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tieflingtareon · 5 months

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There's Nothing Wrong Contemplating Gods (You're in the wind, I'm in the water)

[A 'My Love, Are You the Devil' prequel]

Chapter 3 | Words: 12k

Summary: "The past is lost to you. Let me clear up some mysteries, then. We share so much history." The history between Tir'yal, Child of Bhaal, and Enver, the Chosen of Bane explained in a non-linear format.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51625999/chapters/130498312

(Pre-Game Tir’yal :) in case anyone was curious)

The Dark Urge. What a ridiculous name. Is that truly what this 'Heir of Bhaal' went by? The fact that it took three of his own spies to even get that much information on him irked him. The first two had perished and been strung up by the docks - something he should have done himself, honestly, being bested so easily was shameful as a Banite - while the third had managed to make it back to him, enough to spill his findings in the sewers of all places. Of the man who lead the other group of cultists he had no reign over. Bhaal worshippers. Bane had insisted he keep an eye on them, and Enver had. The best way to keep an eye on a possible enemy was to find their home base. To stalk their shadow; which the Bhaalists made quite hard for him.

He wasn't quite sure yet what to make of the Bhaal cult, but so far, no one in his own cult had been targeted - outside of the ones he sent, but could he really call them true Banite's anymore? - and none of them had interfered with his own plans so...They weren't enemies just yet. This task felt beneath his status in the church, but if Bane wanted him to keep an eye on the Bhaslspawn, he would.

Though...it was exciting. A Bhaalspawn, roaming Baldur's Gate, leading a little congress of worshippers. He hadn't even been aware of any Bhaalspawns in the area. The moment he'd been told of the leaders heritage, he'd hit the shelves, reading up on whatever he could find about their history. It was interesting enough, but it made him weary. Most described them as compulsive killers, drunk on the euphoria of murder and intensely loyal to their God. Like always, there were exceptions, but...he wondered if this man was any different, if he could find any use of him. The spy that did return after a confrontation with one of his cultists had mentioned he spoke with a 'monotonous' voice compared to the frenzied murder hoard he led. He wasn't sure why, but that made him curious, for the man to use that descriptor of all things. Not 'chilling', or 'calm', or even 'curt'. Just...monotonous.

He sighed as he snapped his book shut and placed it aside.

He needed a way to breech the gap between them, without the Bhaalspawn or his cultists attempting to kill him point blank like the others. Something to create a bridge, create conversation - after all, with the resurgence of Bhaal worship, he couldn't afford to be on their bad side. This city was only so big. It would be a shame to have Bhaal's assassins slaughtering all he's worked for, all he'd done to rebuild Bane's church and gather it's worshippers beneath his order.

He may not be Bane's Chosen yet, but he made sure they all knew he would be, and he would be. He made sure they knew that he deserved their respect. He left the supreme title with another devotee, someone with more time on their hands, but even she answered to him, and Bane in turn, who often spoke his desires through him. He knew that's why the other Banite's heeded his words. Because they saw them as Bane's own, and he didn't bother to change their perception. His and Bane's interests were intertwined after all.

Power.

This Bhaalspawn could be a wrench in the cog of his well oiled machine if he went and killed someone important. Like himself. What could he possibly offer a child of a Dread Lord to gain his attention? To get him to stow away his blade? If only until Enver could find a weakness in his cult and take it out himself. Though, if the man proved useful, perhaps even open to an alliance...it wouldn't be the worst alliance he'd found himself in. Connections were connections, official business or otherwise. This could be an opportunity like no other.

The cult of Bane and the cult of Bhaal, in an alliance. Banites would have the spotlight, and Bhaalists would have their shadows. One could kill, one could cover up, could direct their blades into the right hearts...Enver could see it now. Murder and Tyranny; you could not have a bloodless ruling, a war without gore, and you could not have murder without the upper-hand, without power.

There might be use of the other yet. Bane was right to tell him to keep his eye on the cult. He would have happily discarded them without a second thought if not for spying in on them first. Now, he just needed to find a way to draw the Bhaalspawns attention. No point going through his followers - Enver would much prefer to speak to the leader, not his loyal mutts. It would be a waste of his precious time.

He looked down at his map of the House of Wonders, the notes he'd made when he visited last to look at the displays. Not all of it had been interesting, but he enjoyed note taking, not wanting to forget the minor details. His goal at the time was to look inconspicuous, like a standard journalist, but the true task at hand was mapping out exits and entrances. He wanted deeper inside. He wanted to see the technology they hid deeper within, what the Gondians were working on behind the scenes.

He wanted to see it for himself, to put it simply. And take whatever might be useful to him. His mind hungered to expand his knowledge, and his hands itched to touch the creations they made in their holy temple. He was certain he'd find something worthwhile inside once there. He rarely came out of a heist empty-handed or dissatisfied.

The tip of his quill stopped beside one note and smirked.

Ah. That might just work. A common goal.

He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and got to drafting out a letter to the Bhaalspawn. Compulsive killer or not, every man had some amount of pride in their legacy, and their history.

****

His messenger had not returned. He didn't expect him too. But he damn well expect the Bhaalspawn to read and respond to his letter, especially after a tenday had passed. He'd told the young man very strictly to hold it out to the 'tallest horned figure' when he entered the sewers - the only description he got out of his spy. To ask for the 'heir' should he come across any masked figures. He supposed there was no guarantee of it getting to him, realistically, but it annoyed him nonetheless. If he knew where the temple was, it wouldn't be an issue, but he didn't. The secret was wrapped up tight, and anyone who went looking did not come back. All he knew was that it was likely in the sewers, because the Bhaalists did not seem to reside above ground unless out for a cull. Not that he'd be able to check for their residence anyway, not with all of them wearing masks like most assassins, shielding their identities.

How on Toril was he supposed to get his message to him? Go down there himself?

He grimaced at the idea. He thought he'd gotten to the stage in his life where he was above slums and sewers, but apparently not. Was he truly willing to give it a shot for some half-assed chance of an alliance? He gave it a long thought and sighed. Yes. Yes, he was. He'd done far worse things for less fruitful alliances in his youth. That should be taken as a lesson, but he supposed even he had his follies.

Having a Bhaalspawn owe him a minor debt for making him aware of his ancestors things being displayed for others to gawk at, even if there was no alliance, wouldn't hurt. Being on neutral terms alone would be enough, as long as he wasn't on his bad side. His spy had described the other as sounding rather young, yet he was leading the cult, and probably had for some time now, under his nose. Enver himself had come into leadership fairly young, both in his church and his profession as an arms dealer, so he could respect another young leader. He only hoped the other would live up to his expectations.

If he didn't, he'd find a way to remove him off the lanceboard, along with his cultists.

Enver picked up his quill once more and rewrote his previous letter, pausing at the bottom of the page when he went to mark his name. He hummed. Perhaps the man had received his letter and simply thought nothing of him. After all, who was Enver Gortash to a spawn of Bhaal, the child of a God?

He smirked. Was it truly a lie if he knew it was his destiny? When it had been promised to him years ago?

With utmost sincerity,

The Chosen of Bane,

Enver Gortash

****

As expected, the sewers smelt awful. He wrinkled his nose and took out a vial of peppermint oil from his pocket, dabbing some beneath his nose, if only to avoid a headache. He supposed he'd become a touch spoilt since his urchin days. He had much more money to work with now, finer things to wear, tastier things to eat. He didn't have to go cold or hungry or bruised.

He worked hard, and he still worked hard, but now he got to enjoy the benefits of all his labour. Like vintage wine and a tailor; and a cold, damp room that didn't smell like mould and rot.

Enver stepped cautiously over the slippery grime beneath his feet and grimaced, thankful that he had chosen an older pair of boots for this journey. He still tried to dress decently though. He was meeting someone quite important after all! Or, he wanted the other to feel as if they were important. Important enough to warrant him treading all the way down into the sewers of all places. The first rule of any dealing, any negotiation, was always to put your best perceived foot forward, but conceal your true playing cards. Look your best, talk eloquently, but don't give away respect until it is earned. Be polite, be humble but not too humble, one needs to be confident if they want others to be confident in them, what they can provide.

And of course, always get your end of the bargain before the other. Always keep your head about you. It's a hassle to chase up loose ends.

It was all a dance, really, and one Enver had spent years studying first hand, knowing his true goal, his destiny, was to sit upon a throne. Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate, Lord Enver Gortash. Perhaps one day, he'd even hold all of Fae'run in his hand. King Enver Gortash sounded just as delightful as Lord. Arms dealing was just another form of politics to him, and that's where he truly belonged. On top of the hierarchy.

Enver felt a change in the air, and trusting his instincts, he waited in anticipation. He didn't speak, looking out into the darkness. He should have taken a darkvision potion, he supposed, but what did it matter now? He strained his eyes as he searched the shadows. The drains above allowed moonlight to drench down upon him, helping somewhat, but not by much. If anything, the spotlight was on him, marking him a target to whatever was prowling around the rust and grime. His heart began to race, if only on instinct, before he pressed a hand to his chest, pressing down like he might be able to silence it.

"Tell me; do I have the privilege of being in the presence of divine royalty, or are you simply one of his many jesters?" He finally spoke up, going for an unimpressed tone. He did not appreciate being circled like prey.

