Bringing Down Eden: Prologue/??
Title: Bringing Down Eden
Author: lalalive23
Pairing: Eventual Belldom...sort of
Rating: G
Warning: Sadness, Religious references
Summary: Originally a fill for this prompt on the mkmeme:"AU, BellDom (of course! ) Dom is an angel and Matt is a devil (or viceversa, whatever! ;) ) and they're sent on Earth by their Bosses to look after Chris and try to win his soul. Chris is the only one who can see them, one will try to tempt him, the other to keep him on the good way. And soon Matt and Dom will end up leaving aside their mission 'cause they'll have another main goal: win each other!"
However, I am sort of working this into: Matt is actually Lucifer, the fallen angel. Dom is an angel recently appointed as Chris' guardian angel. This is a story of death, betrayal, love, and redemption.
Feedback: I LIVE FOR THE APPLAUSE, APPLAUSE, APPLAUSE
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse. I have no affiliation with them or their lives. Also, I am not a religious person. I just really love religious myth and have read the bible a lot. I mean absolutely no offense to anyone or about anything in the process of writing this. My take on Lucifer is my own.
Note: I accidentally a new fic guys, sorry. Actually, this wasn't an accident. I've had this story in my brain for about a year and a half. Just ask sunshine_173 True story: I couldn't wait to finish TLS just so I could justify working on this. So, I went up to Cambridge yesterday for a failed Neil Gaiman meet & greet, and on the two and a half hour long train ride home, I wrote this on my ipad and was like, OOPS. I love LOVE LOVE LOVE RELIGIOUS MYTH GUYS. Remember how I wrote an exorcism and that was based on the Book of Talbot? IT'S LIKE THAT BUT ON CRACK (except no horror, I promise). Ok, so really important: you need to be listening to this song when you get to the hymn because this is actually what is happening in the story. MTV True Life, though, I have 0 idea of when I'll be able to continue this because my life is falling apart. So. Oops part 2.Thank you to sunshine_173, shayunknown and amusedinred for being bit readers and cheerleaders! GO FORTH AND ENJOY LOVELIES.
It was always better on the shores of Brighton. He didn't know why, but it was always brighter, closer; only there could he remember the details with a clarity that went beyond fondness. The stones of the beach suited him, or maybe he suited the stones. It didn't matter. He liked that he could stand in complete stillness without sinking into sand, feeling like the earth was trying to swallow him whole…again.
His fingers twitched and he stretched out his hand to ease the muscle. A hundred pairs of eyes were on him, keeping their distance and watching with only a hollow sense of sympathy. The wind carried the sounds of fluttering feathers, wings tense and waiting. He was a time bomb and they were preparing for the blast.
They wouldn’t touch him, and he would not touch them. He was used to it. Besides, it was starting soon.
Shutting his eyes, he waited for the first tickle of warmth. The anticipation of it made the corners of his mouth curl into a smile that looked like it had mated with a grimace. It was all he could manage anymore.
There was a light flutter directly beside him, and his smile turned to a scowl. Someone had crossed a boundary, was attempting a daring sort of recklessness and, truthfully, was being impolite. This was his hour, his minute of solitude. It was a known fact and it was respected if not understood.
"You're twenty-six years too early," the angel said, voice tight. Through his closed eyes, he could sense the angel was staring straight ahead, trying hard not to look at him.
"Believe it or not, my presence here has nothing to do with you...or any of them."
“I won’t let you take him early.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m not a reaper.”
“But you’ve done it before,” was the sharp reply.
“Only in extreme cases.”
There was an awkward shifting of weight next to him. "So why did you pick here?"
He growled. This was a question he hadn't been asked in a very long time. Everyone knew the story; they all had seen the proof. At best he was a thing in a zoo, this early in the morning. He was rarely seen anywhere else at this hour. This angel was either a newborn or a recently appointed guardian. He had little patience for either of those traits.
"It sounds better here," he said frankly.
"It's not like you can hear it," the angel replied.
This made him open his eyes. Snapping his head to the right, he glared at the bright young thing before him. Head to toe in crisp white, blonde, beautiful, and new, he was perfect and he envied him…or perhaps he envied his innocence. There was a poetic magnificence to how wonderfully in contrast they were: his pitch black suit and shirt, blood red tie dripping with regret, and this angel, clean, bright, and glowing. He remembered his own days in white, brighter than the rest. He didn’t know if it was the shade he missed or the symbolism.
Maybe it was the speed with which he had done these things that made the angel move gently backwards, fear stretching into the pout of his bottom lip. He cocked one eyebrow, milking his power before he would be reduced to a broken relic in the daylight.
“I can still remember.” That was enough. The angel didn’t need any further explanation.
