#i think that's why she squirms away from him her witch instincts are shrieking

[amor-immortalem]

Everything Undesired chapter 4

Chapter 3

Warning: mention of torture? Light victim blaming, Lucifer, Satan, and Beel commit murder.

“I see,” Diavolo had a contemplative look on his face. The demon lord, often seen with a jovial, bright smile plastered upon his face, now had replaced it with a more serious look as Lucifer explained just what had happened to his brother. “And you’re positive this is what happened to Mammon?”

“Asmo is certain enough that he would stake his title as Avatar of Lust on it.” Satan spoke up.

“I see, if that’s the case then I will permit you up to the human world to pay these women a visit. Make sure they suffer, all three of you.” The warmth in his voice, his eyes, now replaced with a cold tone and a wrathful look, absolutely enraged that a demon not just under his rule, but in his cabinet no less had been assaulted in this manner. He may have failed in protecting the Avatar of Greed from this but he would see to it that a crime this grave never happened again to one of his subjects. “I’d would go in your stead to deal with them myself, but I will stay behind and work to pass legislation to ban the making of pacts freely. This will not happen again; I swear it on my life and my throne.”

And with Diavolo’s permission the three Avatars were off, out for blood for the travesty that befell their brother. Once they were gone, Diavolo turned to his butler.

“Barbatos, did you foresee this at all? Was there not anything we could have done differently to prevent this?” For as angry as he is, the demon lord feels a certain sense of guilt for what happened to the white-haired demon. What kind of ruler cannot protect one of his subjects from something so heinous?

“In another reality, yes.” He nodded, “But never in this one specifically, my Lord.”

“What happens next?”

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The three Avatars stand outside the residence of the witches. Lucifer is the first to step forward, demon form manifesting from the wrath coursing through his being. The aura he emits is suffocating to all around him. A knock on the door is all the courtesy he plans to give them tonight.

When the door opens, there is a collective gasp.

“L-Lord Lucifer,” One of the sisters steps back as the three demons barge their way inside the building. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit from not only you, but your younger brothers as well?”

“Do not. DO NOT ACT AS IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO OUR BROTHER!” Satan roars, his demon for making its appearance. He’s ready to go on the attack however it’s Lucifer that stops him with a simple wave of the hand.

“We know everything you’ve done.” The eldest’s voice is cold, gaze calculated. “You’ve not only laid a hand on one of my brothers, but my favorite one at that. That in and of itself is enough to warrant your deaths, but to cause him such suffering will ensure they are not quick.

With another wave of his hand, the Avatar of Pride bound the three women before letting his brothers have a go at the other two. The eldest was his.

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Asmo took a step into his brother’s room and was devastated to see the look on his brother’s face. He looked so broken; his cheeks soaked with tears as Asmo heard Arella speaking.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re not strong enough for it. I’m sure there are alternatives we could find if you can’t. Just remember, you’re not alone in this. We all will help you if you decide to go through with this.”

The demon’s curiosity was piqued. Just what we’re they talking about?

“’Rella, I can’t ask that of any of you. This is my punishment for bein’ so powerless.”

Asmodeus cleared his throat to gain her their attention.

“What are you two talking about? Did something else happen?”

Arella only picked up the phone and handed it to him. What he saw was enough to pull a gasp from the demon. It made him sick.

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As soon as it had begun, the torture was over. None of the three brothers had even broken a sweat at this point. The witches hadn’t even lasted that long. Blood and viscera coat the floor, bones stick out from odd places, one has pieces missing from her body here and there- bite marks and missing flesh, even a missing arm- all courtesy of the Avatar of Gluttony.

“Beel, are you hungry or has anger tided your hunger?”

“I'm famished,” The Avatar of Gluttony confirmed.

“Go ahead and dispose of their bodies then. Make sure no trace of them remains.” The Avatar of Pride nods to his younger brother.

It was then that they heard it- the screaming cry of a frightened baby. The sound was easy to miss over the shrieking and wailing- the pleas for mercy that would never come. One by one, their heads turned to the sound just upstairs as they all came to terms with the fact that a child had been born from this travesty.

Satan was the first to move as he climbed the stairs. Just off to the right was a tiny nursery and lying in the crib, he found the child. All of his instincts were screaming at him to do away with the infant. He almost did had it not been for Lucifer’s hand placed on his shoulder. They were soon joined by Beel as all three of them peered down at the tiny child below them.

“What do we do?” Beel asked.

“Do we take them with us? Or do we leave them to the proverbial wolves?”

Both brothers looked to the eldest, demanding an answer. For the first time, the Avatar of Pride doesn’t have the answer. Does he take the life of an innocent child or does he subject his brother to a lifetime of suffering? It's an impossible decision to make where either party ultimately loses in the end.

Lucifer reaches down and takes the infant into his arms, a pained look on his face as he scrutinizes the infant’s appearance. Suddenly, he’s flashing back to his time as an angel, back to the first time he ever held Mammon in his arms. The child is an exact carbon copy of their father, no apparent features from his mother or her sisters, this was the best case scenario, but the little one looks sickly- likely due to the lack of demonic influence that would have been received from their father had he been present during the pregnancy.

Finally, after remaining silent for what felt like eternity Lucifer spoke up. “The child doesn’t look long from this world. We’ll wait for morning. If they survive the night, we’ll take them with us- let Mammon decide what to do with them.”

The other two nodded as Beel went back downstairs to finish the meal he had started.

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“You don’t have to take him, Mammon.” Asmo kept staring at the photo on his brother’s D.D.D. as he spoke.

“He has no one else, Asmo,” The white-haired demon frowns. “I can’t just leave him to die and it’s not like I can just give ‘im away either. As much as I hate it, he’s the heir to everything I am- the next Avatar of Greed, the next ruler of the fourth layer. It’ll be hard at first, but I’ll force myself to look past what happened to me. This isn’t his fault, so why punish him for the crimes of his mother and her sisters? He’s innocent in all this.”

“Even now,” the Avatar of Lust chuckled sadly, “after all these years, you still have the heart of an angel, don’t you? You aren’t thinking about what this will do to you, are you? He’ll be a constant reminder of your trauma. Is that really fair to you?”

“It isn't, but when has life ever been fair? If life was fair, we wouldn’t ’ve lost Lilith- wouldn't ‘ve fallen from the Celestial Realm.” He wiped at his eyes.

“No. It’s not, but I still think this is a bad idea for you. None of us will stop you if this is what you want to do but you shouldn’t do it just out a sense of obligation.” Asmo placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You should only keep him if you want to.”

At the look of resignation on Mammon’s face, Arella placed a hand on his back. “We’re here if you need us. If it gets to be too much, I can help care for him, okay?” She echoes the words she had said previously.

“Babe, you don’t-”

“I know I don’t, but I want to.” She smiled softly. “We’re in this together. All of us.” She looked to the strawberry blonde demon as he nodded in agreement.

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Satan sat in the rocking chair next to the crib while Lucifer was on the phone notifying Diavolo of the situation as well as speaking to Arella in regards to the baby. He studied his nephew, wondering just what might happen to the little boy. Over the hours since finding him here, the tiny half-demon seemed to be getting stronger- likely from just being in the presence of his brothers and him. It was apparent that the child would be coming with them. He wondered what his brother’s reaction would be to the infant. Demons were known to kill unwanted offspring out of panic.

