Strength from Within

“ Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;                                                                 with them, forgive yourself. ”

fate-accursed: an extremely low activity, independent multi-muse rp blog for  Andrew, Anthony, & Abraham from Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope. Semi-selective and majorly canon-divergent; portrayals are based in both headcanon and canon content. // Bewitched by Hailey

// Personals & minors, DNI

( Andrew. )

𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂. tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries.

𝚅𝙸𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻𝚂. filled notebooks / dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂. burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandalwood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint.

// @mehrcedita said: " are you eager for blood, too? is that why you've come? "

Her words cut to the very soul of him, each tremor of her weakened voice left to fester in the wound of her apprehension; does she truly think him capable of such a cruelty? Many hours they have spent in each others company, her friendship one so dearly cherished in his lonely heart — but then, this shroud of darkness has cast a grim light upon them all. He can still hear the choked sounds of Tabitha's final breaths, her terrible fate a horror from which he and David chose to spare Madge.

But perhaps they have not spared her any suffering, after all. Perhaps Abraham should have warned her, should have done something more to protect her from the evil that lurks in their midst —

It is impossible for a deed to be undone, yet still he feels that he has failed her, that he is still failing her as they speak; that perhaps he will always be letting her down. He can plead for her if he finds the voice to speak, if the courts will listen, but still the fact remains that she is here at all. ( The cold damp of a gaol is no place for an ailing body. )

// @deathwis ( tanya. ) said: " it did escalate severely after five minutes. "

Anthony had missed the beginning of this particular argument, too busy kicking rocks and moping to rush the walk home from school — but just because he was late doesn't mean he missed out on tonight's family trainwreck entirely. Actually, he got home just in time to witness its explosive conclusion; lucky him.

The sound of the front door's slam is still ringing in his ears, deafening in the silence that follows, and it takes everything in him just to remember how to breathe. ( Everything's falling apart again. ) He can already feel the tension building in his spine, a sure-fire sign of the headache that's to come; maybe he deserves it, though, for being so caught up in his own problems that he didn't realize something might be wrong. He definitely deserves it for still being upset regardless, even underneath all the worry and confusion, even as he's wandering over to Tanya to figure out what the hell went wrong.

( Because yeah, it's not a huge deal to walk through town, seeing as he does it in his spare time anyway — but they'd told him they would pick him up, so he'd waited. Standing in time's agonizing pass while the school slowly emptied out, letting slow realization crush him until he walked away all alone. So now the question burrows under his skin, poisonous and cutting, relentless even when buried under layers of guilt: had his family just forgotten him completely, or was the fighting really just that much more important? Does it even really matter when the outcome is the same either way? )

Of course, when he tries to talk to Tanya, the first response he gets is a flippant one. It's so typical of her that he could scream, but instead he stays silent, beholden to the knot that ties itself around his throat when he thinks of losing her. ( These days, it seems like he always has to swallow around it; it's there when Tanya stays out late, and when Dennis lashes out, and when Megan gets real quiet. It sinks like lead in his stomach when their dad comes home drunk, and when the fighting gets so loud he can hear it over Dennis's records. Some nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat convinced he's already lost them. )

But maybe if he knows what went wrong, he can try to fix it.

// @deathwis ( david. ) said: " everything can't be learned in books. "

From anyone else, the words would be a solemn reprimand; a reminder that Abraham is still inadequate, even when he is trying, even when he pours his whole self into something for the sake of Little Hope. He has always been wrong — deeply, and intrinsically, in a way he knows not how to mend — but age has not spared him the dismissal of his superiors, nor has it brought him the clarity he had hoped. Perhaps he will always be lost, seeking a redemption that isn't to be found. Perhaps his father was right, and he deserves his isolation.

But David has never treated him so.

The warmth his presence fills Abraham with now is the very same that had soothed the aches of a troubled childhood; the same that once stood patiently beside him in the fields, guiding him, the only gentle thing he has ever known. What a blessing it has been to have that light returned to him, even in brevity, even with time’s distance! ( If only he could just convince his wicked heart to be grateful for it, instead of always longing for more. )

"’Tis true that not all knowledge lies in the pages of a book," Abraham finally concedes after a beat of silence. He's always needed just a few moments to gather his thoughts, carefully considering his words so that they won’t be misconstrued; it is kind of David to wait for him, never once wavering in his interest. Not many others will do the same. “There are many ways to learn, and each are valuable in their own right; it matters only that we seek understanding and truth.”

Here, his gaze lowers, tracing the fine grain of the shelf so that he might have a chance to catch his breath. “‘Twas not a book that taught these hands to till the soil,” he murmurs. It’s a gentle admission, sentimental, perhaps too much so for a bond he’d severed with his own hand — yet the words remain in the air regardless, glimmering by the candlelight and casting shadows on the space that now lies between them. It is for the best. Even if he feels like it might kill him.

“The Lord lights our paths in His infinite wisdom; He is all around us, in all things, as you well know.” Here, he hesitates again, and his face burns with uncertainty as he traces gentle fingertips over the spine of his current read. “Is He not, then, also in the hearts of those who write? What of the bookbinder, who weaves each page together with skillful hands so that others may learn?” His speech is teetering on the precipice of shameful vanity, but he’s starting to fear he has no better argument of their worth. After all, it matters not if books make him happy, or if it brings him joy to share them with others; he’d never waste David’s precious time on such a blasphemous presumption of his own importance. So where, then, does that leave him?

// @mehrcedita said: "this isn't half bad for college kids."

The new apartment isn’t much, to be honest — hardly bigger than the dorms, and just as outdated with its thrift shop furniture and shag carpet — but it's the most at home that Andrew's ever felt in this life. ( at least, as far as he can remember. ) What little belongings he'd been able to grab from his parents house fit perfectly in the room he's claimed as his own, and Daniel's stuff fills just about everywhere else. It's nice, having a reminder he's not alone. That he has friends now.

And one of those friends has just given the apartment her hard-won seal of approval. Sort of. It might be as close as it gets to high praise with Mercy.

// @deathwis ( tabitha. ) said: " promise you won't be cruel. "

The shelves are slowly emptying around them, and Abraham knows he'll have to send for a new shipment soon. His stock dwindles with each passing day; precious knowledge passed to eager hands, and none moreso than that of Tabitha Milton. It's one of the many things he likes about her, though he'd never dare say it aloud — too afraid of being forward, of crossing some invisible boundary that separates him from everyone else.

( They all have their place in this life, a path to redemption provided by the merciful Lord; Abraham would do well not to try and step outside of it. ) Perhaps in another life.

He wouldn't dare burden her with a long discussion, not the way he wants to, but he’s always been the curious type. Longing drives the beast of loneliness that gnaws at his chest, crumbling his resolve to stay quiet; it’s what makes the question finally slip this evening, seeing the bundle of books in her arms. ( Surely, it isn’t unusual for him to ask after the literature that keeps his friend customer’s attention? )