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@keilah-h thx! I use Copilot AI from Microsoft đ
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.@freed_and_redeemed Scars are rarely cool to get lol.
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
I think I’ve had that AI draw some dragons and stuff. It does a halfway decent job if you don’t ask for lettering….lol
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
@keilah-h Fair đ
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.HANS!!!!!!!
Those are so great!
Leo looks nothing like my drawing, sorry.
âGargoyles and thickets, griffins and briskets."
Thank youuuuuuuu đđ
don’t apologize!! I love your drawing of Leo <3
Plus, I’ve changed the way Leo looks a bit since then….several timesđ
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.@rae and your signature!!!
#HugRikerandHanssquad
#HugLeontoođ„čđ„č
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.@freed_and_reedemed
Very interesting! Riker looks pretty cool⊠but I think Wolfgangâs pic is my favorite!! đđđ
Fin knew. Riker knew.
Fin wasnât afraid. Riker was terrified.haha I messed up your taggg⊠^^^ đ
Fin knew. Riker knew.
Fin wasnât afraid. Riker was terrified.Awww, Isaiah is such an adorable old man.đ©·
Communist jokes arenât funny unless everyone gets them.
Ahhhh! His backstories have come to the scene!!
Great job…have you finished the scene yet, and are you willing to share?
*GASPETH* she’s using AI.
I once tried to generate a character face claim for Raphael once. I don’t think it understood me. It was….uh… interesting.
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
@koshka I did finish it, but I think I may add more; idk, seems too short đ but idk what else to add tbh lollll
but anywhoooo
@lightoverdarkness6 @godlyfantasy12 @koshka @rae @savannah_grace2009 @keilah-h @loopylin @mineralizedwritings @grcr @theducktator @esther-c @anyone-else-idk-lol-XDhere’s the continuation of the Riker scene AND a Leon scene for y’all đ
(and Broken Shackles is over 46k now and almost 300 pages!!!đ„ł)
He wouldnât stop. He didnât want to stop.
He didnât want to dwell on things heâd rather forget.
He didnât want to think about why his father had never loved him.
He didnât want to remind himself of the ever-constant fact that he had always been, could only be, and would forever be nothing more than the mistake his father never wanted.
âI donât see what anyone else sees in you. I wanted a son that would be the greatest gift I could ever have. I wanted a son that would make me proud. I wanted a son I could love. Instead, all I got…was you.â
Except now he knew. Now he knew that his father once had a son that had been all of that. And RikerâŠRiker had been the replacement that could never replace.
The child that could never take away the pain of the loss of the first child.
The son that could never be what the other son would have been.
The mistake that should have never been born.
~*~
A dry cough carried through the air and a gentle whimper followed. Leon gently flipped the cloth atop Isabelâs forehead and gently stroked her blonde curls, pushing them away from her face covered in small red spots.
Isabelâs chest slowly rose and fell; quiet footsteps echoed through the still room. Leon slowly rose his head to meet Louisaâs gentle, concerned gaze.
Louisa smiled softly and whispered, âI will watch over her for a little while. Go get some rest, child.â
âCanât sleep.â
âI know,â Louisa crossed the room, slightly adjusted the blankets atop Isabel, and set a gentle hand on Leonâs shoulder, âbut at least try to get a little bit of rest. Youâre no good to Isabel or to any of us if you havenât even rested once.â
âI donât want to leave her bedside.â
Louisaâs gentle hands squeezed Leonâs shoulders; she sighed and planted a kiss atop Leonâs curls. âI know, but please go rest, dear. I understand your hesitancy and your fear, but we canât have you getting sick too.â
Isabel laid sick, and he was with her, unlike heâd been able to do so with his EmaâŠAadelheideâLeon slowly and gently kissed the cloth on Isabelâs forehead and rose to his feet, motioning Louisa into the chair.
Louisa sat, whispered something Leon couldnât discern, and met Leonâs gaze again. âOh, and child, Isaiah is here if you wish to speak with him.â
Leon nodded and stepped out of the room, leaving the door only slightly ajar. He didnât wish to speak to anyone, much less Isaiah.
When would everyone just leave him alone? When would he just be left to handle his own problems? When would he be allowed to just be silent and numb?