It was the circle of life, the blonde supposed. Not what the child deserved, but if it led to that, there was really nothing anyone could do. He was drawn from his thoughts as quiet chirps sounded from the boy. He watched as the infant brought his little hand to his mouth and he started squirming in the mass of blankets he was swaddled in.

The Avatar of Wrath looked around for a bottle or really anything that could be a source of nourishment. Of course, the newborn would get hungry eventually- that's essentially all babies at this age, eat and sleep. The demon finally finds a mini fridge on the wall opposite the crib, right next to the changing table. He had never fed a baby before but he would be willing to try as long as it kept the boy satisfied and kept him from crying. A trial by fire as they say.

Rocking the infant carefully, he slowly got up and retrieved a bottle from the fridge. It was a lot smaller than he thought an infant should take but it was good enough for the time being. Thankfully there was a bottle warmer placed on a nightstand near the crib. He placed it inside, setting the temperature at that of a human’s normal body temperature. When the milk was sufficiently heated, he gave it to the child who then suckled it down rather quickly,

“Hey now, there’s no need to suck it down so fast. You'll choke if you’re not careful.”

Lucifer had rejoined at him at this point. The scene of his brother trying so hard to feed the baby almost made him chuckle. “I can take him, if you’d like, Satan.”

“Please, I really don’t know how to do this.” He pulled the bottle away so he could transfer the child to his older brother.

“It won’t be long until the dawn. Gather up some of his things as we’ll be taking him with us. I just got off the phone with Arella. She told me Mammon plans on keeping the him.” Lucifer only sighed, wondering if the Avatar of Greed was only doing this out of a sense of obligation and responsibility.

Green to yellow gradient eyes widen in surprise at the statement. “He’s planning on keeping him? I figured he wouldn’t want anything to do with the baby.”

“As did I but, for all of our brother’s flaws, he’s still genuinely a good person. I don’t think he can really leave behind someone who needs him- especially an innocent child.” Lucifer looks down at the child who has now finished the bottle. “Hand me a rag.”

“Why?”

“Well, I would prefer not to be spat up on and now that he’s finished eating, he needs to be burped.” The eldest moved the infant to rest against his shoulder as Satan handed him the nearest rag he could find. “Babies aren’t capable of burping on their own. Now, go gather his things. I’ll tend to him for the time being."

Next

Masterlist 2

#dead dove do not eat #tw: torture but not described #tw: victim blaming #lucifer and co commit murder #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date? #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #mammon angst #obey me oc #arella

[robbyrobinson]

OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS: GODS AWAKEN: Pt. IX: ASTRAL VISITOR 

"Boscha!?"

Luz jolted back with a startle. She found herself once more in the gaze in one of her most tensely hated enemies. With her vision crystal clear now, she could see that she was indeed hit over the head with one of the three-eyed pink girl's crutches. In fact, she was slugged pretty good. Luz rubbed the side of her temple, and she felt a round bump protruding from it.

"Oh, good to see that I didn't kill you," Boscha said putting on a false sense of concern, "I would've wanted to humiliate you first before killing you."

Luz tried to push herself up, but Boscha weighed her down with her foot. Nyarlathotep transformed back into the bat like monstrosity and held Eda and King in his clutches. King still did not regain consciousness. Luz stared at Boscha again. Something felt different about the spoiled brat since she last met her. An unknown power surged through the pink girl's body; an ancient, primordial force predating the known universe.

"Boscha, I know that you are a real jerk and all, but how did you even meet up with this..." Luz stared at Nyarlathotep with contempt. "Ugly, hideous thing."

"Guilty as charged!" Nyarlathotep remarked.

Boscha restrained her foot and walked an inch away from Luz. "It was after what was probably the worst day of my life."

Luz scoffed. "You have only yourself to blame for what happened."

Boscha kicked Luz in the side invoking Luz to groan.

"You have been a constant thorn in my side ever since you first started attending school. Amity and I used to be closer, but now she had gotten soft; she won't even bully any of the bottom of the rank."

Luz rolled her eyes. "Amity told me everything; about how she always felt miserable when she was forced to hang out with you."

"Miserable?" Boscha asked "all I did was teach her to be tough; no one would ever step on her."

Luz stared at Boscha again. How could anyone that cruel be so clueless? She looked at Eda who was squirming to free herself and King from Nyarlathotep.

"Amity told me your secret."

Boscha had pulled out her purple scroll and was looking at Penstagram when Luz informed her. Boscha tensed up and dropped the scroll. "I said that in confidence and Amity promised to keep it a secret..."

While she was distracted, Luz got up on her feet and grabbed a stick. With quiet precision, she sketched the ice glyph and pressed the palm of her hand on it. When Boscha turned around, a thick icicle was poking dangerously close to her third eye.

"You're a half-witch, aren't you?" Luz asked.

Boscha grabbed the icicle and tore a piece of it. Nerves were forming on the surfaces of her eyes. "Don't call me that!"

She ran towards the human girl unprovoked. Luz dropped to the ground, stick in hand, and crafted a larger version of the ice glyph. Boscha was within arm's reach when Luz jumped on the glyph. Boscha held the icicle firmly and jabbed it in a savage fashion. Before it could make contact, a huge column of ice erupted from the ground catapulting Luz.

Enraged, Boscha drew a spell circle in the air and shot a wall of fire towards the beam of ice.

"Luz, look out!" Eda yelled.

Luz turned to stare at her mentor to see what the commotion was, but she could more than feel it. The intensity of the heat seared a gaping hole within the ice column and was melting. The bottom of the column was waning thin forcing her to dash further towards the top but with the rush of wind and downward spiral, Luz had difficulty with staying on.

Boscha shot balls of fire towards the human girl in unprovoked precision. Luz saw the fire hurdling towards her. The top of the column was receding faster as a result of the fire. Droplets of water wrapped around the human girl like a blanket; shielding her, the fire was dosed. Luz fell to the ground on some soft shrubbery.

"You seem awfully stronger since we last saw each other, Boscha," Luz noted.

"What gave it away?" Boscha asked half-heartedly. "But I should expect something of that sort from a human pet like yourself."

Luz got up again and held her fists out. "So that is why you bully Willow so much."

Boscha clenched her fists. "Amity promised that she would never tell anyone."

"You thought you would make yourself feel superior to Willow by lying about being a fully-fledged witch when your Dad was..."

Boscha shot out fire ball after fire ball but Luz swiftly dodged each one. "Don't you dare say it!"

"A jinn."

Something broke within the three-eyed girl. Instead of firing at Luz again, Boscha instead lunged at her and pressed her against the ground. All Luz could see were fists of fury flying down on her. Luz instinctively dodged most of the blows except for the instances where she was hit on the jaw.

"Yeah, that's right, your father isn't a full witch either isn't he?" Luz screamed. "What makes you think that gives you permission to mistreat Willow?"

"I hate Willow because she is too much like how the old me was!" Boscha shrieked. She got on top of Luz and slammed her fists on Luz's chest. "I was a weak, friendless, loser like how that half-a-witch was."

Eda's squirming became more forceful, but the grip Nyarlathotep held on her was infinite. "Let me go, you black floormat!"

Nyarlathotep ignored the Owl Lady's protests and quietly observed the fight. "Wonderful show isn't it?"

