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jessicalprice · 1 year

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all hail her excellent braids

Christians: omg first century Judaism was soooo misogynistic but Jesus was like the first feminist because he treated women like people

Jews: what

Christians: like, Jewish men would cross to the other side of the street to avoid having to be too close to women

Jews: hang on do you think there were, like, sidewalks in first-century Jerusalem?

Christians: and Jewish women weren't supposed to be seen in public

Jews: that's not how--

Christians: and men weren't even supposed to talk to women, but Jesus had female followers <3

Jews: first-century Jewish women owned their own businesses and represented themselves in court and, like, how are you imagining business got done if they weren't allowed to talk?

President Jimmy fucking Carter: first century Jews were basically the Taliban

A bazillion seminary textbooks: yup, the Pharisees were obsessed with ritual purity and viewed women as inherently unclean and Jesus upended all that Pharisaic hatred of women and that's why they wanted him dead

Shlomtzion, aka Salome Alexandra, has entered the chat.

Ahem, let me tell you about the Pharisee Queen.

So back in the day, the Pharisees were a tiny, persecuted movement because the King of Judah, Alexander Jannaeus hated them. He straight-up massacred 6,000 of them when they pelted him with fruit after he mocked them by performing a Sukkot ritual incorrectly, which kicked off a whole civil war. He won the war, and slaughtered the wives and children of 800 of the surviving Pharisees as entertainment at his victory feast before crucifying the men. The remaining Pharisees went into hiding.

Just a charming dude.

Alexander Jannaeus was married to Salome Alexandra (Shlomtzion, in Hebrew).

Her brother was Shimon ben Shetach, the leader of the Pharisees. (If you're getting Esther vibes here, that's probably not accidental.

She doesn't seem to have had much power while Alexander Jannaeus was alive, but she managed to help hide and protect the surviving Pharisees.

This doesn't seem to have negatively impacted her relationship with her husband, because he named her--rather than any of his sons--his heir while he was on his deathbed.

He was in the middle of conducting a siege of Ragaba when he died, so like the incredible badass she was, became queen--and would be both only the second queen regnant of Judah and the last sovereign Jewish monarch--on the battlefield, in the midst of hostilities.

She had to conceal her husband's death until she'd won the day.

As soon as she made his death public, she reached out to the Pharisees to make peace between them and the throne, avoiding a popular uprising at his funeral. The funeral went off smoothly, and she immediately began settling other political disputes and enmities.

She also hung out and studied with the Pharisees. We know this because Josephus, an ardent misogynist, absolutely hated that she did this, just like he absolutely hated that she had ruled Judah, and wrote about it.

Josephus had been a Sadducee (main opposing party to the Pharisees), but switched to the Pharisees later in life for political expediency. He never seemed to actually like them, though.

He tells on himself so much.

"Oh, people love the Pharisees because they are humane and flexible interpreters of the law and practice what they preach and this is a BAD THING!"

Literally, on Shlomtzion: "Woman though she was, she established her authority by her reputation for piety."

Like, everyone respected her and did what she said because she actually gave a shit about ethics and somehow this is a BAD thing.

She averted war with Egypt by buddying up to Cleopatra (I am so headcanoning them as pen pals, writing each other to vent about all the men they have to deal with) and somehow this is a BAD thing.

So she takes the throne and manages to keep things running pretty smoothly in a precarious time because she's good at organizing AND military strategy AND diplomacy and here's Josephus on her relationship with the Pharisees:

"She paid too great heed to them, and they, availing themselves more and more of the simplicity of the woman, ended by becoming the effective rulers of the state... "

Ah yes, FlavJo, she sounds very "simple," what with the incredible military and diplomatic skills.

While she wasn't averse to fighting when she needed to, she mostly averted possible battles by fortifying and provisioning cities so well that neighboring monarchs opted not to attack them, so she was also just slaying at project management. She ended a bunch of the foreign wars her asshole husband started, and scrupulously kept to the terms of any treaties Judah was party to.

Her reign was possibly the most prosperous and peaceful period in Judah's history.

She gave the Sadducees (her husband's party) their own fortified cities so they'd stop feuding with the Pharisees, and took the Pharisees from a small, persecuted populist movement in hiding to one of the major political parties.

She set up a system of universal public education, putting the responsibility for educating the kids on the government, not families, to make sure it wasn't just rich kids getting a solid education. She re-established the Sanhedrin (the Supreme Court, basically) and made sure every town under her rule had access to judges.

And then one of her asshole sons, who apparently took after his asshole dad, decided HE would be a better ruler than she was, and DECLARED WAR ON HIS OWN MOM. She died, apparently of an illness, in her 70s.

She died as the last free Jewish ruler.

So then that asshole son went after the other asshole son, and they turned to the Romans for help.

(You want to get occupied? This is how you get occupied.)

Yes, that's right, they committed one of the classic blunders: inviting the Romans in.

THE ROMANS ARE LIKE VAMPIRES. DO NOT INVITE THEM IN.

Anyway, we all know how THAT turned out.

In rabbinic literature, she's almost a fertility goddess figure, or a personification the land itself, or a monarch beloved by G-d possibly moreso than any other, since the rest of them all screwed up and the Jews got punished with war or exile or famine or disease: legend claims that during her reign, rain only fell on Shabbat, so people didn't have to work in the rain. Grains of wheat grew to the size of kidneys, and lentils were the size of gold denarii. The people knew joy like we've never known since and were healthy and prosperous and at peace.

She was praised by contemporaries such as Josephus as having greater intelligence, political skill, and military acumen than the men around her (although Josephus, an ardent misogynist, later decided that it was inappropriate for her to rule), and the stories of Esther, Judith, and Susanna may have been written (or in the case of Esther, edited and codified) in her honor.

Anyway, the Pharisees' teachings remained especially popular among women, and the person who saved them (and thus, by extension, Judaism, when they were the ones to preserve it in exile) and brought them to power and was their beloved patron was a woman, and maaaaaaybe Christians don't know the first thing about women in first-century Judaea or the Pharisees and women and should shut up, idk.

All hail Shlomtzion and her most excellent braids.

#judaism #jewish history

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sky-kiss · 1 month

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Say You're Mine for the Ages

A/N: This is…essentially spoilers for my longfic lol. But it could change by the time I get there. Also, all those kinks I said were gonna be in this? They ain’t. Naw. I’m in corpo hell this week. There is no sexiness in corpo hell. 18+, named D!urge. All that.

You can also read it here if you prefer.

R/T: Say You're Mine for the Ages (18+ ish)

Silence.

At the end of all things, in the wash of blood and madness, all was still and silent. Raphael wondered if it wasn’t some trick—perhaps he’d gone deaf. The rustle of fabric as Baalphegor crossed the caldera promised he had not. She cut a striking image against Cania’s monochrome terrain—cinnamon and ash—as she crossed to Mephistopheles’ corpse.

The poets liked to speak of the emptiness of such victories—vengeance would leave one hollow, they said. Raphael felt anything but—the Fiend howled in his head, some great beast adding its song to the Archduke’s more flowery exultations. Won, he’d won. Mephistopheles dead, the Lord of Murder dead. Bhaal’s essence…

…Bhaal’s essence. It tasted like blood; it felt like raw power. It was standing at the eyes of the storm, feeling the winds tear at you, and laughing. The power of true divinity—his.

Theirs, he corrected, a shiver chasing along his spine. Where was the irritation the thought should have elicited? Where was the fury? The emptiness, the loneliness, the rage, as he clawed ever upwards?

Silence, Raphael thought, closing his eyes. All was silent.