Leon stepped into the kitchen; Isaiah stood and slightly adjusted his rounded glasses, offering a soft, concerned smile. âHow is Isabel, Leon?â
Leon bit the inside of his cheek. How did he answer such a question? She wasnât fine. She wasnât recovering. She only seemed to be getting worseâŠand worseâŠand worse. âSheâsâŠsheâs notâŠâ
Isaiah slowly nodded. âI understand.â
Leon shrugged and shouldered past Isaiah, opening an upper cabinet, shoving aside boxes and food supplies. âIs there any reason youâre here?â
âTo check on all of you. Are you feeling alright, Leon?â
âIâm not the one thatâs sick, Isaiah,â Leon retorted; he pulled a glass bottle out of the cabinet and popped off the top, âof course Iâm fine.â
Isaiah raised a single eyebrow. âHow long has that been going on?â
Leon took a long sip, savoring the burn within his throat. âWhat? How long has what been-?â
âThe alcohol, Leon. I thought you gave it up.â
âIf youâre here to condemn me, Isaiah, then you can go somewhere else.â Leon retorted, sinking into a chair at the table.
Isaiah slowly shook his head. âIâm never here to condemn you, Leon, Iâm here to help you.â
âGo help someone that wants and deserves it.â
âLeonââ
âGo on,â Leon took another long sip, âgo help someone that needs help and wants whatever lies you want to sell about God.â
He was tired of lies. He was tired of false promises. He was sick and tired of people saying God would come through only for God to never even come close to doing so.
âGod doesnât love me like so many claim. Maybe no one does. Maybe no one should.â
âRiker believes the same.â
Leonâs grip tightened around the bottle. Riker the murderer? Good. He deserved to feel ashamedâhe deserved to feel guilty.
âYou both seem to think I should give up, but Iâm not going to give up. Iâm not going to give up on either one of you. God loves and wants you both, just as he loves all of humanity. God never wishes suffering upon usââ
âIf he didnât want me to suffer, he should have allowed me to die with Aadelheideââ
âEnough, Leon,â Isaiah ordered in a tone that brooked zero argument, quickly prying the glass from Leonâs fingers and setting the alcohol out of Leonâs reach, âI can listen to cursing, to anger at God, to bitterness, to sadness, and almost anything else, but I will not put up with you talking like that. Look at me and look at me right now.â
What was he, five? But something in Isaiahâs tone, something within Isaiahâs strained voice, something about Isaiahâs demeanor left Leon unable to disobey. His eyes slowly met Isaiahâs.
âI donât want to ever hear you say something like that again. There is a reason you survived, Leon. God has a purpose for you. I donât understand why Aadelheide died, but what I do know is that you were kept alive for a purpose you just canât see yet. You are alive, Leon. Youâre alive for your kids. Youâre alive for a reason. You could have died the moment you stepped foot in the camp. You could have died any of those times you got ill inside the camp. You could have died when you were whipped, when you were beaten. You could have died at any moment. But youâre alive, Leon. And I donât want to hear you saying that you wish you were dead.â
âThatâs not whatââ
Isaiah slowly shook his head, his eyes kind yet firm. âDonât you say that. That is exactly what you meant by what you said.â
Something within Leonâperhaps a bit of childish protestâwanted to argue, to insist that wasnât what he meant.
But no argumentâŠno protestâŠno disagreementâŠcould change the truth that there were nights where Leon gave in to such thoughts.
There were nights he missed Aadelheide more than anything.
There were hard days he wanted Aadelheide beside him every minute.
There were nights he thought aboutâeven wantedâto be with AadelheideâŠto be gone, to be away from the world just as she had been for over a year.
âSo much pain is in you, Leon, I knowâŠbut I need you to know this: you are alive for a reason, and though you may not believe it, God is good, LeonâŠalways.â
President Hindenburg was dead. There was no election; his chancellor had seized the presidency.
 âThat man is a lunatic. Germany will not stand for him being president.â
âAbraham, donât speak so rashly. We should wait and see how this unfoldsââ
âWait? Israel, are you insane?â Abraham cried, facing his oldest brother.
 âAbraham, Israel, this is not the time to argue.â
Abraham and Israel both faced Josef, their middle brother. Slowly, Abraham nodded. âYouâre right, JosefâŠI apologize.â
Israel soon offered an apology of his own, and the two men disappeared around the corner to join the aunts and cousins.
