, but he can't help but not lunge for it.
"My Lady," he says, voice cracking as he speaks. "I'm..."
"You were mine before they got to you," she whispers, stepping right up to him, her lips brushing his ear. "I claimed you first and you are mine to do with what i will."
The change in her manner of speaking, the almost harshness to which she speaks makes him cringe but he knew she was right. He wasn't sure if she had been his deity, if she had been the one who claimed him so long ago when he was still a boy playing in the water with a best friend and their big dreams, but he knows now.
"Yes, Lady."
he takes a drink, the liquid tasting of whiskey and blood but feeling as if it was water on his dry throat. He's dizzy with the contrast but savors it all the same. It's her, so very her with all hr contradictions and her comforts.
His knees give in them, hitting the ground with a soft thump and he feels himself begin to shake. Tears prick the corners of his eyes an dis hands are clawing at the sand to get some sort of purchase, some handle on the feelings that are suddenly colliding with him like a wrecking ball.
"Lady, I'm so--" He sucks in a breath, trying to articulate the things he needs to say to her. His emotions are horror, are rage and pain and aching. They are longing and and sadness, they are many and varied and he doesn't know what to do with any of them.
She bends, her skirts blending with the sand so that he can't tell if she's just a part of the sand or something that's actually there.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers to him, her hands, soft and smelling of bonfires and leather, reaching to hols his face and stroking his cheek. "I'm so sorry my dear, sweet boy. It's going to be easier now. It's not going to hurt as much."
And he believes her, by everything alive, he believes her because she is his Lady and if she says it's going to stop hurting, he has to think it's true.
He has lost so much but they infused him with enough faith to move mountains.
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O_O
O_O
O_O!
Holy shit.
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I was really pleased to get to put this one down. This entire thing is a bit chaotic in my head but oh god, so I want to make it into something coherent because it is going to be so fun when I do.
...Well, dark and kind of twisty in some places but fun!
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I love this universe and the many and varied deities that exist within it. She's one of my favorites and one of the main three people who are in the story, the boy she's talking to and his best friend bein the other two.
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Now that is a Goddess.
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I love her so, so much. SHe is fantastic.
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:D Thank you! I really, really like this universe and I want to work more with it, I just...need to do the thing.