The Archduke felt his Duchess as she crossed to him—like strings of power or flesh, sowing parts of her to him, shared tissue, shared power. There was a resonance—divinity her sire imbued to her by virtue of birth and the mated essence he’d stolen.

“Look,” she breathed. Joi lifted her hand to his temple, tracking downwards along his cheek and the trickle of blood. His Duchess stared, searching his face as if seeing him for the first time. Her free hand curled behind his neck. “Look at you.”

Raphael traced her lower lip. “Name me—you have earned the honor. Be the first.”

“Raphael,” she murmured, stroking his face. Her eyes burned—green like envy, flecked with gold—his queen, the joining point of so many sins. Her voice was low, her words a hymn. “Archduke of Avernus, Lord of Ambition—a god.” He shivered, kissing her—this thing, this goddess, this other half of his divine essence—drowned in the taste of her and the rush, completed…whole. Her fingers threaded through his hair, inhaling the air he breathed into her lungs. His Joi spoke against his lips. “My god.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The silence broke.

There was only noise in the aftermath—Mephistar's citadel and its halls, all full of music and laughter. Lords and Ladies from each of the Infernal Courts rotated around him, offering their praise. False praise, yes—every smile was the edge of a blade pressed to his back—but why should that matter? The devils no longer looked upon him with disdain. They stared with jealousy.

And Asmodeus offered a new title—the son of Hellfire's birthright.

"Hail, Raphael," the Dark Prince said, voice dark. He held his goblet high, dark hair hanging loose over his shoulders, handsome like roaring thunder. "Archduke of Cania, Prince of the Eighth, Lord of Ambition." Raphael sat up straight, jaw squared. A feast hall of Dukes and Duchesses, all eyes fixated upon him. Asmodeus sat at the head of the table, Lady Baalphegor on his left. And the place of honor? His. The Lord of the Nine's eyes glittered like rubies. "Hail Raphael—Right Hand of Asmodeus."

They cheered for him—hated him, this half-blooded bastard who had moved so far beyond every devil assembled. Raphael bowed his head and held up his goblet.

His Sire's throne, realm, title—everything belonged to Raphael. Mephistopheles' name would fade to nothing, and there would be only Raphael.

Blood thundered in his ears. The words rose to his tongue, heady and well-practiced. The devil might even have meant them, as magnanimous as he felt. Raphael stood, bowing his head. "Hail Asmodeus, Lord of the Ninth—the Shield of Law, a wall against the Abyss and her chaos. Without him," he flicked his gaze from the Lord to the Lady Baalphegor, beautiful, seeing too much. She tipped her head to him, hiding a smirk in her wine. "The tide would wash over us, one and all."

The corner of Asmodeus' lips ticked up. Ah, clever boy, it said.

The Lady of Murder shifted beside him, eyes dark, smiling as he took his seat. Joi slipped her hand into his, touch settling on his upper thigh. Heat radiated from her skin, through the robes, licking outwards—she squeezed.

The conversation turned towards more neutral ground: the Blood War, Raphael's plans for Cania, if he would continue his Sire's experiments—banal.

Joi's touch strayed upward.

Why should they be denied?

~~~~~~~~~~

How many centuries had he spent wandering Mephistar’s halls?

It was a tale for the poets: the cambion child, alone, his Sire’s eyes upon his every move, and pureblooded devils waiting for the slightest misstep.

He had outlasted and surpassed them, one and all. Cania and Mephistar were his, and he intended to stake his claim well and truly. He would contact the Ice Devils, and he would…

…would…

It’s difficult to think.

There’s a savagery to his divinity, worse when she’s near. The threads binding them together drew taut, as if she’d yanked them, pinned the strands beneath her heel to keep him close. Raphael tipped his head back to make room for the press of her lips and chuckled. Joi’s teeth scraped across his pulse, sucking a vibrant purple bruise on his throat, more stark against his red skin.

“They want you dead,” she murmured—but with the Lady of Murder, this was far from a warning. She radiated pride and adoration, and her touch spoke to reverence.

"It is the way of the Hells." He fisted a hand in her braid, tugging hard enough to create space between them and force her to look at him. Joi smiled, and the relative sweetness of her expression belied the underlying hunger coiled between them. He traced her cheek. "Greedy little beast—you want them to try." He nipped at the tip of her nose, avoiding the press of her lips. "Try to kill me."

"Try being the operative word, my love—I'd never let them get far."

Raphael clutched her throat, dragging his lips up and across her forehead. "Tell us why."

He knew the answer: to kill for him—to defend what belonged to her. Greedy, he thought again, but not unkindly. Joi's right hand found Raphael's—she brought it to her lips, kissing the back of his knuckles. Such a tangle of limbs, so tightly entwined but still…lacking.

Age had a way of putting carnal appetites into perspective. The satisfaction of owning or conquering flesh paled in comparison to a kingdom. It could not compare to power. The needs of another would never compare to his own.

But his Duchess was power, not a foreign entity but an extension of himself, twinned, mated.

He could want her—it was no different from pleasuring himself.

Raphael squeezed. "Answer."

"Because," she breathed. "You are mine—I protect what is mine."

~~~~~~~~~~

Mine—growled into the flesh of her inner thigh. The devil dragged his teeth across the sensitive flesh, biting hard enough to draw blood. Raphael sat back, admiring the ruin of his Duchess—sweat-slick, skin painted with an amalgamation of blood and her arousal. He dragged his thumb through the worst of it, painting ragged lines of crimson up to the apex of her thigh. She sighed, spreading her legs—beautiful. The Lady of Murder remained so lovely, fangs flecked with blood.

His blood, hers—did it matter? He thought not.

“Ah, but look at you,” he purred, voice pitched low, like every bad idea, every promise made in the darkest stretches of the night. Some sick thrill chased along his spine as he watched the muscles in her stomach flesh, her pulse leaping as he sunk his fingers back into her spent body. If he closed his eyes, the world would take some dizzying turn. His Duchess cried out, hooking her right leg around him to draw him close.

Soon, so soon, but he wanted to revel in this final indignity against his Sire. Mephistopheles’ private chambers were alive with sound—the new Duchess of Cania, voice pitched in praise to Raphael, reaching for him, worshiping him. She came apart around his touch, shuddering, arching, tail thrashing until he twined his with hers.

How delightful, how delicious to have such a creature so securely bound to his will.

Joi pushed up on her elbows, shaking, crooking a finger at him. “Come,” she ordered.

And he smirked, leaning over her, shifting his weight to rest more comfortably in the cradle of her thighs. She sighed, reaching between them to find his length, leading him—he seats himself so easily. As if she’s made for him, molded, and that gratifies his pride more than he’d care to admit. “And who are you to order me?”

They knew the answer too well, their shared divinity twisting and tugging—rapture every moment he sank into her, screaming fury every time he pulled away. Together, one, for the first time since their victory in Gehenna.

“Your Duchess, your goddess…” she sank her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, panting, whining, canting her hips to take him deeper. He should cut out her tongue for her impudence. Tear out her eyes for staring at him so sweetly. So many things, all so far off. “Beautiful Raphael—my love.”

Hers, greedy beast, the truth of her claim written in the lines scored down his back. Hers, the sentiment underpinning every heresy she breathed in his ear—their churches would grow great. They would push into the Abyss. They would remake it in their image.

They would shape eternity.

So let it be done. So decreed Raphael, Lord of the Eighth, God of Ambition, Right Hand of Asmodeus.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x dark urge #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #oc: joi #look i dunno what this is #but i did finish it #longfic

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reashot · 9 months

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To celebrate my mother day's Fic for reaching 100 likes and reblog. I can finally show y'all what the Arc kids are supposed to look like and who they are for the sequel:

https://www.tumblr.com/reashot/717409273449234432/happy-mothers-day-feat-jaunes-future-children?source=share

Dusk Belladonna

Gender:♀️

Age: 10.