"I swear if you let Boscha kill Luz, I-"

Nyarlathotep placed one of his large claws over Eda's mouth. "Honey, no, you misunderstand; the human girl is much too valuable to let perish." He stared at King's lifeless body for a couple minutes. "I've just made it possible for my dear Boscha to – for a lack of a better term – sort out her troubles."

Boscha was tiring herself out rather quickly. She had already beat Luz's chest for what felt like hours and now she was growing bored with it. Luz refused to say anything further and it too took the fun out for the three-eyed girl. Her fists also felt numb from the consistent pounding she did. "I was bullied every day for when I was at school, at least until I met Amity."

"And so you thought that befriending a Blight would make you stand out in your social ranking?" Luz inquired.

"Because of that, I became someone that was feared." Boscha got off Luz and eyed her with disgust. "And when she introduced me to Grudgby, I became one of the biggest students on the campus."

Luz snickered.

"What are you laughing about?" Boscha asked. She was clearly becoming annoyed.

"Your story," Luz said in between her chuckles, "is just...pathetic."

The pupils in Boscha's eyes shrank. "What did you just say?"

Luz lifted her upper body from the ground. "You are nothing like Willow."

"Well, of course not," Boscha stated, "unlike her, I decided to not be someone's target practice anymore."

"You bullied Willow her whole life for every little thing," Luz retorted, "her appearance; her kind nature; and yet not once did Willow ever feel that she needed to pick on others."

"What are you saying?" Boscha, her rage feeling reinvigorated, drew another fire ball into her hand. She waited for whatever bad word Luz would say next.

"I am saying that for all the acting toughing and dominant, you are really just an insecure brat who decided to belittle others because you felt inadequate."

The fire ball disappeared from Boscha's hands. She went speechless for a few moments Luz's words still buzzing around like an invasive pest. She gritted her teeth loudly.

"That's right," Luz spoke defiantly, "you are nothing more than an insecure girl who bullies others to look cool, but you are desperately afraid that if you don't do so, then your social life is over."

A low growl came from her attacker. "You're dead!"

Pain surged through Boscha's leg. "Wha-"

The bones holding up her leg splintered and fractured. Without any indication, Boscha fell on the ground just shy of Luz. She grabbed her shin to ease the pain. "By the Titan, this hurts!"

Luz stood up and scratched her chin. "Huh. Looks like your leg got rebroken."

Boscha shot Luz a look. "I know that you ingrate!"

She wanted to strike the human girl once more, but her leg was shot. Nyarlathotep saw this and released his hold over Eda. "Come on, Boscha, we should get going."

The first thing that Eda did was hold her staff and held it in front of Nyarlathotep to intimidate him. "You're not going anywhere!"

Nyarlathotep scoffed. "Oh, I have had more than enough of my fill in fun, thank you very much."

Nyarlathotep flapped his wings and lifted his large frame off the ground. "I'm very delighted to have finally met you, Luz."

He gently grabbed Boscha with his right arm and tucked her in his hand. "I hope to see you all again soon."

With that, Nyarlathotep began to fly in the air. Luz, seeing them leave, held out a stick.

"Come back here, you...you...tree murderer!"

Eda tapped her hand. "I think that will do for today."

"But...but..."

Eda gave Luz a stern glare. Luz put her arms down to her sides and sighed. "Okay."

Boscha thrashed around in Nyarlathotep's hand. "Why...Why did you stop me from accomplishing my revenge?"

Nyarlathotep placed his finger on his mouth. "Hush now, we shall get our due justice soon, just trust me."

"I thought you healed my leg," Boscha whined, "you tricked me!"

"No, dear," Nyarlathotep said in a sympathetic voice, "I only gave you a small fragment of my power so that you could fight her."

"A small fragment?"

"Yes; I have acquired a small bit of my power back from the palismans and their source, but I am far from being all-powerful."

Boscha's head lowered. "So..we lost?"

Nyarlathotep grinned and his grin reached the tips of his mouth and wrapped around his head. "Far from it! Remember how I explained that my powers were stripped due to those glyphs?"

Boscha perked up. "Yeah?"

"What she did not realize was that she helped our cause."

"How?"

"By using the ice glyph," Nyarlathotep clarified. "When she used it, she unwittingly broke that seal, so chin up, dear, we are moving ever so closer to our goals!"

Boscha smiled back in response to the news. "What shall we do now?"

"I need you to recuperate," Nyarlathotep answered.

Boscha's eyes widened again. She shook her head in defiance. "So you are just going to throw me away too?"

Nyarlathotep rubbed a claw on her cheek. "No, as your mentor, I need to keep you safe; what good are you to die without fulfilling your purpose?"

Boscha nodded. She knew that he was right, but she still thought she was being discarded like trash. "Then who will you get to help us now?"

Nyarlathotep chuckled. "There are many pawns to weave through, but I sense that someone is totally willing to assist us."

"Who is it?" Boscha asked.

"I'll explain it to you soon, my dear child. Now, it's time to sleep. Do dream about chaos and other unpleasantries."

The gang returned to the Owl House sometime after. Hooty, once again, greeted them.

"Hey, guys!" Hooty hooted "you were gone all day; wanna know what I have been doing?"

Eda covered her head with her hand. "Look, we don't have all day to listen."

"Hoot, hoot! I have a riddle for you!" He hooted louder than before with his high-pitched voice. "I begin with four legs; then two; then three! Guess and I-"

Eda jabbed him in the eyes. "I ain't playing charades now, bird."

"OW!" Hooty lamented "fine, fine, sheesh!"

Hooty opens the door and the gang walks in. Before they could react, they saw the bat baby flying everywhere wreaking havoc throughout the house. The furniture, sans the couch, were ripped and shredded to chunks. Potions were poured all over the floor one in particular being a green, liquid that corroded through the floor leaving a gaping hole.

Toys were discarded and massacred and Luz's sleeping mat was somehow hanging on the ceiling. Lilith was still on the couch, but this time, she held a frying pan in her hand thus meaning that she did leave the couch while they were away. She cowered at the flying bat beast before her.

"What the hey, hey!" Eda remarked, "what happened?"

Lilith looked at her younger sister with fearful eyes. "You don't want to know."

"I just needed you to babysit the kid," Eda stated, "not make the house a warzone."

Lilith crossed her arms. "I told you that I couldn't raise a child."

She glanced over at Luz and saw her injuries. "Woah, what happened to your kid?"

"King? King, time to wake up."

King slowly opened his eyes but only through a small dint due to the light being too bright. "What happened?"

Luz pat his head. "You passed out little guy."

King looked around the house seeing the faces of those he recognized. "How did I get back here?" He took a longer glance around. "And why is the house a wreck? Did a goblin get loose in here?"

"Easy, easy on the questions," Eda said, "you really had us going when you saw that monster back there."

King could feel his head hurt again much akin to glass shards being pressed into the tender parts of his brain. "Would you guys believe that I might have seen this...thing before?"

Lilith tilted her head. "Really? Where?"

"In one of my dreams," King stated, "I feel like I remember being chased by it, and then there was some woman there...and...that is all, actually."

"What did she look like?" Luz asked.

"Maybe...brown-haired, and...I don't know, wearing a cloak, or something?"

King plopped down on a seat of the couch. Eda clapped her hands.

"Eh, we shouldn't bother trying to force him to say anything."

They agreed in unison and concluded that King needed some time to recover before he could provide other information to them. Instead, their minds were still on Boscha and Nyarlathotep. Somehow, Boscha came into contact with this mysterious entity who claimed to have some plans for the Boiling Isles. But to what extent his plans were they could not decipher.