He saw the pinpricks of orange and blue before he saw the man himself, the colour vanishing and the large body closing the distance between them with the swiftness of a feline despite the slippery terrain. He barely managed to throw up a barrier before the assassin was before him. The tip of his blade bounced off the surface, a low rumbling sound escaping the man. He was larger than Enver imagined, both in height and mass, his thick horns growing up towards the sky and curving outwards. Like scythes. Appropriate for a man who left a trail of death behind him.

The Bhaalspawn was a tiefling, he realised. He supposed it made sense. Bhaal had died, he had no more 'seeds' he could sow. Perhaps he dealt with a devil to make himself a new heir. An heir Enver had no idea about until recently. Why had it taken so long for his murders to be caught, to become spectacle?

The Bhaalspawn was wearing a mask that only left his eyes and a dark slope of hair that ran across his orange, almost red, eye for the world to see. He ran his blade along the barrier, digging into it, but it wouldn't budge. He looked at Enver, looking highly unimpressed.

"Wizard."

"I did not need a spell to keep you at bay. Not today." Enver nodded to the small contraption at his feet, one foot pressed on top of it, keeping the barrier alive. "It's magical, yes, but it requires almost no energy than creating a true barrier from scratch. Handy to ones who aren't as proficient with magic."

"Like yourself?"

"I consider myself proficient in anything I put my hands on, or my mind to." Enver smirked. "You were going to kill me, I assume?"

"Yes. Though, now you've quipped my interest. I think I'll take you back home and kill you slowly, open up your inside and take a look at your brain matter." The Bhaalspawn sounded almost amused, but his voice still held a monotonous edge to it. Unchanging, spoke clear and precise, with no room for emotion to effect it. He continued to test the barrier with hand and blade, curiosity in his glowing, mismatched eyes.

He seemed level-headed despite the blade in his hand, already bloodied by someone else's blood. Compared to the compulsive killers he'd read about in the line of Bhaalspawns, he seemed eerily calm. This was no mindless, murderous monster that the textbooks might lead others to believe Bhaalspawns to be. Enver was almost glad he came to visit him himself rather than leave another errand boy to it.

"That would be a waste. For the both of us." Enver pulled out the letter he'd written and quirked a brow. "I have something I think you'd rather like. Information on some...family heirlooms."

The Bhaalspawn glanced down at the letter and quirked a brow.

"...Are you 'Gortash'?"

"Ah, so you did receive my letter. It's typically frowned upon to not give a response, dear-" He paused and frowned. "What exactly do I call you?"

"The Dark Urge." Enver couldn't refrain from scoffing at the ridiculous alias.

"I'm not calling you that."

"Spawn of Bhaal works too. Prince of Bhaal is used occasionally." The Bhaalspawn walked around the sphere, dragging his knife along the surface. Enver watched him from the corner of his eye. Sphere or not, a threat was a threat. He would be a fool to treat the man like he wasn't one.

"I'm not asking for a title. I'm asking for a name. You know mine. It's only fair, to share yours."

"...Tar'eon, is a name I used to use. If that works for you. My true name can be hard for those who only know of the Common Tongue." Tar'eon came to stand before him, tilting his head. Those glowing eyes were rather pretty, when Enver let himself stare back into them. Terrifying, but in a beautiful sense. "I didn't read your letter. I didn't recognise your name, so it did not matter to me. I typically...receive mail to begin with. You're a persist man."

"I'll have you know, I am proficient in several languages." Enver smirked, something in his mind trying to wrap around the name and squeeze out it's meaning. Somehow, it felt familiar. "Infernal happens to be a favourite of mine." He glanced up at his horns pointedly, but the man did not react.

"What do you know?"

"Ah, ah, I've played this game before. You will not get the information unless I'm promised my life. I'll have to drop my barrier to hand it over, and we both know you'll have the advantage." His eyes travelled down the massive tieflings body and shook his head, as well as any passing thoughts that came with the glance over.

"I can't promise you much in return right now, but do believe me when I say we could be very good for each other." He smirked. "Two leaders, running two separate cults, hidden from the outside world? We're more alike than most would ever consider. The Spawn of Bhaal...and the Chosen of Bane. Wouldn't it be fun to see what we could do, if we worked together?"

"Now why would I ever work with a worshipper of Bane?" Tar'eon narrowed his eyes and Enver laughed. Even now, something was scratching at the back of his mind, demanding answers he couldn't remember.

"Why would I ever work with a Bhaalspawn? Simple. Because it benefits me, and in this case, it also benefits you. This letter will have the details. I'm sure you'll find me, should you agree to what I'm offering. I'm not the only one with spies after all." Enver doubted he would be left unwatched after tonight.

"So you're the one who keeps sending them."

"I wanted to keep an eye on you. I thought perhaps I'd be able to find your base of operations, watch you closely to make sure my own fellow worshippers or important people weren't being targeted - purposefully at least. The others you killed were barely Banite material, if they were bested so easily." He turned his nose up at the very mention of them.

The Bhaalspawn watched him closely, coming to stand as close as possible to the barrier, steel boots scrapping the floor.

"I'll let you live, and I'll read your letter, as long as you promise to end your search for my Father's temple. It's forbidden to outsiders. Unless you're dead." This close, Enver could see the hint of green within the glowing blue iris, the other like a flame. Those eyes...

It struck him like a hammer to metal, the realisation ringing in his ears. He knew those eyes. He knew that name. That scrap of steel was more familiar than anything else. Gods, to think after all this time...Even with the mask covering his lower face, the hood drawn up over his dark hair, he knew it was him.

How funny fate could be, to draw them back together after so long apart. The last time he saw him, he was been only eight years old. They had said goodnight outside the door of his house, his friend tall enough to steady the flower pot hanging from above the door, and he had ruffled his hair, before Enver walked back home alone. That was his last night in Baldur's Gate, before he was taken to the House of Hope.

He had never been the gentle sort, even back then. He had been just as 'wretched' as he was. They knew they were better than others, knew they were meant for more, both smarter than their peers. He had been stronger, sure, but it was Enver who aided his strengths. He used his skilled hands to craft things, even against his parents wishes. Like boots. Steel boots, worthy of a knight.

Enver smiled faintly. He might not recognise him anymore, it had been two decades after all. Remembering him was a miracle in itself. This changed nothing though. People changed, and so had he. If he stood in his way, he'd pick him off the board and toss him into sea, even if he'd feel a small ache at a wasted chance of renewed friendship. Recognising him had opened a flood gate of old memories he hadn't touched in years.

"Of course." Enver promised. "Consider it an oath. I keep my life, and you keep your temples secrecy."

"I suppose I have to honour it then. Consider the oath sworn."

Enver eased his foot off the device slowly, the barrier falling away. As promised, the Bhaalspawn didn't jump to stab him. He watched him as he leaned down to pick up the device, tucking it away and offering out the letter. A clawed hand took it, glowing eyes falling to the envelope before looking back at him, gaze feeling impenetrable. He obviously wanted to read it, but he was waiting for him to leave first.

"May our paths align, and may our endeavours be fruitful for the both of us." He bowed his head ever so slightly and smirked, taking a few steps back before chancing turning his back to the other and reaching for the ladder that would take him back up to the surface. He climbed up it and shoved the manhole aside before looking back down at the tiefling who was watching him. Like a panther, looking for a moment to strike.

"Have a good night, Tir'yal." He pulled himself out and closed the manhole.

He didn't even notice his slip of the tongue until he was back home, chuckling to himself. The little robot on his shelf gave a cheerful greeting to its master as he placed the barrier device on his pillow. He smiled at the robot and picked it up, thumbing over the gentle glowing light of its chest.

"Hello to you too, Borot. No visitors?"

"Not today, Creator!"

"Good." He placed the robot back on the shelf and idly undressed himself, considering what his slip of the tongue might cost him.

"He didn't tell me his true name, did he?" He was rarely that careless. He'd blame it on the surprise. It wasn't every day you met your childhood friend after two decades apart, and found out he was now a Bhaalspawn. Or, he supposed he always was.

"Not today, Creator!" Borot repeated. He only had a select amount of phrases now, but Enver intended to expand his vocabulary soon.

"You're right. Not today. But he did once...Set your alarm, Borot."

"Alarm set, Creator!"

"Good." With a sweep of his hand and soft incantation, the torches around the room died. He crawled into bed and sighed softly, holding the small square device in his hand, thumbing the pressure mechanism. Borot's light was as gentle as moonlight in his dark room, and he found himself drifting, slowly but surely. Borot would warn his master if anyone entered. He had his protection in hand.

He would just have to wait and see if the other even noticed. Wait for his answer. He'd be ready for him, should he come. When he came.

****

Tir'yal wasn't used to being caught off guard. It was unsettling to him. He was quiet as he peeled back the skin of a human man's submental space beneath his chin, more distracted than he liked while examining the man's inflamed thyrohyoid. He was long dead, but that didn't mean he didn't still have his uses. He killed in his Father's name, yes, but that didn't mean he could waste all the bodies he created to show his adoration, his devotion. There was always something new to discover.