Semblance: Invisibility (she can made her self invisible for few seconds.)

Weapon: N/A. (She doesn't have or want one.)

Favorite foods: Anything with fish but prefers Tuna.

Likes: Mommy, Daddy, Being alone.

Dislikes: Dogs, crowds, stranger.

Character Desc:

Dusk Belladonna is the daughter Blake and Jaune which means she is also the daughter of both human and Faunus. In her timeline Human and Faunus achieved true equality and mutual respect with one another. It was not easy and although Dusk herself does not know the sacrifice needed to achieve it, even she knows that it's something to be cherished and protected. Quiet, reserved and preferring the company of close associates. She is still expected to one day lead Menagerie and all of Faunuskind. A decision that she is also unaware of. But her parents are against it. Instead wanting her to enjoy her childhood for as long as she can before the fated day.

Scarlett Rose-Arc.

Gender: ♀️

Age: 17.

Semblance: Petal Storm. (An upgraded form of Ruby's Semblance.)

Weapon: Crescent Rose MK. 20. (A.K.A. the Geneva Violator.)

Favorite foods: Strawberry Shortcake.

Likes: Spending time with family, weapons, fighting.

Dislikes: Bully, Bugs, Rainy day.

Character Desc:

Scarlett like Ruby is both a powerful fighter and a genius weapon inventor. Her weapon is the Crescent Rose MK. 20. A Scythe, Voulge, grenade launcher, assault riffle and sniper rifle combination weapon. In practice such a weapon should not be able to work but she and Ruby managed to made it work. This essentially turns her into a one woman army. But even though she’s a formidable warrior she still not yet able to beat her older brother Vermillion in a fight. Something which annoys her.

Victor Arc (formerly a Schnee)

Gender: ♂️

Age: 20.

Semblance: Glyph. (Has been shown able to summon a small army worth of Grimm.)

Weapon: Myrtenaster,

Favorite Foods: Sushi.

Likes: Seeing her mother dead, his little sister, cute things. (In that order.)

Dislikes: His mother, Atlas, Incompetent people. (himself)

Character Desc:

Victor Schnee or now known as Victor Arc was once a former Scion of the Schnee Household. Is the son of Jaune Arc and although he hates to admit it, he is also the son of Weiss Schnee. In his timeline the world is broken in every sense of the word. In his world. War has engulfed Remnant. And the scale of destruction is beyond comprehension. Continents shattered, sea boiled over, even the very air turned against you, All courtesy of the Superweapon created by the SDC. Of course many tried to stop the war from happening and all failed, Even Jaune Schnee died trying to stop it. His dead however is proven to be the catalyst for the tragedy. After his death something broke inside of Weiss. Despaired and Enraged by her husband’s death. Weiss reorganized the Kingdom of Atlas into the Atlesian Empire and declared war on everyone. With Victor serving as her right hand man. Working under her Victor is responsible for many of the Empire’s victory and her atrocity. He himself is directly responsible for numerous warcrimes and even genocide against the Faunus. Victor is also credited for killing Ruby Rose and for capturing Blake. Back home in Atlas he was hailed as hero for this feats. It’s only until much later that he regretted his action. And came to hate his own mother so far as to wanting her dead. While she's the one that broke the world, he still blame himself for helping her doing it.

Aurum Arc

Gender: ♂️

Age: 30-40.

Semblance: Ignite. (He is able to heat up the surface of any object he touch. If you seen the hot knife video on YouTube it’s pretty much like that.)

Weapon: Prominence Flame. (A Greatsword of the big-ass variety.)

Favorite foods: Homecooked meal. (he ain’t picky.)

Likes: Justice, protecting innocents, helping people.

Dislikes: Injustice, Villain, Laziness.

Character Desc:

As the oldest of the 12 sibling, Aurum is also born the weakest among his siblings. Born prematurely many did not expect him to survive childhood. But he refused to give up. Motivated by stories of warriors of old and the story of his father. He continues pushing his limit. And to the surprise of everyone he not only survive past childhood but he actually starts growing taller and stronger compared to other children his age. So strong in fact that in the age of 15 he managed to kill a Dragon Grimm. By the age of 17 he joined the Arc Knights. And in the age 20 rose through the rank and become the youngest captain of the group. A rank that he still hold to this day. Despite his achievement however he still found himself lacking behind his father and he made a promise that he will surpass the Grandmaster, Jaune Arc himself.

Vermillion Rose-Arc.

???

Scarlett's older brother will finally make his true debut in the next fic. So till then just wait my lovely readers. You will be mildly surprised.

And if there's anything you want to ask just leave a message, I'll try to answer it as best as I can.

And do tell me which one is your favorite?

#arc kids #lancaster #dragonslayer #knightshade #whiteknight #rwby #rwby au #rwby fanfiction #rwby lancaster #rwby dragonslayer #rwby knightshade #rwby whiteknight #jaune arc future children #Jaune Arc #rwby oc

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thisbelongsto-nohbodys · 3 months

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I'm salty about The Ghost and Molly McGee's cancellation and how it's another example of networks and studios screwing over a show that didn't earn a profit despite doing next to nothing to help it earn a profit.

You got some fluffy headcanons about the show to help this poor salty soul.

Still mulling things over for post-series headcanons. I do have a few but I wanna wait till I have a good list and some designs before posting. I can give a few tho', 1 per major character.

Sharon worked through her grief of losing Scratch and created a series of wonderful art pieces which both hang in the Town Hall and in a museum in the capital.

Pete eventually manages to get a victory for Brighton over Perfektborg with an excellent redesign of the market district. While Perfektborg would win the next year, Pete was still hailed as a hero by the Brightonians.

Molly became Mayor of Brighton when she got old enough and felt she was ready to run, the previous Mayor Brunson even endorsed her run and she won easily. She has been enhappifying the town even more since for both the living and ghost citizens of Brighton

Daryl went legit...kinda. He still has some shady dealings but the other businesses he has are 100% legit (mostly thanks to Andrea's help and business know-how).

Libby became a popular author after with the encouragement of Molly, she sent in a manuscript and was published at 16. Since then she's been writing a bunch of stories of various genres (even outselling her father which brought her a bit of joy)

Andrea worked with Molly to rework her (Andrea's) life plan and it's been working great for her. The new "honest Andrea" image has been working well for her and has found it liberating not just for herself but against her family who has been trying anything to regain their empire, meanwhile Andrea has been happy separate from them

Ollie is a living therapist to the dead and has been helping ghosts with their unfinished business. While not his main job, it is the one he finds the most satisfying.

June continued her research on ghosts and now that actual ghosts are friends of her and family, she has direct test subjects. Her research was at first laughed at by "ghost experts" but after a few years of her advice was proven to work she got the respect that her parents never got.

Geoff & Jeff visited the McGees more often after Scratch left. While not the best at giving life advice, Geoff still tried to help Molly and co while growing up (Jeff, while supportive of his husband knows that he isn't the best with that stuff and would correct things)

#ask #the ghost and molly mcgee

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fantastic-nonsense · 2 months

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Hi! I was looking to see if you know of many comics with Batman's villains at the lead!? (Besides Harley and Selina, who've had multiple series and are pretty easy to find). Other than the "Joker" Novel and Penguin: Pain and prejudice, i couldn't find any. Any good suggestions for Joker, Ivy, Two-Face, or any other villian from the Batman universe?

the tldr is that Ivy has several, Two-Face has a handful, the al Ghuls have a couple, and everyone else has had a couple of single issues starring them.