"Well, what of this little guy's mother?" Lilith asked. She had managed to grab ahold of the monster and held it in her arms. They looked at her depressed.

"The Bat Queen is dead, Lilith," Eda said in a melancholic tone, "we are sure that the baby's siblings are also gone."

"Oh," Lilith said. "Tragic; what did this thing?"

"Nyarlathotep," Luz clarified.

Lilith shook her head. "Right, right...this Nyarlathotep fellow. What did he want with her?"

"He killed all the palismans to get to the tree that me and you carved to make our palismans," Eda explained.

Lilith's mouth dropped. "And of the tree?"

"Burned to ashes," Luz interjected. "He killed it to satiate himself."

Lilith dropped a bag of chips she was eating. "That means that Luz will never be able to make her own." Lilith caught Luz's glimpse. She was uncertain of whether or not Luz, as a human, could've even made one anyway, but now, she would never be given the chance to because it was taken from her. Lilith then stared at her sister's palisman. It was still safe and appeared fresh as though it was her first time using it. Lilith decided to change the subject as a means of clearing the air.

"So...Nyarlathotep, huh?" Lilith asked. She was eating more junk food and dropping the bags on the ground.

Eda rolled her eyes at her sister's newfound uncleanliness. "Yeah, ring a bell at all?"

"When I was in the Emperor's Coven, they did have some archives that Belos had strictly ordered to be locked away in the heart of the coven. I...actually never had any access to the hidden texts as Belos would like to call them."

"That makes it even worse!" Luz remarked. "We have to do something to stop him and Boscha!"

"But we hardly know anything about him," Eda emphasized, "who can possibly help us?"

"Oh, I can be of some assistance, madam."

The group jumped in shock at hearing an unfamiliar voice speak to them after overhearing their conversation. They glanced at each other somehow convinced that the voice – a monotonous one – came out from any of them.

There came a chuckle. "No, no, silly mortals, I am over here."

They turned to see someone standing at the far side of the room. It was a man. He was a visibly charming young man with a full beard. On his head was a crown of lively poppies that appeared to glow from the small fractals of light reflecting from them. His most startling trait, however, was his large, luminous eyes. When he opened them, his eyes were black and perfectly round. There were small glints in his massive eyes which felt like looking into the Milky Way galaxy and its celestial bodies. But through it all, what was also significant was his body.

"Are you a ghost?" Eda asked clearly fixated on the other spectre.

His body was translucent. He shook his head, but he still maintained his smile. For some reason while the smile was genuine, the gang also got the sense it was artificial or let alone forced.

"No, Owl Lady," he said, "I am no ghost; just a traveler is all."

Luz walked towards the man. Eda held her arm out to try to stop her. "Wait, Luz, this man just popped up, we can't trust him."

Luz ignored her mentor and continued her walk. Luz was in a daze, amazed by the being standing in front of her, but there was still that sense of urgency bubbling inside of her.

"Who are you and how did you know Eda's nickname?"

He chuckled once more, his deep voice shaking the house. He crossed his arms in amusement.

"Please, just call me Hypnos."

#cthulhu mythos #cthulhu #cthulhumythos #nyarlathotep #boscha #the owl house #owl house #the owl house fanfiction

[agentbarton12]

Remember Me (In the Morning Light)

A/N: here is my fantasy!spideychelle contribution for day two :). this was supposed to continue, but this was already so long. let me know if i should do a part 2!

WARNINGS: none.

—

Honestly, wizards suck.

Like, they think that just because they can cast spells, and make random stuff apear out of thin air that they’re “superior” or something, and Michelle was having none of it.

No one asked them to be gifted and whatnot, so why did they have to shove it down everyone else’s throats?

It didn’t help that almost Michelle’s entire family was made up of magical beings. Her father, the king, was a mage. Her mother, a witch. All her siblings were younger than her and had yet to find out what they were.

As Princess of Queensland, Michelle got a lot of perks. Free anything in the markets (although she insisted she pay), all the food in the nine realms, spells and potions—it was all pretty neat.

The only downside of all this was the fact that she was a princess. And somebody somewhere decided that princesses by nature have to have a hard time.

Which is why she’s cursed.

That and the stupid wizard that cast the spell.

According to old laws, every princess of every kingdom in all the realms had to be cursed, locked in a tower, half-dead or, put simply, in a position for princes to “save them”. Apparently it builds their courage and bravery, performing an act of heroism like that.

But, the thing is, Michelle curse is just the worst.

Like, she would have prefered to be asleep for the rest of her life until her ‘true love’ came and saved her like her friend, Princess Elizabeth of Brant House. (Lucky for her, her prince was her best friend and she was only asleep for a week before Prince Ned kissed her. Michelle wishes she could be so lucky.)

The worst part about Michelle’s curse, is that she has no idea what it is.

All she does know, is that on her twelfth brithday, every sunset (very original), she falls asleep and wakes up somewhere else and stays there until the next sunrise. The only way to end this cycle is to have her true love present himself when she’s a princess and when she’s a...whatever she is during at night, and for her to recognise him.

And to make things even more interesting, she never remembers what happened during the evening when she’s back to herself.

Also add to the fact that she has no true love and you get yourself the worst. Curse. Ever.

So, Princess Michelle tries her hardest to do everything in the short space of time before she falls asleep.

This tends to be difficult, because the curse does not care what she is doing before kicking in.

(Once, she was swimming in the Enchanted Lake with one of her ladies-in-waiting, and as the last hue of orange was cast, she promptly fell asleep in the middle of the water. It gave her father quite the scare.)

Today, Michelle went out to spend time with Betty and Princess Liz of Allen House in the villages. They didn’t spend much time out because they were aware of Michelle’s curse. Hell, the whole kingdom knew about it.

After a fun afternoon with her friends, Princess Michelle retreated to her chambers where she got comfortable and and awaited the inevitable sleep that would wash over her.

In that moment, Michelle learned that just because you know something is coming, does not make you any more ready for it.

••

The first time the princess woke—or as she prefers to be called around him, MJ—up in his workplace, Peter was not the least bit decent.

He had stripped his shirt since it was dripping with sweat and making it very uncomfortable to work. His back was to her, so he did not notice her until she let out a slight shriek of surprise.

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” a younger, smaller Peter asked as he reached for his shirt and held it up in front of him. Her cry had caused him to jump in surprise and knock over the cauldron he was working on.

She sputtered, eyes wide, looking almost as lost and confused as Peter felt, and he softened. He offered her food and water, to which she accepted gratefully and it was then that realisation struck Peter. This was the princess. The princess of Peter’s home was in his workplace. But, if you had looked from far, you would never have noticed. She was dressed in commoners clothes; a simple dress, and workers boots.

“Where am I?” the princess asked. Peter knew about the curse. The whole kingdom knew about the curse and Peter figures that Princess Michelle’s must have started now.

Peter shrugged. “My workshop. My uncle gave it to me,” Peter admitted with a swell of pride. He was missing a tooth. The princess smiled.

He realised that, technically, she was not a princess at the moment and be needed to know what to call her. “I’m Peter,” he greeted, sticking his hand out.

She just stared at his hand and for a second, Peter thought he had just broken some royal rule, before she shook it and said, “MJ. I want to be called MJ.”