Humans were common amongst these parts. He almost wished he had more variety in bodies in this city, but there was always travellers from all around Fae'run stopping in. They weren't missed, more often than not. With nimble fingers, he picked up his scalpel and sliced the inflamed muscle out slowly, careful not to disrupt the rest of the throats interior. Once he had it, he looked at it in the light closely, admiring the swollen texture between his thumb.

"Fel."

"Yes, Milord?" His butler appeared at his call and Tir'yal turned to look at him from over his shoulder.

"Put it in a jar for me. Keep it fresh." He'd have a closer look at it later, behind one of his microscopes.

"Oh ho, whatever my young Master desires." Fel chuckled and whisked away with the muscle. Tir'yal turned back to the body and continued to slice deeper into the throat, trying to find the cause behind the swelling, to find where it began, testing the movement of the larynx with two fingers.

He heard sopping wet footsteps against stone and turned to look at his sister.

"Blood kin!" Orin threw her arms open but he knew she would cut him if he dared to hug her. She was showing off the gore on her body, soaked in it. "I saw what you did with the spies. A splendid touch to your morose slaughters. I almost approve. I think I have you beat though, after tonight." She grinned, looking awfully proud of herself.

"I have no desire to challenge your creativity, sister. My artistic abilities still only apply to music and paint." He assured, but she only scowled. He never knew the right thing to say with her. Her emotions flickered from one end of the spectrum to the other in seconds.

"I should paint with your blood, brother." Orin dragged her feet forward and looked upon the body. "Playing doctor again?" She mocked in a sweet voice.

"Not doctor. More...mortician meets scientist." Tir'yal smirked. He enjoyed talking to her - sometimes. He supposed he never stopped looking for a sibling after he gave up his own to Bhaal. Orin wouldn't ever be Aelath'nus, but...nobody would, not really. Killing her would never fill him with the same feeling he'd felt when he killed his older brother.

He'd loved him. Perhaps more than a brother, but not exactly a lover either. He wasn't sure if that made him a worse person than he already was, or like every other Bhaalspawn. Incest wasn't exactly uncommon from what he had learnt in his own studies. You either lived long enough to fuck a fellow Bhaalspawn, or you were killed by them. Sometimes both.

Orin's hand run up his arm and she chuckled, looking down at the body with her pale eyes.

"I crave nothing more than to put your body on this very table and peel your skin from your muscle, to tear your sinews, to reach inside and twist your organs up into one big heart..." Orin's nails dug deep into his shoulder, but he did not flinch away, used to her antics. He looked down at her, watching for the moment when she'd choose to strike or step back. He would be ready for either, and he was used to both. Tonight, she simply laughed and walked back, hips swaying in tandem with her long braid.

"I have sated my thirst for one night. A crowd of noble drunkards, who squealed like filthy pigs as I scraped muscle from bone." She pressed her hands to her stomach, still wet with blood, and smeared it up her form, over her breasts and up her neck as she relished in the blood. Even if it was from pigheaded men who couldn't hold their liquor. "You may live to see another day, blood kin."

"Enjoy your rest, sister. I'm sure your murders were as beautiful as you are." He smiled faintly and looked back down at the body, slicing down the man's chest. He wondered how his rib bones would sound when snapping. If it would be more hollow or sharp, given his elder age. "Do not disturb me again unless you've come to ask me to wash your back."

Orin's expression twisted into something fierce, lips downturned and eyes murderous.

"Forget the days of youthful follies, brother. I need not for your help any longer."

"Yet I will still offer it to you, little sister." When he arrived, she had still been young. Barely thirteen. It had been a three year difference, but he always liked the idea of being an older brother, like Aelath'nus. Had he been like Orin as a child? So emotionally driven, so quick to anger, pouting and whining...

He didn't like to think too much on the past anymore. His home was with Bhaal, and he had given up everything he knew to have his love. His unconditional love, reserved only for the monster born from his gore. His one, true pureblooded child.

He couldn't exactly expect strangers to love him for forever, though they tried to assure him of that. But his blood belonged to Bhaal, and he was his Father's son. He could not deny his heritage. At least his foster parents would be remembered kindly. Nobody would remember them quite as fondly if he'd refused Bhaal's call back to home. That's what he liked to think, on nights were he got a touch too sentimental about it all. When he dreamt of the past.

He knew though, that what really drove him to Bhaal was the fact that he was offering answers, as well as love. All those urges, all the times people had called him a heartless child, a cruel child, had been explained simply by the sweet whisper of his Father's voice. Every time he'd lost control, where his vision had gone black if only for a few moments, were explained.

He sacrificed one family for another, another full of monsters like himself. This was where he belonged. This was his home. This was where he was truly loved, for all the rotten parts of him. They may not love the humane part of him that could not be banished or squashed, but it was easier to cover up the good in one's soul than the bad. All one had to do was take a moment to pause, to think, and you could turn away from doing a good deed. He could forget the voice inside that didn't belong to Father, but instead to the him that had died that day with his family.

Evil was not instinctive to him. It always required thought. At least, that's what he believed.

He snatched Orin's wrist before she could stab him and twisted her around, wrapping an arm around her throat as he squeezed hard enough to break her wrist should she not drop the knife. She didn't, and howled when her wrist snapped, the blade clattering to the floor as she struggled against him. He held her tightly though, arm moving down to trapped the other against her side.

"I will accept no challenge from you, little one, until you learn to show me some damn respect." Tir'yal growled into her ear and Orin whimpered, silence following the sound before she chuckled lowly.

"You broke my blade-hand, brother. I shall string you up by your sinews, should you let me go."

"Perhaps another day, when your blade hand can no longer be broken so easily." Tir'yal mused, not threatened in the slightest. He was used to threats against his life. He was either worshipped or loathed, or a mix of both. That was simply the fate of a Bhaalspawn. Orin's immature mind and diluted blood would never understand.

He eased his grip slowly and he raised her wrist up, larger hand still wrapped around the tiny thing.

"Shall I help you wash tonight, little sister? Like the old days?" He mused and she scowled, ripping out of his grasp and picking her blade up with her left hand.

"We aren't children anymore, brother. Should you desire this form in the nude, or any other, you will have to beg for it, like the pig you are." Orin smirked, hips swaying with the confidence of a woman as she left the room. Tir'yal could only see her as that little girl though, the one who had stared up at him with so much awe and envy when he came to the temple. She was still so immature and unable to see reason, to change in anyway that wasn't her surface skin, to learn...he had no interest in any form she could take.

He turned back to the body before him and stripped away muscle slowly from the bone, snapping them and setting them aside. Perhaps he'd make a new instrument from them. Indulge in the true music of this humans being. He reached for the cold heart in his chest and smiled, holding it in his palm before parting his lips and digging his teeth into the muscle and fat, letting the blood gush down his chin and wrist.

Not a single part of this flesh would go to waste. That was his promise to his victims. The ones who deserves it would serve a purpose after death, but they would all invoke something special within him. This ones purpose would be to sate his curiosity, and fill his stomach.

Once he was done, he'd spare a thought to the Chosen of Bane who knew his true name, and spoke it with haunting familiarity.

****

It took four days. Enver knew he'd find him eventually.

He felt a sharp zap of awareness as he woke from his rest, the warding hidden beneath the rug alerting him of an intruder. He whipped around and slammed the butt of his cane into the trespassers chest before he realised who it was, the Bhaalspsawn holding the other end tightly. Enver gripped the silver handle tightly and narrowed his eyes.

"It's rude to wake someone from their well-deserved rest."

"Couldn't risk you getting drool all over your papers." Enver tugged on his cane gently to test the give, but the masked man kept a firm grip. His brow twitched and with a proper tug, the Bhaalspawn relinquishing it to him.

"I don't drool."

"You do snore though."

"A couple of broken noses over a lifetime have natural consequences." Enver shrugged, standing tall before the other. He would not lie to the man. His business was a rough one at times. He had suffered more than his fair share of injuries in the past.

"I see." Tir'yals gaze fell down to his desk and rounded his chair to look at the hand sketched plans. He'd been marking entry and exit points, as well as where he'd noticed guards. The day prior he had watched them for hours, checking their rotations for a weak point. He'd found one. Alone, he could probably sneak through the mission, but if Tir'yal was to join him - he'd need to know how to avoid the most bloodshed. Not that that was necessary. He didn't care who they killed if it meant he got inside and got his hands on all that Gondian technology.

"Brother Toop's bones and Brother Eler's racks are on floor one. Why have you marked the opposite wing?"

"This heist isn't just to get your heirlooms back." Enver scoffed. "I have my own goals."

"Which are, wizard?"

"Artificer." Enver corrected with a scowl and Tir'yals brows slowly raised upwards.

"Ah. A tinkerer. You want the Gondian's tech." He was quick as ever. Enver's pinched brows smoothed out, expression more pleasant.

"Some tech, a couple books, maybe some blueprints..." Enver waved his hand like it didn't matter, stepping closer and tapping the entrance he had marked off. "They leave this door vulnerable during change over in the noon. It's a ten minute interval. We'll go in through there, and stealthily make our way in, and out, with what we both want."

"That's it?"