    Leon leaned further into his fatherâs embrace, seated on a simple couch. âAbba, will this man being in charge change things for us?â
     Josef smiled softly, running his fingers through Leonâs black curls. âI cannot be certain, Leon, but what I do know is that God is more powerful than this man named Hitler.â
Leon nodded. His father was rightâhe had to be. His father was the wisest man he knew, even more than the reverend, although he knew Josef disagreed with such a statement.
  Josefâs fingers gently clasped Leonâs chin; slowly, gently, he turned Leonâs head. Their eyes met; Josef pressed his forehead to Leonâs. âIf you remember nothing else that I have ever told you, Leon, I need you to remember these four words, my son: God is goodâŠalways.â
His father was a wise man, a learned man, a man who made watches for a living but could have easily been a doctor or a lawyer if he had desired to do so; Isaiah reminded Leon of Josef more than anyone else did or ever had or likely ever would.
But even though his father believed, even though Isaiah believed, even though so many people he knew believed, Leon justâŠhe couldnât. Not anymore. He couldnât trust God.
How could he ever just sit around and wait for God to abandon him again?
Leonâs fingers curled and uncurled, and his pulse quickened. His blood surged with anger, and his eyes burned with tears. âHeâs not, Isaiah. Heâs not good. Not when he let Aadelheide die.â
Isaiah sank into another wooden chair at the table. He slowly rested his hands overtop of Leonâs and smiled softly. âLeon, listen to meââ
âNo, Isaiah, no,â Leon shook his head and pulled from Isaiahâs touch, âheâs not good.â
Perhaps it was stubbornnessâperhaps it was childish.
But Leon couldnâtâwouldnâtâbelieve in something that had been taught to him his entire life that only ended up being a lie all along.
Where was a good God in a dark world?
Where was a good God in the depravity of war?
Where was a good God in sickness?
Where was a good God in death?
Where was a good God in suffering?
Where was a good God in genocide?
Where was a good God in the trials?
Where was a good God in the agonizing pain so deep you wanted to die?
Where was a good God in grief?
Where was, where had there been, a good God in Leonâs life?
âWhere was he, Isaiah? Where was he in the camp? Where was he when I was starved, beaten, tortured, and treated as if I was worth less than dirt? Where was he when Aadelheide died? Where was he when I cried out to him and never got an answer?â
âI think the better question is: where was he not? You didnât see him, you still donât see him, but Leon, he has never let you out of his sight for even a second.â
âHe sat on his throne and did nothing?â
âI donât know why God allowed Aadelheide to die. I donât know why God allowed the Nazis to do what they did. I donât know why God allows what he sometimes allows. But where I donât know the path, I know the one who created the path. Where I donât know the answers, I know the one who has the answers. When I donât know where hope is, I know the one who is hope.â
Leon stood; the chair clattered against the floor with a dull thud. He stepped over to the counter and tipped up his glass. He downed the alcohol in three seconds flat.
His head spun and his heart pounded behind his ribcage.
He faced Isaiah, utilized the bitterness, the anger, coursing through his veins, and whispered, âSave your lies for someone else, Isaiah. A good God is a lie, and Iâm sorry I ever believed it in the first place.â
He turned on his heel and marched out of the kitchen, deafening his ears to Isaiahâs gentle yet firm protests.
Just as heâd failed to do before, God wouldnât save Isabel even if Leon asked.
Leon didnât care what anyone said anymore.
All Leon Wagner wanted was to be numb.
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.My bois *sniff sniff*
Leon’s thirst for numbness (coming from alcohol, of course) spells trouble, y’all đ
Wish Riker the best of luck, because he’s going to need itđŹ
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.I love Isaiah so much.đ„° Leon, listen to him already!
Communist jokes arenât funny unless everyone gets them.
 (and Broken Shackles is over 46k now and almost 300 pages!!!đ„ł)
Whooooo đ„łđđ
AlsoâŠ
LEON! NOOOOOOOOOO JUST LISTEN TO ISAIAH! đ
đŁ
Wish Riker the best of luck, because heâs going to need itđŹ
Freedom, WHAT are you planning NOW?
Good luck, Riker!
Home is where your massive, overflowing collection of LEGO bricks is.
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