Now, when MJ wakes up, Peter is not the least bit surprised. He set up a little corner with a mattress and a few blankets so that when she arrives, she’s comfortable.

He stood over his workbench welding a piece of armour for his mentor, Tony Stark—the best blacksmith in the realm. MJ does not announce her presence, instead opting to watch Peter work.

It was a fascinating thing to watch.

Although Peter was a warlock—not a wizard, there’s a difference. At least according to Peter—he prefered building things with his hands. And MJ wasn’t complaining.

When she approached creepy level staring, MJ stood up and stretched, alerting Peter of her presence.

He turned around and a large smile spread across his face. “You’re here.”

MJ grinned. “When am I not?”

Every day, Peter wanted to say, but he couldn’t. Because to her, it wasn’t true. MJ wasn’t a princess. MJ was not cursed. MJ believed she was Peter’s best friend and spent every waking moment with him and Peter wasn’t going to be the one to tell her otherwise.

So, Peter jokingly says, “Oh, right, you never leave.”

MJ rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Parker, you love it when I’m here. I add value to your life.”

“Nuh-uh,” Peter shakes his head, “my job adds value to my life.”

“Right,” MJ drawled. “What’s it like being a wizard? You must be really popular with the children.” She moved to the table and leaned on her elbows on it.

“Funny, really funny. Have you ever considered being a jester?” She snorted. “And I’m a warlock, not a wizard. And it’s not my job.”

“What’s the difference?” MJ shrugged.

“Warlocks are cooler and far more superior to wizrads. They have better powers and get cool outfits. Have I mentioned that warlocks are cooler?”

“You have, it just confuses me how you’re one.” Peter glared at her and splashed water at her that he conjured from thin air. MJ laughed.

MJ hovered around Peter as he worked on the armour, handing him things he needed. Her work was not that important as she was completely out of her depth when it came to building.

When she gave Peter a tool, she accidentally lowered her onto a scolding hot piece of metal. MJ jerked her hand away immediately and cried out in pain.

Peter dropped what he was doing and hurriedly grabbed her hand and conjured water and poured it over her palm where she was burnt.

MJ squirmed in his hold, but he made sure to keep it firm, all while not hurting her too much. After cooling it, he dried it and began to wrap it. “Does it still hurt?”

She retracted her hand slightly as he added pressure and winced. “No,” she lied. Peter looked up at her with an unimpressed look and his eyebrows creased together. MJ stared back at him. Something fluttered around in his chest and Peter looked away quickly, returning back to the task.

MJ’s eyes never left his face.

When he finished and looked up, he noticed how close they were to each other. She was almost practically sitting in his lap. Peter’s heart pounded against his chest and he worried MJ could hear it.

Peter was in love with MJ.

He knew this. He really did.

But there was nothing he could do about it. Would actually.

Princess Michelle was destined to fall in love with a prince who could and would save her from her curse. And even though MJ wasn’t technically the princess, technically, she was. And pursuing anything wouldn’t be fair. On the faceless prince that would one day marry her, on her herself, and on Peter. When MJ would leave again. For good.

It is because of this that Peter clears his throat and moves back a little. “All better now.”

Numbly, MJ nods. “Thanks.”

The rest of evening passes with Aunt May coming to call them into the house for dinner. MJ shot Peter looks all throughout the meal and Peter ignored them.

When it was nearing the time MJ had to leave, she went back to her spot and curled herself on the mattress facing the wall, her back to Peter.

The action broke his heart a little. They always talked to each other until sunrise.

“Hey, Em. Can I draw on your hand? The bandaged one?”

Peter expected her to ignore him and pull the blankets over her head, so when she held out her arm for him, he was surprised. She kept her back to him, though.

Peter was no artist. He left that to MJ. She drew littles images of him on pieces of partchment she found lying around. His finished product is nothing to celebrate, but Peter is very proud of it.

He gives MJ her arm back and pulls the blankets up to her shoulders.

“See you tomorrow.”

••

When Michelle awoke, her left arm instinctively reached for her right. It was covered in cloth; a bandage.

She sat up and held her hand up in front of her face. There were drawings covering the bandage. Hearts and circles, little lines and arrows adorned the cloth with bright colours. On the palm of her hand, was what caught her attention.

MJ

She didn’t know an MJ. She wasn’t an MJ. So, what was it and who put it there?

After getting up, Michelle decided that it was far to early to ponder anything and took a nap.

During the day, she went out with her younger brother Miles to have lunch with a dutchess or countess about betrothal or something dull like that.

It was not Lady Gwen’s for her complete disinterest in the conversation. No, no, the princess blamed her bandaged hand (and the old men that thought having their daughters strive to be married off to continue their bloodline purely for monarchy sake instead of achieving something worthwhile was a good idea). Her mind was simply elsewhere.

Where did I get this? How was I injured? Who drew on me? Who is MJ? Am I MJ? These thoughts elicited an unwarranted gasp from the princess. She apologised profusely before excusing herself.

She wandered around the streets aimlessly, trying to calm her racing mind to no avail. She passed street vendors and purchased some candy for Miles as an apology for abandoning him.

While walking, a young man around her age yet significantly shorter, bumped into her.

“I am so...sorry.” He stopped moving all together as his eyes found hers and they looked strikingly familiar.

“It is perfectly alright. I didn’t see you either.”

The man merely nodded, shock evident on his face and said nothing. His eyes trailed down to her bandaged hand and widened. Then, he turned on his heel and walked away abruptly.

Michelle tried not to think too much about the interaction. Lots of people get flustered around her, it was normal.

But this turned out to be a fairly difficult task when Michelle laid down, ready to fall asleep, at sunset and nothing happened.

She stayed in her room and the sun went down and Michelle was awake to see it for the first time in nine years.

#spideychelle #spideychelle month #spideychellemonth #spiderman #fantasy!au #princess michelle #michelle jones #mj #peter parker #peter x mj #betty brant #ned leeds #marvel #avengers #spiderman: homecoming #spiderman: far from home #spiderman: hoco

[freyalor]

Gloves.

With joy, Papillon.

Fandom : FrenchHistoryFriendship : Richelieu & Joseph Date and place :Paris, 1621Words : 4KRating : G (Warning : blood)

I quicken my pace, becausethis dark feeling in me has kept growing since this morning, and Godin his warnings has never led me astray.

The cobblestones of Parisare merciless with the soles of my feet, but this is my penance week,and no glory, no praise, no temptation can divert me from my faith. Ishall walk from the Ursulines convent to the Louvre barefooted, nomatter how filthy Paris can be in late September.

I pass the Palacegates as the evening sun declines and the horizon starts to burn withgorgeous shades of rosy red. The Lord, in his endless grace, hascreated the most magnificent blend of thin white clouds and vibrantlight to salute the day once more, but I cannot spare time to marvelat it, because this pain of bad omens twisting my stomach, Iknow what it means.

The doors of the Louvresopen for me with reverence, valets and Courtiers bowing politely onmy passage. I hear their murmurs, of course I do, the same I’ve beenhearing for fifteen years.

Devout man,apostolic soldier, an example of faith, somesay, but I am not moved by flattery. Lunatic,rabid monk, demented wolf of bigotry, othersspit, but I am not touched by villainy.

Only one thingmatters, one sole purpose guides me. And I feelit needs me upstairs.