In general, the Batman Arkham series functions as a Batman Rogues Gallery "Greatest Hits" collection. While most of the stories collected in these trades don't feature the rogues as a protagonist, they all explore the characters and their backstories/motivations and feature them in a starring role!

On principle, I generally refuse to recommend Joker comics. Clown man has enough stuff starring him and they're generally easy enough to find without me promoting him more than he already is. Also, to be honest with you I occasionally go out of my way to avoid stuff starring him because he's frankly bored me ever since DC decided to emphasize him as a psychopathic serial killer instead of a funny villain with a clown gimmick.

However, The Joker's Five-Way Revenge (Batman vol. 1 #251) is a fun read, Joker: The Man Who Laughs and Joker's Last Laugh are both good, and Batman: The War of Jokes and Riddles is decent as well. Another fun one that's a little out of the box is Superman: Emperor Joker.

Other than that...I generally recommend the following for Ivy:

Batman Arkham: Poison Ivy (basically an 'Ivy Greatest Hits' collection)

Batman: Poison Ivy (1997)

No Man's Land (yes, it's long. No, Ivy's not a 'lead'. yes, it's also ground zero for Ivy's redemption arc and features her in a major role)

Gotham City Sirens (2009)

Swamp Thing by Scott Snyder (specifically Vol. 2, Family Tree, and Vol. 3, Rotworld: The Green Kingdom)

Poison Ivy: Cycle of Life and Death (2016)

Poison Ivy (2021) by G. Willow Wilson (curently ongoing)

Ivy also pops up in Ram V's Catwoman (2018) run and pretty consistently in Harley's solo books after 2015.

For Two-Face (my beloved), read Batman: The Long Halloween and Batman: Dark Victory (which function as a double feature). Then read any of the following:

Batman: Faces (Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #28-30)

Batman: Two-Face (1995)

Batman Annual #14: "Eye of the Beholder"

Gotham Central, which has an extended Harvey-Renee Montoya subplot

Batman/Two-Face: "Crime and Punishment"

Batman/Two-Face: Face the Face (2006)

Two-Face: Year One (2008)

Batman and Robin (2011) 23.1: Two-Face

Detective Comics #1020-1022: “The Ugly Heart”

Two-Face: One Bad Day

And for a couple of stories that aren't Harvey-focused but feature him as a prominent antagonist...read Robin: Year One, A Lonely Place of Dying, and Batman: Prodigal.

For the al Ghuls, apart from the Batman Arkham collections you're primarily looking for Tales of the Demon, the Demon Trilogy (Birth of the Demon, Bride of the Demon, Son of the Demon), Batman: The Chalice, and Batman Annual #26 (the prologue to Resurrection of Ra's al Ghul, which is also fun). Two of Damian's Robin solos (Robin: Son of Batman (2015) and Robin (2021)) also prominently feature Talia. There are...certainly other options, if you want to read about the al Ghuls, but they're rarely well characterized in those (except Talia's LexCorp CEO arc; all hail Talia's Lexcorp CEO arc).

Clayface (the Basil Karlo version) prominently featured as a protagonist in Tynion's Detective Comics Rebirth (2016) run.

Everyone else...apart from stories where they're the prominent antagonist, there were several Villain takeover issues during the period of Batman and Robin (2011) when Damian was dead, Year of the Villain had a few issues focused on the Batman Rogues, and the One Bad Day series focuses each issue on a different Bat Rogue.

There are plenty of other stories centered on various members of Batman's Rogues Gallery, but hopefully this gives you a solid starting place!

#thanks so much for the ask! hope this is helpful #comic masterposts #dc comics #batman #batman rogues gallery #asks #bri's recs #poison ivy #two face #ra's al ghul #pamela isley #harvey dent #talia al ghul

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swearyshera · 8 months

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Slowly making my way through the inbox, here's today's big bunch!

@freedfromthegalactichivemind Snap! It's not beyond the realms of possibility, we shall see what happens with my other ideas for continuing the series.

I can write them down for you! It reads...

Following the events of the finale, life changed for everyone on Etheria.

Scorpia was officially handed her kingdom back. Upon seeing the state of it she yelled "What motherfucking thundercunt did this?!" She is still apologising.

Within a month of Prime's defeat, Perfuma held the biggest Trans Pride parade Etheria had ever seen. Prince Peekable still did not turn up. He was later found dead, but Perfuma insisted that this was not an excuse for failing to support trans people.

Frosta was finally able to return to Hell. The other demons had not changed at all during her absence and were still massive dicks. She has now made this realm her permanent home. It has more cake.

Mermista initially failed to respond to our request for comment on how her life had changed. When we reached out again, she said "It's fine, I guess, whatever." Her smile indicated things were a lot better than 'just fine'.

Sea Hawk celebrated the defeat of Prime with a series of 'victory fires'. The resulting court cases found him guilty of arson and sentenced to a total of five years in prison. Mermista officially pardoned him after a lot of convincing.

After finishing Sweary She-Ra, Entrapta was tasked with writing the SPOP movie. It has been hailed as the greatest movie of all time and received glowing reviews from all critics. It never received a release outside of Etheria.

Hordak finally achieved his dream of taking over Etheria. There is now a branch of Greggs in every town and village on the planet. He and Entrapta created a unique menu of tiny sausage rolls.

Shadow Weaver's remains were returned to Mystacor. The burial site is now a popular gender-neutral bathroom.

Double Trouble opened an acting school. They closed it a week later after realising no-one could be as good they are.

Bow used his spare time to focus on inventing more tech. His inventions have changed the everyday lives of many Etherians. The French horn alarm clock was not one of them.

Glimmer now spends her days collecting antique weapons. Though she has no need to use them, they are maintained in perfect condition... just in case.

Catra went through a fuckton of therapy at Mystacor. Things may not be perfect but she's happy. Also, Castaspella told her several embarrassing stories about Glimmer as a child. Catra has them saved up for when she really needs to piss Glimmer off.

The first thing Adora did after defeating Prime was take a well-earned rest. Well, she slept for a few hours. Well, I say slept, she lay down on the bed for a few minutes. What can I say? Adora is still Adora.

@hi-im-uur It's been my pleasure! There are a good few thousand strips to go through, so enjoy it all over again!

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rottencandyapp1es-writeblog · 4 months

Text

Millennia ago,

when the gods still walked alongside us,

the first war for the sacred golden triangles took place.

A goddess, cloaked in white, wielding her divine wisdom like a mighty sword, tasked with guarding those triangles.

A demon king, boasting of incomprehensible strength and a will stronger than steel, who desired their power.

The demon king's siege on the land of the goddess was relentless, choking the life out of each and every corner.

The goddess, her back to the wall, turned to an old friend for help...

Now this friend of the goddess was quite the accomplished warrior himself.

He was hailed for vanquishing a powerful entity that terrorized another world.

His strength of spirit unmatched, the mortals revered him as a fierce deity.

Sensing the danger of letting the demon king go on unchallenged, he agreed to help his dear friend...

One by one they traveled to the far reaches of the land, driving the demon king's army back more and more with each step.

With the demon king now backed into a corner, the three engaged in a fearsome battle.

Then the demon king, greatly weakened, was sealed away with the goddess' divine power. They had done it! They had won!

But that victory did not come without great sacrifice...

As the only one remaining, the goddess set about restoring balance to the world.

Deeply mourning the loss of her companion, the grief-stricken goddess withdrew from her people,

with a quiet vow to protect the land from the shadows....

(This blog is low-key dead so here's an old snippet I remembered I had in my phone notes.)