Through the corner of his eye he saw it, the tiny shadow of his snapped and withered wing gently touching the pant leg of the angel’s suit. He stared at it, not because this was the closest he had come to touching one of his brothers since his fall, but because he could almost feel the ache of his bones in the shadow. He remembered the gold and the gleam of his feathers, like fire. He remembered his impossible wingspan, the joy to be found in flight. Now he was left with exposed marrow, bones scorched to brown and black. He was trapped in an eternal state of decay.
The angel followed his line of sight and saw how careless he had been, to fall into such a shadow as this, and quickly stepped away as though he had been burned.
With no companion to mourn his fallen beauty, he turned back to the shore. He shut his eyes and let himself be consumed.
The first ray of dawn touched his face with a gentleness reserved only for him, the same way it always would. His mind brought the music forth, the hymn washing over him as though the waves of the ocean had come too far. He heard everything, the prayer, the voices, the love found within the dawn. There was no need to see the morning hues, though they were painted for him. He’d grown accustomed to remembering the shades in accordance with the notes of the hymn. Opening his eyes meant losing the trick, breaking the spell, and no matter how badly he wanted to see the art that was being made solely for him, he didn’t want to pretend there was nothing at all.
Because that’s what there truly was. Nothing. Only the sound of the ocean crashing onto shore. For him, at least. His fall, his true punishment, meant that he was cut off entirely from his personal symphony. The music that belonged to him would never again reach his ears, and all his brothers would listen and remember who he truly was.
When it was over, he opened his eyes to stare at the shore, the sun now shining above it.
Marvelous.
“Son of Morning.”
It was a whispered statement, one of slow realization. Those were words he hadn’t heard in centuries, and it was somewhat miraculous to hear the phrase from a tongue other than his own. He turned to look at the angel, and frowned. He didn’t expect to see the young thing weeping, though he was not weeping for him.
“That was your first time hearing it, wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Lucifer, I -“
He cut him off.
“Don’t. Just don’t. It’s Matthew, now. It has been for a while.”
“Why do you come here if you can’t hear it? Isn’t that torture?” A tear rolled down the angel’s cheek, and he scowled.
“I come because it’s mine. I come because it’s no more painful than what has already happened to me.”
With that, he turned and began to walk away.
“Brother!” the angel called.
“See you in twenty-six years…maybe,” was his hollow response.
A hundred pairs of eyes watched him stalk down the shore, wings of bone dragging lines into the stones as he passed.
Author: lalalive23
Pairing: Eventual Belldom...sort of
Rating: G
Warning: Sadness, Religious references
Summary: Originally a fill for this prompt on the mkmeme:"AU, BellDom (of course! ) Dom is an angel and Matt is a devil (or viceversa, whatever! ;) ) and they're sent on Earth by their Bosses to look after Chris and try to win his soul. Chris is the only one who can see them, one will try to tempt him, the other to keep him on the good way. And soon Matt and Dom will end up leaving aside their mission 'cause they'll have another main goal: win each other!"
However, I am sort of working this into: Matt is actually Lucifer, the fallen angel. Dom is an angel recently appointed as Chris' guardian angel. This is a story of death, betrayal, love, and redemption.
Feedback: I LIVE FOR THE APPLAUSE, APPLAUSE, APPLAUSE
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse. I have no affiliation with them or their lives. Also, I am not a religious person. I just really love religious myth and have read the bible a lot. I mean absolutely no offense to anyone or about anything in the process of writing this. My take on Lucifer is my own.
Note: I accidentally a new fic guys, sorry. Actually, this wasn't an accident. I've had this story in my brain for about a year and a half. Just ask sunshine_173 True story: I couldn't wait to finish TLS just so I could justify working on this. So, I went up to Cambridge yesterday for a failed Neil Gaiman meet & greet, and on the two and a half hour long train ride home, I wrote this on my ipad and was like, OOPS. I love LOVE LOVE LOVE RELIGIOUS MYTH GUYS. Remember how I wrote an exorcism and that was based on the Book of Talbot? IT'S LIKE THAT BUT ON CRACK (except no horror, I promise). Ok, so really important: you need to be listening to this song when you get to the hymn because this is actually what is happening in the story. MTV True Life, though, I have 0 idea of when I'll be able to continue this because my life is falling apart. So. Oops part 2.Thank you to sunshine_173, shayunknown and amusedinred for being bit readers and cheerleaders! GO FORTH AND ENJOY LOVELIES.
It was always better on the shores of Brighton. He didn't know why, but it was always brighter, closer; only there could he remember the details with a clarity that went beyond fondness. The stones of the beach suited him, or maybe he suited the stones. It didn't matter. He liked that he could stand in complete stillness without sinking into sand, feeling like the earth was trying to swallow him whole…again.