"It's a simplified version of the plan, yes." Enver shrugged. "I'll indulge you in the details after you assure me you're all in."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Tir'yal looked down his nose at the man and Enver felt a stirring of irritation. He did not appreciate the arrogance, but he supposed it made sense. He was a Bhaalspawn now, the leader of a cult. His old friend deserved a touch of arrogance. Even in the old days he'd been rather blunt and coarse, but always softer with him. Not kinder, simply...softer. Curbing the sharp edges of his personality just enough to not cut the younger boy.

He could set aside his impertinence, just this once.

"Yes. But I prefer verbal agreements. Written is even better." Enver smirked.

"Fine. I'm all in. The idea of Baldurian's gawping at Brother Eler's work, allowing it to rot, displaying Brother Toop's bones like the unwashed scum they are beneath my boot...I want to cut their eyes out and remove their tongues." He growled. It was the highest measure of disrespect in his mind, to be displayed after death and gawked at by those who would never appreciate the true beauty of murder, to be stared at by strangers with no love for the history of Bhaal's spawns. Little Toop the Brave should be home, amongst his collection, the bones of the kobold cleansed and respected, in the most beautiful mahogany grandfather clock so he may be remembered with every hourly chime. Eler Had's racks should be restored and put back to use, to honour his memory, to honour all the work he did in the name of their Father.

"I don't want this to be a stealth mission. I wish to savage the guards for entertaining the public with what belongs to my family. They made fools of us, turned us into tourist attractions - I shall give them all the entertainment they desire. The most bloody kind."

Enver frowned slightly. It didn't change much for him, honestly. He preferred skirting around fights, if only because he was more focused on getting what he wanted and leaving, but if his old friend truly wanted to get his revenge...well, he couldn't deny him that. It would be nice to see what he was truly up against, should things go south.

"I'll help you get your things back, but stealth would be preferable once we're in the Gondians quarters." He explained. "I'd rather not risk anything getting destroyed before I can make use of it. The Gondians are not on my 'need to die' list."

"You intend to make use of the Gondians?" Tir'yal tilted his head curiously.

"Perhaps. Depends on what I find." Enver smirked and offered his hand to the other. "For the time being, we're allies. Partners, if you will. It's a pleasure to have you on board, Tir'yal."

The tiefling narrowed his eyes and took his hand, shaking it firmly, grip tighter than he appreciated.

"How do you know that name? I never told you."

"Let's just say...we have history, you and I." He admitted before shaking his head. "But that's not important right now. The mission is. Should you still be curious once it's all over, perhaps I'll divulge more of our history to you, over a cup of wine." What better way to loosen one’s tongue and see their true intentions. A truth serum perhaps, or maybe he’d hide a mind reading potion in his own; take a peek into Tir’yals mind while they conversed. He would hate to jeopardise a good thing by forcing his tongue - it would be simpler to slip into that mind of his.

Tir'yals brows pinched, looking unimpressed. Enver attempted to pull his hand away, but the other did not let go.

"I'd prefer to know now."

"Have patience, Tir'yal. A good alliance is built on trust.” Enver chuckled, eyes narrowing ever so slightly despite his smile. He did not trust anyone as far as he could throw them. “I do hope you intend to return my hand. I quite like my hands, as do many others.”

Tir’yal gave a small growling huff before he released his hand, tail whipping behind him as he dragged steel boots across stone floors, looking around the office.

“I don’t like this. Allying with a Chosen of Bane.”

“Well, if it puts you at ease, I'm not. Not yet.” Enver admitted, hoping it would not lose him points with the other. “But I will be, in time.”

“You sound confident in that.” Tir’yal mused, a single claw dragging along the spines of his books. “Banites. Always so cocky.”

“I simply used the title to my advantage. You’re Bhaal’s spawn. I figured you’d only respect my request if I was a Chosen.”

“I’ll admit…I was curious. I’ve never met a Chosen before.” Tir’yal turned his gaze to Enver and the human tilted his head ever so slightly.

“You do seem rather sheltered, if you don’t mind me saying. I hadn’t heard of you until just a few months ago. The Bhaalspawn, Bhaal’s Chosen-"

“I’m not his Chosen.”

“Oh?” Well, that explained why his falsified title had not been considered by the other. “I’m surprised. Are you not his heir?”

“I am. I am the first pureblooded Bhaalspawn, and I will be the last. But I’m not his Chosen. Father says I am not ready. Not yet.”

“Well, I suppose I empathise with that. Bane insists that his blessing with come with time - but a mortal man can only be so patient.” He chuckled, trying not to let his resentment slip in. He had to bide his time until Bane finally bestowed his blessing onto him. Then, he'd truly be free. Once he was his Chosen, no devil would ever be able to touch him.

“I respect my Father’s wishes. He will let me know when he needs use of me. He often does.” Tir'yals tail gave a flick, something akin to annoyance before he turned towards Enver's window, still open from his entry. He climbed up and over the sill, crouching outside on the roof as he spared Enver a look. "I will meet you outside the House of Wonders tomorrow, at noon sharp. Do not be late, Banite, or I'll kill those Gondians too before you can make use of them."

"I am never tardy, my friend. I pride myself in being one step ahead. Of even the clock." He smirked.

"Just be there, Banite."

"You know, you could always use my name." Enver offered, irked by Tir'yals tone but not showing it. "We're allies now, aren't we? Temporarily, at least."

Tir'yal frowned but slowly, he nodded.

"I will see you tomorrow...Enver." He closed the window sharply and disappeared. Enver frowned a moment before a smile tugged onto his lips. Usually, he'd remove a finger or two for anyone daring to use his first name. He wasn't close enough to anyone to allow such a thing. Only Bane had the right, and that was because he was his master. His God.

But...whether he remembered or not, Tir'yal had gained the right to his first name decades ago. Enver could hardly be annoyed, even if he wanted to be. Tir'yal was his ally now, and hopefully would stay as such. He suppose one thing he could give him, was the right to use his true name, just as Tir'yal had given him the right all those years ago.

****

There wasn't much to it, in the grand scheme of things. He had met Tir'yal outside the House of Wonders, Tir'yal wearing his respective mask and Enver wearing his own hood to cover his identity. They had slaughtered their way through guards as the few civilians there ran for their lives. He had slipped away once they found the racks and bones, using an invisibility ring to hide himself as he explored the wing of labouring Gondians, Tir'yal assuring him he was standing guard of the door as he went through. Enver didn't need his assurance, if the man decided he couldn't be bothered to guard him, it would be no sweat off his back. He was more than capable by himself.

He managed to nick a few things without getting caught, but what really stuck with him was the craftsmanship of their work, their productivity. He had noticed many of them had pictures on their desks of family, of lovers. Enver had many ideas of his own, but it was hard to make them come to life when he had so little time to himself and only two hands. His fellow Banites had no knack for his talents in engineering. With a dozen or so extra hands on board, hands that knew what they were doing...

He'd keep their usefulness in mind. Their families. People were sentimental, even people who spent their whole lives creating non-sentimental machines. He was specialised in blackmail, and he had a very obvious angle he could work off when it came to the artificers working within the temple. The desire to create, and the desire to keep their families safe, should he even need to go that far.

When he finally left the wing and returned to Tir'yal, he kept himself hidden for a few moments longer than necessary to watch the tiefling who looked vigilant despite not needing to be. The Bhaalspawn was crouched over a fresh body he didn't remember leaving, the dead guard bleeding over silver boots.

"...You're not worth being savoured. Rot." He gave the body a sharp kick, his tail whipping wildly in obvious anger as he stepped back to his post beside the door. Enver waited another moment before he pulled the ring off his finger and tucked it away.

"I got what I came for. This partnership of ours has been most fruitful, son of Bhaal." Enver gave a dramatic bow of his head, hand raised as if to exalt him. "May we find reason yet to work together again."

"You still owe me answers." Tir'yal narrowed his eyes. "I expect them. You'll see me again. For now, I take my leave. I have to return my Brother home, as well as the racks."

"Well, do not let me stop you then. I will see you when you decide to grace me with your presence again. Ah, do be mindful of the window, though. I can't allow just anyone sneaking in, now that I know it's an option. A knock on the front door should suffice." He hadn't thought the window to be an option, it was hardly the easiest way into his office. Though, he had already booby-trapped the balcony, so...

"A door sounds mundane. I'd rather you not know I'm there until you do." He could almost hear the smirk in his voice before the tiefling walked away down the hall and vanished around the corner, leaving Enver alone. The artificer huffed a soft sound of amusement at the threat that didn't quite land like one. It felt more like an inside joke than a threat.

****

Enver had expected the Bhaalspawn to show up that night, but he was left feeling quite disappointed when he didn't. It wasn't until the next night that he slunk through his window once more, dropping his traps onto his desk where he'd just been writing. The Banite glared, annoyed by the petty action.

"You know tieflings have a natural resistance to fire." It was common knowledge, and he could tell Enver wasn't stupid.

"Resistance is not an immunity." Enver let the annoyance slip away, an easy smile curling onto his lips as he raised himself from his desk, picking up the disarmed traps and moving them aside as not to dirty his papers. He turned back to the tiefling and clasped his hands together in front of him.

"Care for some wine?"

"You promised me answers."