I was walking quitepeacefully as I got out of the Convent one hour ago, but I fear I amalmost running by now, passing in front of the Queen Mother’s doorssnarling her servants out of my path. I only concede a brief halt onthe last doorstep before the study, accepting a wet cloth and a basinto clean my feet from the grime of the street.

My penance, as healways says, doesn’t require ruininghis rugs.

But the moment it’s done,I barge in and lock the door behind my back, the twist of anguish inmy guts almost sucking the air out of me. As darkness crawls up thewalls of the study I quickly search around, not even at a man’slevel, but right away on the floor.

It doesn’t take long, ofcourse, for my fear to be confirmed by a dark silhouette curled atthe feet of his desk.

I knew it, oh,Christ almighty, I knew it.

God, in his warnings, hasnever let me astray.

I rush at his side,falling on my knees to search him for injuries.

-”Eminence?” I call.

But he doesn’t reply.

I hastily brush hishair away from his eyes to inspect them. They are wide open, butunseeing, emptied of all light, warmth or hope. I squint in thereclining light, Lord above, that painin my guts, I knew what it meant.

I grip his cheek to turnhis head towards me, get a glimpse of the state of his mouth, andsqueeze my eyes shut for a second.

Christ in Heavens, notagain.  

Why burden thismiraculous mind with such ghastly madness?

Were the hardships onthe way to his fate not enough a price to pay?

I take a deep breath tosteady myself before I examine him further.

His lips are soiledwith thick stains of dried blood, spread on his cheeks and jaw linein chaotic brushstrokes. His face itself is unwounded, but I knowwhat surely is. I blindly reach for his slender hands, bringing themout into the last fragment of light coming through the window, andexhale a low groan of dismay.

He ate himself raw.

-“Oh, Eminence,for God’s sake!”I scold him, my shoulders slumping a little.

No reaction, of course.

I look around. Nocandles have been lit. It means the fithas started long before dark. His fingers are glued with black clotsof dried blood, so I suppose he’s been lying there for at least onehour.

Very well. Verywell.

I gently let go of him andget up in a wince. I walk to the hearth, revive the fire and dropthree large logs in it. Then, as the first flames rise from theirembers, I light a few candles with them, and set the kettle to boil.I go for the drawer where he keeps his medicine, pick up theCarmelite herbs he uses to soothes his headaches, and count ten dropsin a large cup. I prepare his basin next, and fetch the discretewooden case where bandages are always prepared, right there upon theshelf, under a pile of ancient maps.

I carry everythingto the small bedroom next door that is everything herHighness Queen Mother thinks him worthyof, sweep his nightstand clear with my elbow, sending books andpapers crashing on the floor in the process, and drop the cup andbasin upon it instead.

Then I spin around andhead back to the study, rolling up the sleeves of my robes.

-“Alright, Eminence,let’s do it.” I huff, pointlessly I suppose.

I kneel next to him again,this time to shift him on his back and slide my arms underneath hislegs and shoulders. Groaning in effort I haul him up and move to hisbedroom. God, I used to be stronger than this.

As if my exertionwasn’t enough, that’s the moment he choses to blink back to reality,realise he’s being carried, and start strugglingagainst it.

-“For the love of God,keep still!” I hiss, and his squirming stops dead.

-“Joseph?” His brokenvoice tries as I lay him on his bed.

-“Whothe hell else?” I almost shout, andhe flinches in instinctive guilt.

As I leave him there tostride back towards the kettle I vaguely realize I am being too harshwith him again, but truly, I can’t help how enraged, howdisappointed I feel. I had hoped for this sickness of his to recedeas he ascended towards his rightful place next to the King, but ifanything has changed in those last five years, it has mostly been forthe worst.

What I had mistaken for atemporary condition, a sign that the Lord wanted this exceptional manon much higher grounds than the miserable town of Luçon, was infact, as I have been forced to admit later, a curse he would carryall his life, a further strain upon his resolute, yet unfortunatelyfrail body.

I wrap a handkerchiefaround the kettle handle and lift the pot out of the fire. I bring itto the bedroom to pour warm water in the basin, careful to spareenough to fill his cup of herbs.

He has laboriously sit upon the bed while I was gone, and he’s watching me now with meek,exhausted eyes, expecting my anger, no doubt, to break like thunderanytime.  

But I stay silent instead,dipping the handkerchief in the basin with one hand, handing out hiscup with the other. He moves to seize it, but his fingers are in sucha state they wouldn’t keep a steady hold of a feather.

-“Don’t.” I grunt, andlift the cup to his lips instead.

He glances down athis hands and whines in deep shame, still taking a sip out of the cupwith quiet obedience. I make him drink all of it before I start,because I’ll have to peel those dried clots of blood off his skinand it shall hurt like hell.

I examine his sleeves.Those new bishop robes may be more suited for the Louvre than thecheaper ones he had in Luçon, but their sleeves are too tight to berolled up. I sigh, unbuttoning the whole frock.

-“We need to get rid ofthese.” I mumble. “I want access to your hands.”

He lets himself be handledrather calmly at first, watching my hands with a dazed frown, but themoment I start brushing the opened robes off his shoulders he letsout a panicked shriek, crawling away from me in confused terror, hiseyes blurred with renewed nightmares.

I freeze, hands suspendedin the air, feeling my heart miss a beat, not because of his fright,not only that.

Also because of thatsmell I sniffed on his exposed skin.

The smell of rancid sweatand sugared wine.

The smell of disgust.

The smell of her.

Oh, bloody hell.

Exhaling sharply, I sit onthe edge of the bed, watching him shiver and heave for a while, untilhe understands there’s no one else than me here, and slowly calmsdown.

I should have knownit was the Medici.She must have had one of her afternoon hungersagain.

It’s not what she doesto him, or what she asks him to do when she summons him alone in herchambers and dismisses her usual audience of witches and worms.Fortunately, she’s a dull-minded, unimaginative woman, and the sinsshe forces upon him are, after all, quite commonplace.

It’s not that,it’s her.It’s just her.

Her rotten teeth, herdecaying hairline. Her dusty jewels and heavy gowns. Her immense,disgraceful body, loaded with both fat and vanity, too cumbersome tobe washed more than once a month.

Her vile tongue, her wet,slimy lips, and her bottomless appetite for everything sugary andsweet.

Including Eminence’s paleskin.

Its been ten years nowshe’s been devouring his youth with famished chortles every day andnight. In less than five, his rich brown locks have turned to silvergrey, and deep lines of worry have crawled around the corner of hiseyes, his body marked by her ravages just as permanently as his soulis.

As time only blackened hermind and thickened her face, Marie de Medici has turned into amonster of self-assured stench, and though many other men would makedo with this atrocity for the sake of the favours and privileges sheso freely distributes, this one lives every second spent in her bedas the cruelest of all tortures.

He’s not repulsed as Ican be by the carnal sins of this world, it’s not that. It ispainfully obvious how this man craves touch with every fibre of hisbeing.

He is destined for more,so much more than her, that’s all.

His mind, thoughmethodical and wise, has been drawn towards the delicacies of art andnature since his earliest childhood. He has a taste, a needfor the absolute, his eyes constantlylooking up to higher skies, and being trapped under the rancid weightof this mindless mare is an insult to his rare, refined soul.

I wait for his eyes toregain some focus, and since his hands are still useless, I reach outto tug his robes off his arm myself, reciting Deuteronomy to soothehis fear.