#legend of zelda #zelda #loz #tloz #hylia #goddess hylia #fierce deity #hylink #zelink #hylia × fierce deity #hyrule historia #legend of zelda fanfiction #zelda fanfiction #zelink fanfiction #hylink fanfiction #there was gonna be art to accompany this but I never got around to it 🤷‍♀️

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maegalkarven · 6 months

Text

Homecoming

The third part of the Empty Prayers AU.

They are home, but Baldur's Gate is nothing Wyll remembers it to be.

Characters: Wyll Ravengard, Shadowheart, Enver Gortash, Nemo (Durge), Jaheira, Karlach, Astarion.

Dark Urge x Gortash.

Wyll's POV.

The city is quiet.

It’s the first thing Wyll notices, how quiet Baldur’s Gate is, almost unnaturally so.

This is not how it should be, not how Wyll remembers his city.

The streets should buzz with the sound; even at night there should be the echo of steps, someone having a brawl in the nearest inn, some criminal individual skidding about, some poor soul retching in the ditch. There should be a low, unmistakable hum of the city being alive. Baldur’s Gate, city of many, city of all. Criminals and respectful citizens side by side, the most beautiful gardens of the Upper City and the foulest smell of the sewers.

The Gate.

This not how Wyll imagined his return.

In his dreams, the deepest, most sacred of them, so secured even Mizora couldn’t get a grip on, he saw himself a hero returning home; with victory, with salvation.

Wyll saw his father pardoning him, embracing, hailing a true hero of Baldur’s Gate. He saw himself standing tall and proud in front of the patriarchs of the city and not being ashamed of who he was.

Sneaking into the city like thieves in the night was not in his dreams.

His father, exhausted, strained by the knowledge of things passed and things yet to come, was not in his dreams.

Fighting the losing battle against the Elder Brain crowned with Karsus’ infamous creation was not in them.

Allying himself with the men personally crowning said brain was...was unimaginable, really.

And yet working alongside the two former cult leaders is the best chance they have. Wyll has spend endless hours in conversations with his father about this; appealing to his sense of duty, his responsibilities to the city, his honor.

Wyll knows both Gortash and Nemo are awful people. He has met his fair share of the scum and recognizes it when he sees it. If things were different, if both of the men have not fallen from grace, then... Then they would be the enemy, and of the worst, foul kind. The clever, sophisticated kind of the enemy who knows they do wrong, but can’t seem to particularly care.

Wyll still isn’t sure how much they can actually rely on Enver Gortash, not to mention trust him. He rather agrees with Karlach’s assessment what trusting the man would be a fool’s play. But urgent need for survival pulls together and turns into allies even the strangest types of men.

And not all villains had the choice to begin with.

Wyll knows Nemo is convinced he is a being of pure evil, the Murder Incarnate, the Worst of them all. He also knows Nemo doesn’t feel slighted by that, it is his destiny, after all. It is what he was made for.

Made.

Not even born, Bhaal could not allow him even that small slither of grace. No, his friend was literally sculpted from the dead flesh of the dead god. Then, if Nemo’s recollecting is to be trusted, he was entrusted into the care of no one but Sarevok Anchev, who then proceeded to raise a boy as the true heir to their Father’s bloody legacy.

Wyll shudders at the way Nemo casually recounts his past, how he brushes over the awful details with practiced ease of someone who doesn’t see anything wrong in that.

And how could he? Who was there to explain to him that what his Father and then his brother did to him was awful? Who was there to tell the child, beaten bloody, what this ‘training’ Sarevok put him through was not humane? It was ruthless, it was unkind, and it was brought on a but a babe.

"The pureblood child of the Bhaal should be perfect," he remembers Nemo commenting, not understanding the level of horror Wyll felt, not seeing why would he even be horrified by that. "It should be stripped of any weakness, any chains society would gladly press on it. All Bhaal’s child is – His vessel, His hand, the blade striking in His name. It doesn’t have the personality, better yet no will of its own. It is Father born anew. It is His second coming. It is the maw what will devour the world."

How Nemo turned up being as sane as he is now is a mystery, all things considered. He was destined to be nothing.

Wyll will gladly help his friend to break out of this bloody destiny.

Which leads his thought to the unkind revelation to why the said child of Bhaal even started to break out of his fate. Or because of whom.

Nemo is almost sewn to the failed tyrant’s side these days; the dark shadow behind Gortash’s frame, hushed whisper into his ear, steady hand on the man’s forearm.

Wyll would think it to be suffocating if not for the way Gortash stands straighter at the touch, looks surer of himself, smugger, more unbearable.

They bring the worst into each other. They keep each other afloat.

Wyll remembers the first several days after the Moonrise Towers. He remembers Nemo disappearing into Gortash’s tent every night, emerging in the morning with the image of tiredness stitched up his face. Gortash didn’t look any better, the signs of exhaustion lying low in the dark shadows under his eyes, in the crease of his mouth, in the wrinkles on his forehead. Somehow everyone knew nothing lewd was taking place, what the two failed chosen simply guarded each other against the world.

As if the world was the enemy.

As if traveling with them has not shown Nemo what the world is a much kinder place than what he was taught to believe. As if they were not allies, were not friends.

Wyll knows the revelation of Nemo’s true identity, of his past had to cost him greatly. He remembers this confession as if it was yesterday.

***

He remembers Nemo’s fists opening and closing, helpless in the painful need to strike at someone. He remembers the half-elf taking his shirt off – for the first time showing them his naked chest – and he remembers the awful, stark revelation it brought.

The scars like those do not appear out of nowhere. The scars like those are left on the bodies forgone autopsy. Dead bodies.

And yet these scars bite into Nemo’s skin even now.

“I...I don’t remember who she was,” the bhaalspawn murmured then, voice low and dark. “But I remember her face and I’m sure I’d recognize her if we were to meet again. I am convinced she is a myrkulite and what she is somewhere in these Towers.”

“That’s not all,” he interrupted then Wyll opened his mouth to say something, maybe offer comfort, as futile as that attempt would be. “She was not the one to put tadpole into my brain. That was my sister.”

“Your sister?” Gale’s voice raised the octave. “Why would she do that?”

A smirk, a dark shadow of a smile, lips baring white teeth in a grimace what looks strained, forced upon.

“Because our father told her to,” a pause. “Our Father, Lord Bhaal.”

It quickly fell into dreadful silence then, no one knowing what to say, no one knowing what to believe in.

Wyll personally hadn't felt betrayed, shocked, yes, but not wronged.

He understood the heavy weight of a dark secret; he had one. Wyll has lived for seven long years with his lips sealed.

But Wyll would understand if the others would have different reaction. If anything, Nemo seemed to expect it.

Nemo tried to continue with the confession.

Yes, he was a bhaalspawn, but the kind of which no one saw before. He was a pure Bhaalspawn. There’s not a drop of mortal blood in him, not a drop of essence what is not of his father’s. He wasn’t born. He was made. And for the last thirty years he was the leader of the Church of Bhaal.

Thirty years. That gave Wyll a pause, and it seemed he wasn’t the only one.

“How old are you exactly?” Astarion, the resident old-timer of their ragtag bunch of misfits, inquired.

“Fifty,” came out an easy response. “I became the leader my Father wanted me to be at the ripe age of nineteen. It’s been an endless road of improvement since then, until...” A wild gesture around.

“I...I did not fail, you have to understand. I do not fail. It’s just...Father does not tolerate a straying thought. For the last thirty years I was careful with what I do and how I do it, careful to not bring his wrath on me. I was...probably the unconventional leader, I admit, but everything I did made the Church grow bigger, stronger, better. Everything but-“ he looked down. “I am not supposed to care, you see? About anything or anyone. I should only think of murder, of blood, of my Father’s goal.”