"I also promised you a drink. Come." Enver beckoned him to follow and didn't bother waiting to see if he would, moving over to a drawer. He opened it and pulled out a bottle of wine from the portable larder, before opening the cabinet beside the rack drawer to pull out two silver goblets. He only kept those two silver cups in the cabinet, along with one black chalice. That one wasn't available to guests though. That was purely for him to enjoy his wine during his midnight prayers. Bane may not be able to drink anymore, but Enver could indulge him through his own mortal palate, Chosen or not. Bane held his being tightly within his black hand, and he had ever since he answered his prayers in the House of Hope.

The least he could do was allow his God to taste an excellent vintage through him and his tongue. In exchange, he dealt with the sickening taste of smoke and thanked him for it. Small sacrifices were necessary in the grand scheme of things. They were worth the protection of his God.

"Do you prefer red or white?"

"I don't drink wine."

"Oh? Do you prefer beer?" Enver didn't have any, but he was curious. He had more than his fair share of beer and liquor in his life; sometimes a shot of whiskey was the only thing that could keep him warm for a night. It wasn't preference though. He much preferred wine, or even champagne.

"No. I don't drink alcohol." Tir'yal corrected.

"Well, I guess I'll have the honour of introducing you to the tastiest version of it." He chuckled and closed the drawer, the cork popping quietly as he opened it. He poured the wine into the two cups and offered one out to the other as he leaned against the small counter. "Go on. I'm surprised a man of your age hasn't had a sip."

"I have. I just don't like it." Tir'yal frowned and looked at the red liquid. It was Enver's personal favourite, but he was willing to share. If only to broaden Tir'yals horizons.

"Maybe you'll like this one." Enver nodded for him to take it and the tiefling huffed softly before taking the cup and hesitating. He turned away from the other and lowered his mask to take a sip. There was a visible shudder in his tail and Enver bit his lip to stifle a laugh. "Not to your taste?"

"No, it's...it's better than what I've tried, but not by much." Tir'yal admitted, glancing over his shoulder at the human. It was a surprisingly demure gesture for the large man.

"If you don't like it, don't drink it." Enver was many things, but he was not one to force inebriation on an ally. "I will happily finish it for you."

"No. I'll drink it." Tir'yal said with finality and wandered off from his spot in the room, his curious eyes falling back to the shelves of books. Enver watched his back, seeing as that was all he could see of the other as the Bhaalspawn continued to take small sips from the goblet. Enver slowly made his way towards his desk, leaning back against it as the tiefling scanned over titles. He still considered his option of using a mind reading potion, but he wanted to see how Tir'yal would react to their past first.

"Well?" The Bhaalspawn looked over to him, tilting his head, mask back in place. "Aren't you going to ask me what I know?"

"I was...distracted. You have an impressive collection. I can tell you enjoy reading."

"I do. I have since I was a child." Enver said, taking a swallow of his own wine. It was an ice wine from Neverwinter, one he had imported in for his own enjoyment. It was honeyed and richly sweet, leaving his breath feeling cold when he exhaled despite it being left at room temperature. That was the magic of Neverwinter wine. It kept it's rich flavour without growing acidic, and left a cold, refreshing aftertaste like drinking iced water.

"How do you know my name? Nobody else knows it, or uses it for that matter. Not even my Father."

"Is that why you go by 'The Dark Urge'?" Enver scoffed. "That's a ridiculous name."

"It's a title, more than a name. I didn't need one when I came to Father's door. Everyone knew who I was. I am my Father's creation. When I came to him, I was told to shed my old life and leave it behind me. So I did. I am Bhaal's spawn. His heir. That's all I need to be. I don't need a name." Tir'yal did not seem upset by this notion, simply accepting of it.

"I understand the worship of your Father, I do, but a name is necessary. An identity outside our masters is necessary. We may work in their names, but it's important to also work for ourselves." Enver took another sip. "How can we offer anything substantial to our Gods if we have no purpose, no sense of self? Blind worship is for the dimwits who have no ambition or intelligence, or anything real to offer in the first place, outside another empty soul."

"You seem rather confidant that that's what all Gods desire. Individuality." Tir'yal was looking at him now, and Enver chuckled.

"Bane likes that I have a mind of my own. We think similarly, of course, our values align, but...he knows I worship him for a reason. Sure, partly because he's helped me to get where I am, but also because I want his blessing. I want to be his Chosen, to have the power that comes with that, and I'm willing to work for it. I want to work with him, to create a brighter horizon for this city that I call home. I want to conquer it. Eventually." Enver shrugged with one shoulder and Tir'yal hummed, turning away once more to take a sip of his wine. His tail gave another small shudder and the menace in him wanted to pull it to see how he'd react.

"I suppose we're different, you and I. My God is my Father. Bane is not yours, and you aren't his, not in the way I am Bhaal's. I am still being raised to become the Chosen he desires. My purpose is Bhaal." Tir'yal shook his head softly. "I do not need a sense of self, or a name. I only need to be of service of him, until he gives me my final task."

"How dreary." Enver frowned and finished his cup before walking off to the bottle and bringing it back with him, pouring more wine into his goblet. "Whether you need a name or not, you have one. You have a brain, and a heart, and a body. Not sure on the soul thing, considering Bhaal made you, but nevertheless..." He smirked.

"What do you consider to be a 'sense of self' then?" Tir'yal asked, glowing eyes flickering over the other mans features.

"Simple. Who you are, who you believe yourself to be. Things that are unable to be striped away, because they are inherently ones nature. It's about the roles we take, the attributes we have, inherent behaviours we can't break. It's about what we consider most important about ourselves." Enver gestured with one hand as he spoke, a habit he'd had since childhood. Talking with ones hands distracted those who didn't care, and drew in others who did, making them focus more on what he was saying. He was finding himself quite enjoying the conversation, if he was honest. He rarely got to talk so openly about subjects that fascinated him, like technology and the human psyche.

"I consider my intelligence to be a very important part of myself, and it's something no one can take from me. I was born a genius, and I will continue to be. But, the life I've lead has shaped my behaviours as well. I'm hard working because I have ambition. My ambition is not Bane's, and I don't have them because I worship him. I like luxuries because I didn't grow up with them, not because Bane demands me to drink fine wine and wear expensive clothes. And I loathe small talk because I find it demeaning and pointless, not because Bane doesn't know the concept of small talk. These are things I can't deny about myself, that are not influenced by my God, so they must be a part of me - they must make up who I am, and that's the big question we all ask at some point. 'Who am I? And who do I want to be?'"

"...I had a life before Bhaal. I don't like to think too much on it. It's not who I am anymore."

"But who are you now?"

"I...I'm Bhaal's heir. A Bhaalspawn." He reverted to his previous answer, not meeting his eyes.

"I didn't ask what you are. I asked who you are." Enver shook his head, wondering if the hopeless man would ever understand what he was actually asking. It was no wonder he didn't remember him, if he didn't enjoy thinking about the past. Enver usually wasn't the type he enjoyed looking back either. Tir'yals tail wrapped around his ankle as he tapped a claw on the shelf before hesitantly pulling his mask down, the hood slipping down with it. He sipped the wine, bitter and sweet all at once.

"I am my Father's son. But I suppose I am also...Tir'yal. I like anatomical science. Figuring out how people work, internally. Looking at their brains, their organs, the muscles and bones..." He shook his head slightly and Enver soaked up the new features offered to him. He had definitely changed since he last saw him, features sharper, stronger - the skin was paler than when he was a child, probably because he stayed inside so much now. There was discoloration beneath his lips, and he wondered what it was from. He had noticed it on his hands, but he hadn't realised it was on his chin as well.

"I also like music. I can play almost any instrument given to me, but I prefer the flute...because it was the first thing my mother taught me to play. I like the colour green, but I wear red and black because it's easier to hide the bloodstains. I...I like killing only for a reason, rather than mindlessly and in droves like Father wants. I don't like wasting my victims, so I try to give them purpose, after death. I like to keep parts of them and wonder what life they led before I ended it."

"Is that who Tir'yal is?" Enver smiled softly and sipped his wine. He should be put off by his words, but somehow, it just reminded him of the boy he once knew, in a strange way. Quieter, softer, but still blunt and jagged around the edges.

"I'm not sure. I suppose so." Tir'yal looked down at his cup and finished his glass, coming closer and holding it out. Enver quirked a brow and picked up the bottle, letting the neck of it touch the chalice before he poured the other some more.

"Good?"

"Mm. It is, once you get past the bitterness."

"Bitterness? This is a desert wine, Tir'yal. It's supposed to be sweet."

"It is sweet. But also bitter." Tir'yal sipped slowly at the wine and looked at Enver from over the rim of his cup. He swallowed and tilted his horn ever so slightly to the right. "Who am I to you?"

"Ah, well...You're Tir'yal." Enver smiled, an easy smile he wore for many as he drained his cup and poured another. He never went past three, so it would be his last. He intended to savour it. "We knew each other before Bhaal. Before Bane. It was a long time ago; I doubt you'd remember. I don't remember much myself."

"How long ago?" Enver looked up, trying to calculate the years in his mind.

"Well...I think I was eight the last time I saw you. You're older than me, but not by much. You would have been about ten, I think. It's normal, not to remember that far back."