-“ TheLord himself goes before you and will be with you,”I whisper as I roll his black attire away until he’s bare to thewaist, “he will never leave you norforsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

He looks reassured,familiar with my voice reading out the Bible to him, so as I pick upthe basin, and lay it down on his lap to grab one of his hands, hebarely lets out a whimper of protest.

I plunge the handkerchiefin warm water and start rubbing dried blood off his fingers one byone. As I work, the nasty scabs reveal horrid wounds underneath; mostof them bite marks, though I suspect him to have used some kind ofblade at some point. He seems to discover, just as I do, the extentof the damage, and with a broken sob, he softly pleads:

-“I can’t do thisanymore, Joseph. I can’t…”

I know what he meansto say, and God be my witness I understand, but our sacred dreamsjust can’t affordto have any of this by now.

-“We have a purpose,Eminence.” I sternly remind him. “We have a-”

-“Stop calling methat way!” He cuts in, averting his eyes in self-hatred. “I toldyou already I am nota Cardinal.”

To his stunned confusioninstead of arguing I just let out a fond chuckle, releasing his cleanhand to reach for the other.

-“Of course you are.”I scoff. “You are, and you have always been.”

I wash his other set offingers with the same devoted care, his blood eventually turning thebasin water into a badly filtered Bourgogne wine in a sad mimicry ofJesus’ miracle. When my work is done, I discard the filthyrecipient and pull out the bandages box, sighing in concern at hisripped,  abused skin.

This is worse thanbefore. This is worse than ever. Thecuts are deeper, the wounds nastier, some areas bitten several times.

Lord, he must have hurthimself for hours to force out, I suppose, the agony he felt inside.

I distractedly pat hisshoulder, then push him downwards onto the bed until he lies downthere, and pull the covers over him. I gesture him to roll on hisside and put his hands on my lap.

He obeys, soundless, numb,barely the shadow of the man he was last time I saw him.

I’ve been a fool.Evangelic duties or not, I shouldn’t have left him alone in theLouvre for so long.

His wits are remarkableand he has fierce adaptive instincts, it’s true. His knowledge ofnames, faces, facts and secrets is far greater than anyone suspects,and he has already managed to prepare the next three best profitablediplomatic moves for France regarding each significant force inEurope clear as day on maps and papers. He has made excellent use ofhis delicate speech and charming poise already, earning himself eyesand ears in places where his name hasn’t even been heard yet.

But this placeremains a nest of snakes and the Medici’s clique,even after Concini’s death, is still a bunch of the lowest breed ofhumanity. There will be no rest for him as long as she’s around,sweeping her salacious stare upon his skin.

I’ve been a fool.

Like it or not,Eminence’s nerves will need constant consideration, and my denyingthe strain our scheme for power is having on his sanity won’t helphim in any way. This kind of misjudgement is forbidden to me. As longas he’s not at the King’s right side day and night yet, he hasme, only me,to protect him from his foes, and from himself.

I’ve been a fool,a stupid fool.

Inept to speak my remorseotherwise, I carefully grab his wrists and kiss his abused knuckles four times with the same devotion I would have for the Christ’s ownshroud.

-“My Eminence.”Ibreathe against the stigmata of my mistakes, and he closes his eyesin sheer sorrow.

-“Please, Joseph!” Hecries. “I don’t deserve your care. I am not the man you see inme, I never will. Why do you keep pushing me upwards while I’m sovisibly worthless?”

Hell,I hate it when he speaks that way. Iknow it’s just his nerves talking, but mercy me, it feels like aninsult to the very face of the Lord.

-”Look at me,Ezechielli” He breathes, “look at me, I am a monster. This dreamwe have, God’s mission as you say, you would have accomplished itbetter on your own.”

-”Shut it.” I grumble,busying myself with the thin strips of bandage.

But he doesn’t hear, eyesblurred, face half-buried in his pillow, shivers of exhaustioncrawling up his spine.

-”Youcould be Cardinal, you could be Minister.” He raves on, adrift.“You already have the reputation of a Saint. I know your feet arebleeding too, Joseph, with the mortifications you impose yourself aspunishment for the sin you’ll never commit!”

-”Shutit, you idiot!” I yell, and hisshocked stare darts up to my face though a veil of tears.

I can’t look at himtoo long, because as he keeps praising my virtues while he drags hisown soul into the dust, he’s being so wrongI could slap him in the face.

-”I’ll tell youof my sins, Eminence.” I hiss, focusing on taking care of hiswounds instead. “I’ll tell you why it has to be youalone, right next to the Sun, beaming in red cardinality on the verypages of future history.”

He doesn’t say a word,lying frozen in his bed, his wide eyes fixed upon mine, his bleedinghands offered to my care with unquestioning trust, looking soinnocent I almost cannot breathe.

-”Do you know why Imortify myself?” I blurt out, transported. “Because I am acoward. Those sacrifices that need to be made to achieve our holypurpose, those sins that need to be committed for France to be rebornout of the dark ages into an era of light, those horrid acts, thosefilthy deeds, only you are brave enough to carry them out.”

-”Joseph…” He tries,his barely bandaged hand moving towards my face, but I fear his touchwould only turn me to dust, and I inch away from him.

-”I was the one toadvise you to seduce the Medici” I go on, cutting stripes of whitefabric with my teeth and wrapping them around his skin, “becausethe young King had not yet the strength to seize the power that wasowed to him, and if the influence we needed had to be given to you,alas, it could only be by this fat whore.”

-”Joseph, we bothagreed…”

-”Yes, we bothagreed, but I remain safely tucked in your shadow, pushing youforward to damnation while I relish in the comfortof being true to my holy vows!”

I hate the fact that myeyes tingle, but it is the truth of God spoken through my mouth, andas I brush a damp strand of hair off his worried brow, I feel onlyhumbled by the strength, the purity of him.

-”And here youare, my Eminence, your magnificent soul offered as sacrificial lambfor the sake of our vision, burdened with ailment and pain,misunderstood, despised and tortured. Here you are, oblivious to yourown martyrdom, elevating me to the heights of saints, so I beg you,for the love of God and everything you hold dear, right now, justbloody shut it.”

A single tear pools at thecorner of his eye before it sinks into the pillow. He complies tomy will and doesn’t speak at all, but the determination of this mancan’t be ignored as he makes a painful effort to haul himself up onhis wounded hands, stare into my eyes for a second and drop aninfinitely soft, trembling kiss on my cheek.

He lets himself fall backon the bed then, and gives me a tired smile.

I cross his brow, wipingfeverish sweat off his skin as I whisper :

-”Andthe peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard yourhearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

“Amen”, he gentlysays, his voice devoid of all belief.

I expect him to sleep, Godknows I bloody would, but he insists upon me checking thecorrespondence he has prepared today for the officers and governorsof the South instead, since we need to know how many allies he couldcount on in his dearest, greatest endeavour: the utopia he calls theState.

I find myself, thus, goingback to the study to pick up his writing of the day, and sit on thatplain chair next to his bed to read it aloud, just like every otherdamn day.

I find both of usdiscussing probabilities and exchanging intel, clicking back into ournatural ways as if nothing happened, his cautious, analytical mindacting as the guardrail of my uncompromising impetus.

We agree upon a fewmodifications, that I write in the margins of his letters myself,since his reddened, throbbing hands are sealed in layers of bandages.