His fingers twitched and he stretched out his hand to ease the muscle. A hundred pairs of eyes were on him, keeping their distance and watching with only a hollow sense of sympathy. The wind carried the sounds of fluttering feathers, wings tense and waiting. He was a time bomb and they were preparing for the blast.
They wouldn’t touch him, and he would not touch them. He was used to it. Besides, it was starting soon.
Shutting his eyes, he waited for the first tickle of warmth. The anticipation of it made the corners of his mouth curl into a smile that looked like it had mated with a grimace. It was all he could manage anymore.
There was a light flutter directly beside him, and his smile turned to a scowl. Someone had crossed a boundary, was attempting a daring sort of recklessness and, truthfully, was being impolite. This was his hour, his minute of solitude. It was a known fact and it was respected if not understood.
"You're twenty-six years too early," the angel said, voice tight. Through his closed eyes, he could sense the angel was staring straight ahead, trying hard not to look at him.
"Believe it or not, my presence here has nothing to do with you...or any of them."
“I won’t let you take him early.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m not a reaper.”
“But you’ve done it before,” was the sharp reply.
“Only in extreme cases.”
There was an awkward shifting of weight next to him. "So why did you pick here?"
He growled. This was a question he hadn't been asked in a very long time. Everyone knew the story; they all had seen the proof. At best he was a thing in a zoo, this early in the morning. He was rarely seen anywhere else at this hour. This angel was either a newborn or a recently appointed guardian. He had little patience for either of those traits.
"It sounds better here," he said frankly.
"It's not like you can hear it," the angel replied.
This made him open his eyes. Snapping his head to the right, he glared at the bright young thing before him. Head to toe in crisp white, blonde, beautiful, and new, he was perfect and he envied him…or perhaps he envied his innocence. There was a poetic magnificence to how wonderfully in contrast they were: his pitch black suit and shirt, blood red tie dripping with regret, and this angel, clean, bright, and glowing. He remembered his own days in white, brighter than the rest. He didn’t know if it was the shade he missed or the symbolism.
Maybe it was the speed with which he had done these things that made the angel move gently backwards, fear stretching into the pout of his bottom lip. He cocked one eyebrow, milking his power before he would be reduced to a broken relic in the daylight.
“I can still remember.” That was enough. The angel didn’t need any further explanation.
Through the corner of his eye he saw it, the tiny shadow of his snapped and withered wing gently touching the pant leg of the angel’s suit. He stared at it, not because this was the closest he had come to touching one of his brothers since his fall, but because he could almost feel the ache of his bones in the shadow. He remembered the gold and the gleam of his feathers, like fire. He remembered his impossible wingspan, the joy to be found in flight. Now he was left with exposed marrow, bones scorched to brown and black. He was trapped in an eternal state of decay.
The angel followed his line of sight and saw how careless he had been, to fall into such a shadow as this, and quickly stepped away as though he had been burned.
With no companion to mourn his fallen beauty, he turned back to the shore. He shut his eyes and let himself be consumed.
The first ray of dawn touched his face with a gentleness reserved only for him, the same way it always would. His mind brought the music forth, the hymn washing over him as though the waves of the ocean had come too far. He heard everything, the prayer, the voices, the love found within the dawn. There was no need to see the morning hues, though they were painted for him. He’d grown accustomed to remembering the shades in accordance with the notes of the hymn. Opening his eyes meant losing the trick, breaking the spell, and no matter how badly he wanted to see the art that was being made solely for him, he didn’t want to pretend there was nothing at all.
Because that’s what there truly was. Nothing. Only the sound of the ocean crashing onto shore. For him, at least. His fall, his true punishment, meant that he was cut off entirely from his personal symphony. The music that belonged to him would never again reach his ears, and all his brothers would listen and remember who he truly was.
When it was over, he opened his eyes to stare at the shore, the sun now shining above it.
Marvelous.
“Son of Morning.”
It was a whispered statement, one of slow realization. Those were words he hadn’t heard in centuries, and it was somewhat miraculous to hear the phrase from a tongue other than his own. He turned to look at the angel, and frowned. He didn’t expect to see the young thing weeping, though he was not weeping for him.
“That was your first time hearing it, wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Lucifer, I -“
He cut him off.
“Don’t. Just don’t. It’s Matthew, now. It has been for a while.”
“Why do you come here if you can’t hear it? Isn’t that torture?” A tear rolled down the angel’s cheek, and he scowled.
“I come because it’s mine. I come because it’s no more painful than what has already happened to me.”
With that, he turned and began to walk away.
“Brother!” the angel called.
“See you in twenty-six years…maybe,” was his hollow response.
A hundred pairs of eyes watched him stalk down the shore, wings of bone dragging lines into the stones as he passed.