"Unless it's a core memory." Tir'yal corrected. "I was a core memory for you."

Enver resisted the urge to snarl, to tell him to shut his mouth, to silence the truth from his lips. He didn't like that he was the only one who remembered, not when it was put like that. Like he'd been hung up on Tir'yal for two decades, when he simply had good memory.

"My memory is superior to most. It's a part of why I'm a genius." He assured. "We lived near each other. Neither of our families were particularly wealthy, but I preferred what your mother made for dinner compared to mine." He smirked and swirled the wine in his glass, looking down at the tiny whirlpool.

"We were friends?" Tir'yal asked, eyes trying to pick out the others expression, to extract answers. "When we were children?"

"We were. We were each others...only friends." Enver admitted softly before scoffing. "Nobody else was like us. Nobody understood that we were made for greater things. Look at us now; we were right. You're the son of a God, and I am to be another Gods Chosen. We were right not to listen to them, to let them force us into their tiny boxes of mindless idiocy."

Enver barely suppressed a sneer, shaking his head and allowing the hatred of the past and his anger to fall away to the back of his mind. Cool and collected, as a Banite should be.

"We didn't need anyone else. We had each other." Enver explained before a smile curled onto his lips. "And we can have that again, Tir'yal. We worked well together the other day. We're useful to each other, and we already have an old foundation we can build off. Let us put aside our Gods and think for ourselves on this one. You have a mind of your own, even if you insist you and your Father are one in the same. An alliance like ours...what would it hurt to give it a try?"

Tir'yal watched the other intensely for a long moment before turning away and walking alongside the bookcase, scanning titles as he thought of a response. Enver scowled, not appreciating his offer being ignored, but refusing to be the one who spoke up first, lest the man assume he'd gotten under his skin.

"I don't remember our past. I can't say there's a foundation on my end, but...your offer is tempting. You're good at that, offering things - getting people to accept your offers." Like some sort of devil, luring others in with a deal too good to be true. Tir’yals thoughts were halted as he spotted a book of interest and pulled it off the shelf, reading the title.

“This book...In Father's dreadful name, it’s a first edition too. How did you get your hands on it?” Enver quirked a brow at the topic change and glanced at the cover, taking a sip of wine.

“Oh, it was a…parting gift, if you will.” Yes, a gift. That he took, before setting the mans house alight. That would teach the charlatan to try and go behind his back.

“…What would you like for it?” Tir’yal asked curiously, opening the cover to admire the signature on the first page. His eyes gained a gleam. He itched to take it home, to devour it ravenously. A book on Genasi's powers and differing biology wasn't easy to get his hands on naturally. He hadn't been able to kill one himself yet, they weren't exactly as common as some other races in the city, so he hadn't the chance to study one himself either. “I’d like to add this to my collection.”

“You mentioned enjoy anatomical science...are you a scholar of some sorts?”

“Hmm…in my own way.” He was more of a hoarder of knowledge, especially when it came to the scientific beauty of anatomy and biology. “What would you like for the book?”

“What are you willing to give?” Enver chuckled, amused by the others obvious desire to covet the book for himself. It was only habit to negotiate rather than give a direct price. After all, he cared little for the intricate workings of people, let alone Genasi's - he preferred machines. Machines were infallibly loyal to their creators, could be controlled without pesky things like emotions and sentiment getting in the way. They couldn't betray or kill you, unless you were stupid, which he wasn't.

Tir'yal seemed to consider his question, tracing a single claw along the edge of the hardcover.

"I could kill you for it." Enver barked a laugh.

"Now, that's no way to bargain. You need me alive - if you're intending to accept my offer. An alliance isn't much good if one of us is dead."

"Maybe I want the book more than I want your promises." Tir'yal snapped it shut and Enver refused to flinch even if instinct almost got the better of him. The Bhaalspawn stared at him long enough for him to wonder if he'd actually do it, but the tiefling smiled. "I don't carry gold. It's worthless to me. I can't imagine I'd ever be able to afford a book like this - a signed first edition on Genasi's of all creatures, even if by an author I have no recognition of."

"Then what can you give me that isn't gold? That would be of the same value of such a...treasured piece of literature." Enver was pulling the mans tail. If he wanted it, he could have it, but it didn't hurt to see if he could get something out of this exchange.

Tir'yal stepped closer, crossing over the warding of his desk once more. Enver could feel the tingling of magic that warned him of danger, of 'ill-intent'. He subtly slipped his fingers under his desk for his emergency 'firecracker', looking away to appear more demure than he was. It was closer an explosive than a typical firecracker. He didn't have to win a fight against the other, he simply had to outsmart him. Enver had quick reflexes even with two cups in his system, was resilient to pain, and he was good at gaining the upper hand before striking deadly blows.

When you're an urchin, with no money to your name, you're willing to do odd jobs. 'Dog fighting' was a common practice in the slums. Except 'dog' didn't always mean the literal kind. He might be rusty, but he never forgot how to fight for his life, cage or no cage, collar or no collar. Smuggling put food on his plate and put a roof over his head, but it didn't feed the hearth that kept him alive in the winter, or came in handy when someone pulled a knife. Nights of bloody fists and a bruised face did that.

Despite the invasion into his space, Tir'yal did not attack. He simply looked down his nose at him, looking thoughtful before Tir'yal tucked the book beneath his arm to free a hand, reaching his right hand up to his mouth and baring eight sharp canines as he parted his lips, catching a ring between his teeth. He slipped it off and let it fall into his palm; a silver chain-like band with a square blue jewel in the centre. Enver quirked a brow, curious, and allowed the other to take his wrist in hand, moving his hand away from the explosive hidden beneath the desk. He clenched his jaw, watching closely as the tiefling slipped the ring upon his middle finger, the enchantment on it feeling like crisp winter air before it seemed to attune, adjusting to fit it's new wearer.

"That should suffice." Tir'yal hummed and stepped away. Enver hadn't realised how warm the other man was until his body heat disappeared from his personal bubble.

"And this is...?"

"A gift from one of Father's faithful. It originally belonged to a traveller. He boasted about traversing all kinds of terrain with the help of his magical ring. I probably would have let him live - he didn't draw my attention the way his orc friend had, but he grabbed one of my fellow assassins rather indecently, so...I took him home and tortured him. For days." Tir'yals lips quirked up in a satisfied smile. Enver wondered if the other considered his fellow cultists to be friends, or simply showed loyalty to them because they were devoted to Bhaal as well.

"I let her watch, and learn. She got the killing blow, and his body was hers to do with, but...she offered me the ring. She said she wanted nothing to hold me back from my murderous duties." Tir'yal nodded to the hand. "It happens to also be useful against any spell that intend to restrain or paralyse it's wearer."

"An invaluable gift..." One Enver was quite pleased with. "Do you not have your concerns that that might come to bite you in the arse later?"

"I don't need magic to restrain you." Enver couldn't tell if the half-mast gaze the other was giving him was simply from knowledge of his physical superiority, or because he was considering other ways he could restrain him. To kill him, or to do other, more depraved things. Perhaps the third glass was too much for him tonight, if he was interpreting such things from a single expression. If he was imagining killing him, then Enver could respect the restrain he was showing, at the very least.

He hummed to break the tension.

"Don't underestimate your allies...or your enemies, should we come to that. Though, I don't intend to make an enemy out of you, Tir'yal." He meant it. Knowing who he was now...it's not like he wanted him dead. If anything, he wanted the opposite. He had wondered how Tir'yal had changed over the years, and what about him stayed the same, and he found so far he liked what changed, and what stayed.

"I truly do think we could be good for each other. Putting our past aside, we can both benefit from this. You like to kill, and I have people I'd like dead. I have many enemies, given my profession. As for what I can do for you in return...I have an arsenal of weaponry and people at my disposal, many skills you're free to ask use of, and I can make sure your night time fun doesn't cause too much scandal. Enough scandal to threaten your Father's temple. People are like cattle, Tir'yal. They panic when they see the slaughter that awaits them. A panic that often leads to chaos. That benefits no one. I can make it so they don't see it. So they're blind to the slaughter that awaits them at your hand." Enver smirked and glanced down to the book that now belonged to the tiefling.

"You've already found something interesting just by meeting me. I can see you're as hungry for knowledge as you are for blood and gore. I'll admit, you show miraculous restrain despite what I've read on Bhaalspawns. Especially ones who stand by Bhaal and praise his name. I can respect a fellow intellect who knows the meaning of self control."

"Just because I have restrain, doesn't mean I'm in control of my urges." Tir'yal admitted with a soft scoff, looking away from the other as he opened the book to skim the first page.

"Your urges?" Enver pried, unable to help himself. It was all so fascinating, even if he was a touch irked to be ignored in favour of parchment.

"It's...the best word for it." Tir'yal relented, a clawed finger underlining the sentences as his eyes followed the words. "I was created by Bhaal, and I have the same compulsions that all of my brothers and sisters had. I am no different from them. The urges are simply...stronger than theirs was. There is more of Bhaal in me than anyone else has ever been blessed with."

"I've seen regular men with less restraint against murder. Count me impressed."

"I am no regular man." Tir'yal glanced back up at him before looking back at the page. "I sated my urges prior to our meeting. I didn't want to kill you before I got my answers."