“But you care,” Karlach looked pained as she stepped forward. Carefully, as if approaching a wild beast, but surely still. “You care about us. I know, even if you try to downplay it. You care about things.”

Nemo took a shaky step back.

“I know,” came sounding worse the admittance than of his bloody legacy. How admitting you care could be worse than that? “But do you know when I started to care? Or when I realized I do, in fact, care?”

“When?”

“You will hate the next part.”

“I already hate every part of what you’ve said,” she let out a pained laugh. “How worse can it be?”

The bhaalspawn smiled the kind of smile what promised more disaster to come.

“Nine years ago,” he let out. “I was approached by the man named Enver Gortash. He had,” a movement to intercept whatever Karlach was about to say. “He had information about the Hall of Wonders,” a glance to Wyll. “You probably know of that, the disgraceful display of my brothers and sisters, put upon view like trophies. Well, I didn’t like that. And Gortash, he...offered the way in. A help, in kind.”

“Trust me when I say he would never offer any help just for the sake of it,” Karlach seethed. “He wanted something-“

“And he got it. That and more,” Nemo looked as if he was forcing himself to stay still, burning under the piercing stare of the Fury of Avernus. “We became allies. Did all sort of thing, the two of us. Planned, schemed. Broke into Methistar,” a proud little grin. “Stole the crown of Karsus.”

“You stole what?!” Gale, clearly familiar with the thing.

“-And put it on the Elder Brain,” oh fuck, Wyll didn’t like there it was leading. “Used the netherstones from the crown to control it. Started our own world domination plan.”

“And then your sister stabbed you.”

“And then my sister stabbed me. Because my father told her to. Because I started to care.”

“For what?” Karlach was hardly seen through the flames wrapping around her in waves. “For who?”

“We were perfect together,” Nemo stared straight ahead. “We were indestructible. We were meant to rule the world as the gods of new age. We were-“

“The name,” Karlach seethed. “I don’t want bloody details; just prove my worst fucking fears. Tell me the name.”

Nemo looked away. It was, perhaps, the first time he was admitting it aloud, or even at all.

The Pure Bhaalspawn was not supposed to care for the others.

“I didn’t want to kill Enver Gortash,” he let out, small and pained and weak. “I do not want to kill Enver Gortash. He is the only one...” he trailed off.

“Anyway, this is my crime, the one my Father punished me for. I care for the banite. I care. I fucking care, and I’m not supposed to. And he,” a quick glance at the Moonrise Towers on the horizon. “Is somewhere in these fucking towers.”

***

He did not have to kill the man, and Karlach didn’t get to kill him, because in the feat of reckless abandonment Lord Enver Gortash did something no one expected him to be capable of.

He saved Nemo’s life.

He ruined his own plans.

And everything changed.

Everything changed, and now they sneak across the streets, the wraiths in the night, criminals in their own city.

There’s a curfew, Wyll finds out. There was never a curfew.

Also there’s a siege on the city, brought by the forces of the army Ketheric Thorm has build and Absolute now uses.

There are posters on the streets claiming they’re enemies of the state. Wyll, his father, Nemo and Gortash. Four of their faces, painted in the likeness, printed out and put around the city Wyll calls his own.

And Florrick did it.

No, he shakes his head, Not Florrick, the Elder Brain what controls her, the tadpole what’s buried deep into her brain. Florrick would never do that, but she is locked somewhere deep in her own mind, behind the intricate web of psionic power Absolute possesses.

The Steel Watch is at her heed, used against their own creator, used by the Brain the same way it uses Florrick, the same way it uses Orin, the same way it uses anyone who doesn’t have the luxury of the astral prism and an unlikely illithid ally protecting them from within.

A mindflayer named Emperor, the one who seems to have some kind of a bad history with Gortash. If this is not the cherry on top of the overall disaster of their lives.

The world Wyll has known is burning around him as he watches, and the only hope of even getting out of this mess is the help of the criminal underworld of the Gates; the Ninefingers’ guild, the assassins Nemo claims would stay loyal to him, and Enver Gortash’s questionable contacts.

Somewhere in the city there’s a diabolist who will help them break into Hell, and at that point Wyll doesn’t even ask. He doesn’t trust Emperor, and Lae’zel demands Prince Orpheus to be released, so what choice do they truly have?

Somewhere in the city there’s a vampire lord planning to sacrifice seven thousand souls for his own selfish gain.

Somewhere in the city there’s a cult of Shar, hidden in the plain view.

Somewhere underground there’s a Temple of Bhaal, its torches alight, the screams of victims echoing in the halls.

Somewhere in the city where are refugees who managed to flood into the streets at the moment of confusion; somewhere in the streets there are Mol and Umi and the others, there are those of tiefling refugees who managed to survive against all odds.

Somewhere in this city where’s hope, and Wyll will be damned if he does not find it.

***

“Home sweet home,” Nemo smirks as they approach the building on the poor side of town. It seems to be the shoemaker’s shop, a small and unassuming building with the words ‘Flymm's Cobblers’ scratched on the plate near the front. “Didn’t expect this would be first place you’d want to visit.”

“Be quiet,” Gortash snaps back, more tense than Wyll would expect him to be. They are indeed a strange and suspicious group of adventures, with three of their faces put on every wall of the city with the world “reward” underneath. “We’re coming in, I’m taking what’s mine and we leave.”

“So no family reunion then?”

Gortash does not answer, instead working on the lock. Shadowheart looks around just in case, but the streets are empty, quiet. Abandoned.

“This curfew works in our favor,” she comments.

“This curfew is wrong,” Wyll argues.

“Would you two be quiet for a mere fucking moment?” the former lord hisses. “I am trying to do something here.”

“He is breaking into his own home,” Nemo comments helpfully.

“This is not my home and you know it.”

“And yet you still keep things here.”

“No one would think of looking here. Look at this place,” the man manages gesture around without breaking the hold on the lock. “Look at this excuse of a shop. I’m surprised they’re not run down by the debt collectors at the rate they’re going.”

“Wait a moment,” Shadowheart speaks. "You know these people?”

“They’re his-“

“They’re no one.”

The two of the gods’ chosen stare each other down. Nemo is the first to look away.

“Be it your way,” he murmurs. “But I think it’s dumb.”

“You think table manners are dumb.”

“Because they are!”

“Quiet,” Gortash hisses and pushes on the lockpick with the force the poor thing does not deserve. Somehow it works and the lock opens with a soft click. “Inside.”

“Who made you the boss?”

“Nemo, for the fuck’s sake, just once in your goddamn life-“

Shadowheart pushes them all inside and closes the door behind.

“There,” she comments plainly. “That’s better.”

The inside of the store is...quite insignificant, in lack of other, kinder words. The room to the storefront is small, ill-kept and rather unwelcoming. There are pairs of cheap shoes on display behind the counter; not badly-made, but not masterfully either.

Just a little poorly-maintained store in the Lower City, one of the many.

What Enver Gortash is doing here is a question. Nemo called it Gortash's home, but Nemo talks people in circles. His words should be put under scrutiny more often than not.

"Keep watch," the lord barks a command, already climbing the steps, and some part of Wyll wishes to whip the arrogant order off his lips, to remind him he is a lord no more. His fingers tingle with magic, Mizora's gift always ready to draw first blood.

That makes him pause.

Wyll is not that kind of a man and Enver Gortash will not turn him into one.

He resolves to respond with silence, locking gazes with visibly annoyed Shadowheart.

"I fail to see how Nemo finds it charming," she comments, observing the room around them, poorly lit up with the waning moon. "But again, he was raised in a cult."