We agree, above all, uponthe fact that any further building of the State will have to waituntil the King is truly King, because no one in the Medici’sentourage has the even half of the ambition we need.

He sighs, then, thwartedby how far from reach his beloved dream remains.

Even in his own rooms inthe Royal Apartments of the Louvres, secured as the Queen Mother’slong-term favourite, even here, so far away from Luçon, from Blois,from exile and even disgrace, he’s still devoured by how incompletehe is.

A taste, a need forthe absolute. Heis destined for so much more, that’s all.

He’s destined for a placeright next to the Sun.

History is lying there inthis bed, locked within a brilliant mind, boiling to be given thepower it requires to change the balance of the whole continent,waiting in despair for a twenty years old man  who still needs torealize he’s being robbed of his own crown.

History is lying there,sealed within a vibrant heart, already drawn towards the King byforces far beyond mankind, God’s mighty will showing itself inshining evidence through this man’s unquenchable feelings for youngLouis.

-”Be patient, Eminence.”I reassure him, stiffly patting his shoulder some more. “Soonenough, the red robes you deserve will be granted to you by thefilthy monster I made you crawl underneath, and each one of thosewounds will be atoned in glory.”

He bites his lips,smothering a bitter smile. I know he doesn’t share half of myfaith, but it’s not the first time my own conviction supports usboth, and it won’t be the last.

-“Withcardinality,” I hammer, ardent, “you will gain access to theRoyal Council, and I swear to you, all you’ll have to do, then, isspeak out those dreams you’ve been writing about for years. You’lljust have to talk, Eminence, and he willknow. He will see your worth. He’s no Bourbon if he doesn’t. He willsee you for who you are, and when he’ll grow strong enough to useyou, he’ll call you at his side, you, the only eagle that can flyright into the Sun. He’ll keep you under his protection, thegreatest servant he ever had, and he will love you then, I promiseyou, just as much as you love him.”

With that, he rasps aspiteful laugh, and blatantly rolls his eyes at me, shifting awayuntil he’s lying on his back, his hands carefully raised one inchabove the sheets.

I let out a dreamy smile,because, truly, can I blame him for his disdain?

-“You think Idon’t know what I’m talking about right?” I throw him, defiant.“How can a monk speak about love, well, learn, youngman, that I have been in love before.”

He has a small start,turning back towards me with wide, suspicious eyes, and his disbeliefisn’t truly a surprise. My tempted heart has been sealed long agoin a steel armour forged in the flames of faith and holy purpose, andthough this man is the only one I trust with my life, there are stillparts of my pastI kept hidden from his sight.  

-“Would you think it sostrange,” I ask, laughing good-heartedly, “knowing I have been atthe Pluvinel Academy just like you, to think I too have known, in theblessed carelessness of my youth, the beauty of a woman?”

He sits up a little, then,his bright stare fixed upon me, and leans towards me in untaintedinterest, his own suffering forgotten in the raw curiosity his mindhas always been fuelled by.

-“What was hername?” He timidly asks, and I find myself stunned by how difficultit is to summon back her name to my lips.

-“Isabelle, Ithink.” I mutter, frowning in the struggle to recall her face fromthat part of my memories I left for dead so long ago. “She was theyoungest daughter of our neighbours in Montfort.”

I see him ready toask for more details, but I am not sure Ican remember much more, so I raise a finger in front of his nose andjust add:

-“Now, thecalling of God was already strong in my heart, but my mother and thatyoung girl were both resolute souls. There has been a day where I hadto lock myself in my room in Tremblay, while both women kept knockingon my door, reciting poetry, and imploring me to come out andaccompany them to a ball.”

He seems to make atremendous effort to picture that,and again, it’s only natural.

All I ever speak,all I ever act upon in his presence is God’s own will, from whatpour into my cup to every advice I ever give.

I have burned withthe Lord’s holy word since I learned how to read, yetunsure God’s plans for me until they were revealed to my face.Indeed, though I forgot everything about Isabelle, I remember thefirst time I saw those dark, fervent eyes all too well, in a squalidroom of the presbytery of Luçon, where his careful, yet ferventvoice felt already heavy the sound of glories to come.

I knew I couldn’tignore the glorious path that had been laid out for me anymore, then,and as I called him, “Eminence” was the only name my lips couldform.

-“You didn’tsuccumb.” He breathes, a bit admiring, perhaps.

-“Never.” Istate. “They went to that ball alone, while I sat in my roomcopying ‘The life of Saint Francis’. Twice.”

And before he even startsto snicker, my finger above his face turns into a stern warning.

-“And don’t rollyour eyes at me again, I still have your ‘Perfection of theChristian Man’ on my nightstand in Saint Honoré!”

At that he lets out hisfirst laugh, and I feel blessed already.

We share a few moments ofpeaceful silence, and I put the diplomatic letters away on the buffetto pick up the Bible instead, clearing my throat before I read a fewverses to him, in the hope of lulling him to sleep.

But before I do hesoftly pulls at my sleeve, flinching in pain as his fingers barelycan take a hold of the fabric, and nods at his hands with anguish.

-“This will neverheal until a few days.” He muses, his voice threatened by guiltagain. “Yet, I have managed to get myself invited to the Generalsreview ceremony tomorrow morning. The King will be there, you see,and the only pair of gloves I own will not hide those bandages.”

I look down at the layersof linen around his skin. Some of them are already stained in freshblood while others make his fingers too thick to fit in the tight,merciless satin gloves that came with the new robes.

I chuckle, then,because I can’t help it. God, inhis warning, has never led me astray.

I fumble in mypilgrim bag, the one I keep hanging on my shoulder at all times,giving as only answer to his questioning look:

-“Do you know why I wasat the Ursuline Convent this morning?”

-“For a sermon, Isuppose.” He tries.

-“Yes, but notonly.” I correct. “You will be delighted to know that SisterJeanne Espérance, who has been living there for twenty years now,besides being the most devout soul of her order, also happens to bethe best seamstress in Paris, especially with very fine leathers.”

I pull out a thincardboard case, then, and hand it over to him. Puzzled, he gentlypushes the lid open with the only side of his left thumb that’sstill undamaged, and gasps as he discovers, wrapped in delicatetissue, a pair of brand new black gloves.

-“It’s roe deerskin.” I explain. “Not as fashionable as the fancy silkennonsense worn at Court those days, but having the remarkableadvantage to be lenient withbumps and bruises.”

While I speak, Ilift Sister Jeanne’s excellent handiwork out of the box and gesturefor him to extend his hands again. I slowly, carefully slip theslightly extensible leather gloves on, taking my time around theworst of his wounds, until all signs of his burden are hidden fromthe world.

I admire the resultfor a while, then lift his fingers to my lips, murmuring my oath toembrace his curse at last as the necessary darkness to his light:

-“ AgnusDei, quitollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis. »

He shakes his headin perplexity again, but sinks into the bedwith a reassured sigh all the same, smiling brightly at his glovesbefore his eyes flutter close and he falls asleep just like that,with his hands still in mine, wearing the token of my friendshiparound the marks of his martyrdom.

I stay with him, asI stayed so many other nights, perched on the side of his bed, myeyes fixed on his face with the same certainty I had as a child,gazing at the Christ Himself, as my journey had just begun, in theold house of Du Tremblay.

#Cardinal Richelieu #Father Joseph #french history #Louis XIII #13PROMPTS #prompt fic