"Funny. I had a similar idea, to discard you if you posed a problem - if you ended up being useless. I suppose we'll have to remain useful to each other then." Enver chuckled, not bothering to hold the truth back from the other. Neither of them had liked liars as children, and even now, Enver still didn't. So he would not lie to his oldest friend.

"Whether I had known you as a child or not, I would have offered you this alliance to begin with. I feel we're similar people, that we...understand each other. That we could have much more than we already do if we simply work together."

"Not very Banite of you, wanting to work with someone."

"Oh no, it's very much within our nature to latch onto potential and help it thrive. To use it to our benefit. I know this alliance will benefit me. It just happens that it will benefit you too. What do you say?"

He placed his cup down and offered his hand to the other, a small smile on his lips.

"Shall we make a new era for ourselves, old friend?"

Tir'yal looked down at his hand and rapped the books backing slowly with his claws. He took a gulp of the ice wine and finished the cup before placing it down beside Enver's. If Father asked, he'd blame it on the wine. The wine made him slip his hand into the Banite's own and swipe his thumb over scarred knuckles, wondering how they came to be.

He could only blame his own curiosity for accepting the alliance though. His curiosity was sure to get him killed - but he didn't dare to pray to Father that the satisfaction of knowing would bring him back.

#bg3 fanfiction #durge #durgetash #gortash #Enver gortash #bhaalspawn #the dark urge #cw cannibalism #cw emotional incest?#cw minor gore

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cardinaldante · 4 months

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Greetings siblings of the church! It is Cardinal Dante. I ran into Papa Copia and Aether today while venturing out to my office. Papa Copia told me that they were doing band practice, and me and Mist could sit and listen in. Mist was excited about it- so I agreed to go with. I just had to change my clothes, as I was still in my pajamas, and fix my make up. We headed to my office first and grabbed the few things of paperwork that I had before we headed back to my room. My room still looked alright, although I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't have Mist look over my room first to make sure nobody was dead.

I changed my clothes and we headed back after that, but before we could get there, I was stopped by Saltarian, who asked if I could help him with something. I told him Papa Terzo didn't want me around him, and he told me he just wanted some Insite on a problem he had. Mist promised to stay by my side, so we followed him. It was what seemed like a tap, though. The moment I stepped into the room, Mist couldn't enter. Saltarian closed the door on her and asked if I knew why he hated the Papa's.

He was standing between the door and I, so I hesitantly replied that I didn't know. He told me that he hated the Papa's because they 'wernt human, not even in the slightest' and didn't 'play by mortal rules'. He then told me a story.

A long, long(and he emphasized long) time ago, his father, Marcus Saltarian, was the head of the church before Papa Nihil. He'd had two other siblings- an older sister, Juliana, and a little brother, Lucas- and he was the middle child. His sister was slated to help him lead the church- as women couldn't be church leaders. Saltarian was going to be the one leading next. However, Papa Nihil's father- one he called Negativo Emeritus- hated the idea, and rebelled against Saltarians father. They fought, and Negativo killed Marcus. He then sacrificed Juliana and forced Saltarian to be a second hand to him and Sister Imperator. Papa Nihil killed Lucas when he tried to help Saltarian take back what was rightfully theirs, and Papa Nihil had placed something on him in order to punish him.

This all was... Very much alot. And it sounded off. I told him I didn't believe him. He asked me if I was really an orphan because of horrible circumstances or were my parents killed because they did something the Papa's didn't like. I wasn't able to respond as Papa Primo opened the door, a frown on his face. He didn't look happy with Saltarian at all. He asked him what the hell he was thinking, setting up an anti ghoul ward in his room. Saltarian told him he didn't want any of the ghouls coming into his room, and that since it was his room, he could do whatever he wanted with it. Papa Primo then asked why he'd locked Mist out of the room, as Mist was my ghoul, and she was to stay with me.

Saltarian repeated what he said before, and told him that he was just talking to me. Papa Primo looked over at me, and I agreed with Saltarian, albeit unwillingly. I didn't want an argument or fight to break out right now- expecially with how weird Saltarian was being. Papa Primo told me that the talk was 'over' and basically dragged me out of the room. He asked what Saltarian told me, and I asked if Saltarians story about the Papa's grandfather's name was Negativo. Papa Primo didn't respond for a long time, and when he did, he didn't sound happy.

He told me that Most- if not all of what Saltarian told me was lies, and to not trust him. He said the only thing that was true was that Negativo was his grandfather- but Negativo died long before Saltarian was even born. Papa Primo said that Negativo had been killed by Saltarian's father, and in response, Papa Nihil fought against him and won, and that's why the church belonged to the Emeritus brothers, not the other way around. Papa Primo led me back to Mist, who was in his office waiting for me. Apparently she had ran to get a Papa after not being able to enter Saltarian's room, and had run into Primo accidentally.

Before we left, Papa Primo told me to stay away from Saltarian completely, and if needed, he'd rebound Mist to me in order for her to be able to cross Anti Ghoul Wards and enter churches. After all, he said, I was human. I wanted to know what he ment by that, but he just waved me off- a clear dismissal- and so me and Mist left. I tried to ask Mist about what Saltarian said, but she told me that she wasnt old enough to know much about the Papa's, and too much knowledge can get a person killed. I wisley kept my mouth shut after that, but my head is swimming with questions. Questions, that I'm worried, siblings, will never be awnsered.

#ghost band #roleplay #the band ghost #ghost bc #ask blog

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artwithoutblood · 4 months

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i'll start you off by saying the bec de corbin was picked up later in his demonhood. someone showed it to him and he thought it was cool as hell, and so a custom one was gifted to him that runs red in its veins with a hunger.

Nice. Maybe it was Aeron. Middle Eastern culture, blood, history, war. Artisan. Fits their vibe.

The blood thing actually gives me an idea which fits well with something I already had planned.

him being some sort of mercenary turned cult leader is actually really, really fun, and if i wasn't the person i am i would've stolen that. that's fucking brilliant.

It does work. Perhaps Dorian found himself short of cash or needing to escape an unsavory reputation, consequences, or just his miserable life. And he enlisted as soon as possible after his mother passed (I think the minimum was age 17). Perhaps as he grew in confidence he used his deployments as a way to spread the gospel and accumulate followers. Even just camp followers who began to encourage him until he believed his own hype.

There's actually some more interesting things when digging about Gilles de Rais, who comes to mind - being a knight and alleged to have been involved in cults. (Huge TW for child death and SA if googling him. Not a good dude.)

There are mentions of alleged witch-cults weirdly similar to Dorian's that were being stamped out as heretics. Dianic with an element of fertility, and a sun god that was becoming popular among Roman soldiers. Not related to each other but the Church was not happy and went after a number of the smaller religions including a sub-sect of Christianity. (I already knew about that one.)

in the reality of 10:16, the tattoo on his arm is of the player's name.

Ahhhh... of course. Because the player shares his mother's name. Why didn't I see that coming.

Rebecca is Hebrew so not a great fit. But perhaps she likes to go by her middle name, Agnes, so that's what bird Dorian was always hearing her called. I chose it because in Greek it means pure/chaste/holy and the Roman 'Agnus' means lamb.

Which is an animal motif - she has a trusting naive nature, is unknowingly a prey animal to those who shelter her, and there's the religious overtones. A sheep being protected by a shepherd and a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. It also lets Dorian call her Lamb.

It doesn't really fit with Germanic roots... I think the closest there would be Inessa or Nessa.

But Rome did have a Saint Agnes. (Massive TWs there too.)

Ironically while she did get martyred eventually (for refusing a man and her Christianity being judged a cult), attempts to defile her purity failed and the wood at her stake refused to burn.

in ways i like to keep dorian's human life vague because that no longer matters to him. at this point, he's nearly forgotten his own name. people can fantasize about what they think, about what they want. what matters is that dorian sits in his cathedral, sorting through books, wishing he could leave. wishing he could take the muzzle off.

and perhaps he will, one day, but he has not been killed, and i don't think anyone has told him that this was an option.

it's not to say i don't love all of this, because i do! but it is a detail that i will give to the players and the readers to ponder about. what was he before? scary, of course. led the lambs astray, of course. but anything else? does there even need to be anything else?

#dorian ask

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finnglas · 2 years

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This is just a personal rambling, this isn't meant to be prescriptive for anyone else, this is just me using tumblr as a livejournal substitute but -

Honestly I think becoming agnostic was the best thing that ever happened to my worldview. I was raised evangelical protestant, and I believed it with my whole heart. I believed that what I knew was the Truth, with a capital T, and it was the bedrock of my life. It was comforting, in a way.

I had some really lovely friends who challenged my point of view from time to time, but I either managed to reconcile it with my world view or dismissed it as them being mistaken when I couldn't. (Cognitive dissonance is one of those areas of my psychology degree that I know about on a deep and personal level, lol.)

My road out of this world was winding and took several years. Several times I would approach questions and then back off completely because we were taught that any doubt, any faltering in the surety of our faith, was a "foothold for Satan." We literally weren't allowed to be uncertain. We weren't allowed to not know.

I can identify four things that eventually pried me out of that mindset, all of which took place over the course of about 2 to 3 years in my mid-20s.