You were raised in a cult, Wyll almost says, but manages to bit his tongue just in time. This is a dangerous topic.

"And so was I, I suppose," she continues, oblivious to his inner turmoil. "It's funny, I'd never thought Bhaal and Shar would be so alike; in their methods, if nothing else."

"All things evil tend to walk the same path," he offers tentatively, listening closely to the surroundings. So far things seem to be going smoothly. There's not a sound around, not as much as a creak of the stairs. The rooms above are silent, obvious to the intruders no doubt ravaging through things.

An echo of steps appears in the distance, and they crouch by the windows, peeking outside. A single steel watcher walks by, its steps mechanical and devoid of any life. A monstrosity of infernal iron, connected to the tadpole somewhere deep in the Foundry. Gortash told them that much after it became clear the Watchers are no longer his to command.

How they're going to defeat the Elder Brain in possession of one of netherstones is a mystery clouded in a failure.

"Look," Shadowheart murmurs, touching his shoulder. "Near the counter. Isn't that Gortash?"

And indeed it is him, or rather a very well-made portrait of him. It looks expensive and entirely out of place in the poor cobbler's store.

"That's weird," Wyll comments. "Should we investigate this place while our companions are busy?"

Shadowheart makes a face.

"I don't want to think what is it exactly they're busy with," she wrinkles her pretty nose. "Everything concerning these two is bad news."

Wyll can't not agree with that.

They swiftly move to get closer to the portrait, but before they reach it, the small door behind the corner creaks open.

They freeze.

"Who is here?" A shrill voice of an older woman demands and then the woman herself appears, dressed in a cheap nightgown with a shawl draping over her shoulders. "Who is it who dares to break into my house?"

There's something familiar in the crook of her nose, in the shape of her eyes; but Wyll can't for the life of his figure out what.

"Wyll," Shadowheart whispers, suddenly tense. "Can you feel it? This woman, she is..."

Wyll closes his eyes and concentrates on his surroundings, and indeed he can. The pull, not unlike the ones he has felt before, in the presence of so called True Souls.

"She has a tadpole," he whispers back. They could just...navigate conversation though their unusual link granted by tadpoles in their heads, but neither Wyll not Shadowheart like doing that. They have been stripped of personal space for long enough, he thinks, no need to break that little what remains of the inner walls.

"She does," Shadowheart agrees. "And it almost like...Like something fights it, tries to push the worm away, but to no avail."

"Her real mind perhaps, part of it not controlled by the tadpole?"

"Perhaps," she agrees. "I will try to reach out to it."

And, before he manages to stop her, she does.

The revelation it brings them both is worse than they could have expected.

***

Wyll pulls back at the sound of the steps above, interrupting the woman's inner pleas.

His mother. This woman, Sally Flymm, is Enver Gortash’s mother.

Worse, she sold her son - the spiteful ungrateful brat as she called him - to a warlock.

Worst of all, the tadpole in her brain is her son's doing.

The loud voice of said son interrupts his line of thoughts.

"We need to go," Gortash tells someone, irritation clear in his voice. "Let go of my forearm, if you may."

"But my boy," a man's voice replies. "You only just returned home, surely you will stay-"

"This is not my home," the lord cuts off sharply. "And I'm not staying. Come on," he nods at Wyll. "I have all we need, there's no reason to stay in this wretched place any longer."

"Enver," Sally Flymm, or rather the tadpole operating her body, speaks. "You won't rob us of your presence so quickly, will you? Please, I beg of you, at least stay for a tea. I can make some sweet to go by. Not a feast worthy of archduke, but-"

"No," he cuts off. Wyll can't help but notice the tension in his shoulders, the sharp edge in his voice. Enver Gortash has orchestrated this concerto, yet hates to participate.

For the first time since ever Wyll can't fault him for that. His father has his flaws and he did banish Wyll from his home - for a good reason -, but Ulder Ravengard would never do something like the cruel deed of the Flymms.

Nemo trails behind his companion, quiet for a change, eyes shrewd and thoughtful. Wyll knows Nemo is a noisy person and he bets the bhaalspawn reached for the man's mind the same way Shadowheart reached for Sally's. He wonders what Nemo found there.

They leave as quickly as they came, and just as quietly. The portrait on the wall doesn't leave Wyll's mind. It's expensive and well-made presence clashes with the environment, making him suspect how the portrait appeared there in the first place.

They sold him into slavery, he thinks, and his heart aches for the little boy Enver Flymm used to be. And in return he locked them inside their minds and made repeat the words of admiration.

Somehow it rings even worse than if Gortash had simply killed them. Somehow it tells more of the deep unhealed wound on the tyrant's soul.

It sure as hell does not excuse a thing, but at least gives some explanations to why.

"So," Nemo starts as they almost reach their hideout. Renting rooms in Elfsong was out of question, that with sparse recourses they have and being haunted by the law. By Elder Brain using the law for a tool, Wyll mentally corrects himself. So abandoned house close to the docks was pretty much their only option. That or the sewers, and Wyll really didn't want to camp in there. "Nice place. I like what you did to it."

There's an undeniable undertone to his words Gortash catches on almost immediately. He whips his head to the spawn, staring him down. Nemo only smiles languidly, clearly pleased with- himself? Situation they found themselves in? What Enver Gortash did to his parents?

The last one, Wyll decides. It would be the kind of thing Nemo appreciates.

Nemo seems to have a personal vendetta against parents all around the world, an echo of his existence as a child of a cruel god.

After a moment of scrutinizing inspection in which Gortash stared into Nemo's face as if looking for a trick and Nemo stared right back, relaxed under such pressing attention, the lord's posture slightly eases.

"Thank you," he lets out, turning away. "I knew you would get it."

There's strange, ominous kind of silence that falls between them.

Wyll can feel Nemo's mind buzz with elation and dark satisfaction. Not only he approves of Gortash's treatment of his parents, but the mere fact of said treatment makes him...not exactly happy, but cheerful, like a child who got the candy.

Wyll once again grieves for a boy Nemo never was, for a life created for a single, awful purpose.

He swears to break the chains tying his friend to the god of Murder.

***

"You need to break out of Bhaal's hold," Shadowheart states as they close the door to their hideout, Gortash quick to leave them behind and stroll for the room he claimed as his. Nemo turns around, curious.

"I do not exactly disagree with that statement," he hums. "But why bring it now?"

The woman reaches out, raising her hand, then letting it drop before it touches the spawn.

"It's just a thought I had," she replies, visibly closing off. Wyll sighs and wraps his arms each around one of his companions, feeling them both tense.

Children of the cults, playthings of the evil gods.

He will not leave them to it.

"Because you owe nothing to the evil who claims to be your god," he replies instead.

Nemo snorts.

"I'm pretty sure I owe him my own existence. Made of the god's flesh, remember?"

"Did you ask to be made?" that shuts the half-elf down. "That's what I thought. No child should bear the weight of their parent's expectations the way you do, not even a child of a god."

"Especially not a child of a god," Shadowheart chimes in. "And...I just had a curious thought. Parents sure are the first gods we ever worship, aren't they?"

Wyll contemplates it for a moment, but has to agree. Once upon a time Ulder Ravengard was his everything: his father, his hero, the symbol of everything Wyll strived to be.

Now he is but a tired warrior in a fight bigger than his life. Now he looks mortal.

This, Wyll thinks, is what growing up feels like.

"Are we going to address what we saw in that shop?" He asks quietly and is sure his friends understand the meaning.

"Depends," Nemo hums. "Do you want to get a bolt in the lungs? Kidney if you're lucky."

Shadowheart laughs, quietly as if she isn't sure she is allowed to.

Wyll wonders how hard it is to kill a goddess; Shar has it coming anyway, after the Shadow curse and all the grief it brought.

"I'll pass," he comments instead, hugging his friends closer.

"Oh, a group hug," Astarion's voice reaches them before the vampire does. "Why are you having a group hug without us?"

"Because they're evil," Karlach comments. "Very evil. No fun. No hugs for me either, it seems. Despite, you know, me being the best hugger in the world."

Shadowheart laughs again, brighter this time, her cheeks warm. Wyll doesn't miss the way cleric brightens up in the presence of their fiery friend.

"That's true," Nemo comments, snaking out of Wyll's embrace. "I indeed am the worst person you'll ever meet. Now, if you excuse me, my evil deeds await," and he goes for the stairs, slightly wary around Karlach as he passes her by.

Wyll hates it, he hates the tension what has grown out between them ever since Nemo's confession and even more - after Gortash unexpectedly joining in. It's like they're drawing lines in the sand, with Nemo being steadily on one side with Gortash, and them - on the other.

He had thought they have built alliances, what they've grown closer, became friends, but the blunt way Nemo keeps choosing tyrant over them puts it in question.

Astarion seems to gravitate to where Nemo is, almost subconsciously, Wyll isn't even sure the spawn knows he does it.

Gale is staying aside for now, not willing to pick a side and not ready to condemn anyone.

Jaheira, surprisingly, is much warmer to Nemo than anyone would expect her to be.

It has to be the way Nemo denies his father; the way the struggle is clear on his face as Lord Bhaal calls for his wayward son; the way half-elf demands answers for how to defeat him from the harper: "How did Abdel Adrian did it? How did he free himself from the Dread Lord's bloody hold? How, how, how? Help me defy him, help me deny him. He will not have me, I am his puppet no more."

Halsin stays on some distance from Nemo, taking a stance similar to Gale's. He doesn't exactly like Nemo, that much is clear, but he also cannot deny his part of breaking the Shadow curse. Why Nemo even helped with that is a question Wyll still battles with. He hopes it is because, despite everything, there is a part of his friend that seeks light, what wishes to do good. What it's not just the lack of former power what makes Nemo form alliances and rescue refugees. Wyll believes there's goodness in him.

He hopes he isn't wrong.

He also hopes he won't have to fight Nemo, what he will not cross the line, does not breach the point of no return.

There's an awful thought what the point of no return has been crossed long before that. Fifty years of servitude to Bhaal is a long time. A long reign of blood and terror.

"What deeds?" Karlach calls out, almost grasping Nemo by the wrist, the man dancing out of the touch at the last moment.

"I already said: evil."

"Nemo."

Nemo sighs.

"Fine, fine, I'll answer," he became less cooperative since Gortash. A lot of things changed for worse since that. "I want to try and track assassins operating through the city. Some of them should've kept their brains in their heads and know what's good for them."

"And what's good for them?" Wyll isn't sure he likes where it's going.

"Me, obviously. Not my dreadful father and definitely not Orin, tadpoled or not."

"We need to find Minsc before you decide to deal with your family business," Jaheira interferes, appearing as if out of the thin air.

"I know," half-elf nods. "I have already contacted some of Ninefingers' run-arounds. I believe we will be allowed to enter her little den, but can't promise she will cooperate."

Jaheira's eyebrows climb up.

"You two know each other?"

"We do," Nemo sighs. "We had a truce of sorts after our organizations clashed badly. Same sewers, you know. People would run into each other sooner or later."

"I find it hard to believe she would agree to a truce so easily."

"I didn't say it was easy. It was a pain in the ass, actually. And I'm pretty sure the truce doesn't stand anymore, Orin would ruin all my hard work the moment she had the chance."

"I can't believe you've been a cult leader for thirty years," Karlach comments. "What did you even do? No, don't say it, I know, e-"

"Evil things," Nemo replies, a shit-eating grin pulling the corners of his lips up.

Karlach sighs loudly and rather dramatically.

"There is more in the world than evil things, you know?"

"Hm," Nemo hums. "Let me think about it. I'm sure I've heard something about things other than evil, but can't exactly point out to where..."

"Alright, smartass, I give up."

"Already?" Another sharp smile. "That was-" words die on his lips out of sudden, along with the smile. It slides off as if poorly drawn picture being washed away. His muscles tense, a telltale of the pain to come.

Shit. Not again, not so soon.

"Nemo?" Karlach tries warily.

"Get the fucking chains," Nemo manages to croak. "I- his face contorts in a painful spasm. "-hate this par-" he chocks on his words, biting into his own tongue. A thin trail of blood appears on his chin.

"Hold on, darling," Astarion seems to be that particular kind of fool who does not fear Nemo even when he should be. Even then it's the sane thing to do. Instead he steps closer, hands reaching to Nemo's.

"No!" He bhaalspawn gasps. "Chains-"

Karlach rushes back into the room, and when did she leave? She drops a long chain over Nemo's shoulders and starts fixing the locks.

"I hate everything about it," Wyll comments as his hands already move to cast the spell. He does hate every part of it.

"Shh," Astarion, almost obvious to the ruckus around, cups Nemo's cheeks in his palms. "I got you."

"Get away from me," Nemo tries to order, his voice breaking into a roar at the end. "Astarion, please, just get away-" his body convulses as power beyond man's control takes a hold, breaking bones and tendrils alike. It never goes the full way, the transformation Bhaal inflicts on his son, but it's no less horrifying for that.

"What's up with you lot this time?" Gortash descends the steps in a hurried annoyance, brought back by the noise. He freezes midway at the sight. "Again? The last time was just-"

"Father doesn't exactly care for the timing," it has to be a sheer need to have the last word what pushes words through Nemo's lungs. He chocks on the air then, trashing in the chains holding him down. Shadowheart joins her spell to Wyll's, amplifying it, as Jaheira's vine creeps about the spawns body, locking it in it's hold.

There's not a shadow of a smug expression on Gortash's face. Instead there's a look of someone staring straight into the abyss and not being able to look away.

"Stop-" Nemo croaks. "Staring...Creep."

Astarion laughs, a shrill and pained sound it is.

"You have an awful taste in men," he comments, smoothing the creases on the bhaalspawn’s shirt.

"Astarion, get out of there," Jaheira commands. "He isn't safe to be around now."

"I know that," the spawn huffs in annoyance. And yet he moves nowhere, a hand circling in smooth motion over Nemo's heart now. Nemo tries to claw at him, but the vines and the chains hold him down. Then he snaps his teeth dangerously close to Astarion's face.

"Well, now," the elf comments, entirely unbothered. "We ask before we bite."

"Since...then?"

"Since we learned we're more than just rabid beasts driven by hunger. Now," Astarion glances back at Shadowheart already casting the spell. "Rest, darling."

The sleeping spell hits Nemo in the head and gets to work immediately. The bhaalspawn struggles, before succumbing to it and sliding to the floor in a heap of limbs.

Everyone breathes out.

"Well, then," Wyll concludes. "It's another night of watching over our friend. Who takes the first shift?"

#bg3 #gortash x durge #durgetash #dark urge: nemo #empty prayers au #hinted astarion x durge #a lot of thinking and reminiscing on Wyll's part. idk if I managed to capture his character but I Tried #i keep feeling this is very ooc but also do i care?#au: everything went differently after the Moonrise Towers #au: dark urge remembers everything #the mental gymnastics I have to perform in order to make Nemo the scum he is and also keep him friends with the team is...uh #A Lot #Unbetad unproofread idc #tadpole got to me #1000 voices in my head tell me I forgot how to write #1001 voice asks: of but who gives a fuck?#not the 1001th voice clearly

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