A coworker once told me that he lost respect for people who tried to bullshit their way past questions they didn't know the answer to. He said, "I just respect them more if they're honest and say 'I don't know.'" That made sense to me. The Truth didn't need me to defend it by saying things I wasn't sure of and maybe getting it wrong. I resolved to start being honest and saying I didn't know when I didn't. And it turned out there were a lot more things I didn't know than I had previously thought.

I read a devotional book that quoted Pascal as saying, "To be a true believer in anything, you must first question everything." And the book was using it in the context of, when trying to convert people to Christianity, encourage them to challenge their own beliefs. I thought, well, that's not fair if I ask them to do something I haven't done myself. I started with the most basic of basic premises: Does God exist?

I had recently gotten into tarot. While most church people I knew condemned it as witchcraft, it always struck me as well, if God can speak through anything, he could also speak through tarot cards. One of the very first readings I did for myself basically panned out to, "You're going to have questions, and the leaders of your faith are not going to have answers that satisfy you. You will walk away." I did NOT like that, but at the time I took it to mean, I would walk away from the organization of the Christian church, not necessarily from Christianity as a whole.

I took Abnormal Psychology as part of my college degree. Anyone with a psych degree will tell you that any given psych professor has a Thing that they always come back to, compare things to, harp on. It's usually because that's what they've devoted their lives to researching and teaching just pays the bills. Anyway. My Abnormal Psych professor's Thing was child sex trafficking. She studied the mental and emotional deviancies that were involved in people paying lots of money for the privilege of abusing children. And let me tell you, I know more about child sex trafficking from that class than anyone who isn't explicitly studying it should ever know -- but that's where I learned about things that led me to the one question I couldn't answer, and that no one I knew could answer: If God is all-powerful, and all-loving, how could God allow this kind of horror to exist on such a large scale?

So my questions were: "Does God exist? And if he does exist, is he loving? And if he is loving, is he truly all-powerful? And if the answer to all these questions is 'yes', then how do these horrors keep happening?" And the only honest answer I had to any of those questions was -- and still is -- "I don't know." I could speculate, of course. Anyone can speculate, about God choosing not to exercise his full power to teach humanity a lesson, or to allow humans to participate in his plan, or whatever, but the full answer is: I don't know. It's just speculation.

And for me, that wasn't good enough to stay. Maybe for some people, it is. Maybe they can say, "I don't know, but I still choose to believe."

For me, anything less than the certainty of Truth wasn't worth me devoting my life to it. If the very basic tenets of my Truth had suddenly become things I wasn't sure of, didn't know, then how could I trust the rest of it? I couldn't.

And I still live in that place. I can't say "No, God doesn't exist." Maybe God does exist, and just not in the form I was told. Maybe he exists in exactly the form I was told, but there's something else at play. I don't know. I can't know. I have no way of knowing. I have to just take the action that seems sensible to take, judging from the evidence around me.

But having to live with uncertainty in what was once the foundation of my life also means that I'm better at living with uncertainty in every other area. It means that I'm open to possibilities because I don't think I Know things. It means that the only thing I can do is the next thing in front of me, as well as I can, living by a guiding principle of kindness.

Anyway. I appreciate the freedom of agnosticism in every area of my life, and I do highly recommend it. But that's just me. Everyone else has to ask and answer their own questions. It does worry me that I see people who have left this rigid Christian upbringing...but haven't left behind the need to force everything to fit their worldview. Haven't left behind the need to Know the Truth and be unshakeable in it. It's just that they've embraced "liberal truths" instead of the old conservative ones. Maybe that's all right. I don't know that, either, and I don't have to know. But I think a little sprinkling of agnosticism could do most people good.

#personal ish

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nerdygaymormon · 3 years

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uhhhh david have you gotten the liahona yet bc idk how to feel about an article i found in there yesterday. it was pretty comforting and basic, but did use ssa the whole time. BUT the youth one was pretty crappy, it used ssa to the max and gave no real hope, was pretty bland and annoying about oh itll be find just believe and jesus and get hatecrimed <3 i would like to hear your thoughts on it, its the first time ive seen any queer topics in church magazines

Thanks for bringing these to my attention.

"Same-sex attraction" (SSA) is the preferred term of Church leaders. They say it's a way of not making it your identity, that this isn't part of who I am but rather is something I'm dealing with. In other words, people "have" same-sex attraction, not that they "are" gay or lesbian or bi.

There have been a few leaks from behind-the-scenes where the apostles say they use "same-sex attraction" because it's the term that people like least. People like it less that same-gender attraction or gay/lesbian. SSA includes the word "sex" and I guess the idea is it gets people to think of sexual acts and feel queasy.

SSA is the term normally used in Church magazines because they follow the lead of the First Presidency and apostles.

There's 3 items in the Church magazines this month about queer people! That's a lot for one month.

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The first is a bishop talking about how to understand and include LGBT people at church. After becoming bishop, 3 sets of parents contacted him distressed that their child is gay or transgender (I note that the parents used "gay." He also mentions contacting someone who 'identifies as gay").

His first recommendation is to follow the living apostles. (which explains why the bishop uses "SSA" even though everyone else around him used "gay"). It's a good idea for a local leader to find what the current leaders are saying because it's changed. He also says to read the Church's websites titled “Same-Sex Attraction” and “Transgender.” He provides two lovely quotes from those pages about diversity at church and being loving to people who are different.

His second recommendation is to not be afraid to talk to people who identify as gay, but instead try to have love for them and then let the Spirit guide you in what to say. We're just people, it shouldn't be scary to talk to us, that shows how different he thinks we are from the other people he interacts with in his ward.

The bishop's third suggestion is to speak to people who are familiar with LGBT "issues," share your testimony, and apologize for hurtful things you say. His list of people to contact for help understanding was a little disheartening because he starts with his stake leaders, ward leaders, other bishops, and so on, actual queer people were the last people on his list.

He continues by saying to pull aside members who are saying homophobic or transphobic things and give them some personal guidance, don't share private information that a member shares with the bishop, and just because someone has these "attractions" doesn't mean they're acting on them, and if they aren't "acting" on them then you can let them have a calling.

I have a few comments about the last few things. If no one corrects the homophobic/transphobic comments in public but instead privately suggests the person do better, every one who heard those comments thinks they stand unchallenged. The atmosphere created by the comments is unchanged. Especially if the bishop was present to hear those words, if they go uncontested then people think this is what is acceptable.

You'd think bishops know not to share private information a member shares with them. I've been around long enough to know that when a bishop is unsure what to do, he starts contacting his network (stake presidency, other bishops) asking for advice. Some bishops are discreet when doing this and others name the individuals.

While it seems basic, I recently had a counselor in a bishopric who didn't think gay people could get a temple recommend, that there's a zero-tolerance policy. That is an attitude that is outdated by a couple of decades, but it shows that people need to learn that simply existing as a gay or trans person doesn't automatically mean we are committing great sins.

I do find it interesting there appears to have been quite a few queer individuals in his ward, at least 4 or 5, and reading between the lines it seems they all stopped attending.

The bishop's heart is in the right place. I get he's following the Church leaders and that limits some of what he can do for queer people in his ward. I think his perspective primarily is of making the parents feel more welcome in the ward and not ostracized for having queer kids.

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The second article in the Liahona is written by a person with same-sex attraction and his work to overcome the shame he felt.

It's a much better article than the one written by the bishop. This person shares about the shame they felt at having gay feelings and working with a therapist to overcome that shame. He shares 3 lessons that helped him with this process.

1) God and Jesus love and accept him as he is. This is a message that doesn't often get conveyed to queer members and it's important they know this.

2) The Atonement of Jesus Christ offers healing. At first he was wanting the Atonement to cure him of being gay, but instead it helped him be healed of the shame he felt. I hear so many members who think the Atonement can change us from gay to straight, and that's not true. I'm glad he made this distinction. Our Heavenly Parents don't view being gay or trans as something that needs to be cured. I wish that message was taught more openly in the Church.

3) Build deeper connections and show compassion. Loneliness and feeling like you don't belong at church are two of the most troubling aspects an LGBTQ+ person has to deal with if they are active in the LDS Church. Developing close friendships will help with that. Also, queer people tend to be more compassionate than the average person and I believe it's because of the experiences we had to deal with of living in a heteronormative world that isn't made for us.

He includes a few useful tips at the end on how to engage with queer people.

All in all, a much better story than the one written by the bishop. He shared part of how it feels to be a gay member of this church, the idea that he should be ashamed for who he is, that being gay isn’t a burden, that he doesn't fit in.

I appreciated he said this is part of his layers of identity and at the core of his identity is that we're children of heavenly parents. That's more nuanced than the apostles who reject being gay has anything to do with identity and our only identity should be a child of God.

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The final story is from For the Strength of Youth. This piece seems like it's written by a queer person, but it's anonymous and given as general advice to show that people with same-sex attraction belong at church.

This article makes 3 main points. The first is that God loves you. That's true, although accompanying quotes to back up this principle aren't specifically about queer people.

The second point is "you belong." All sorts of people attend church, and God is no respecter of persons. Then they have a quote from Elder L. Whitney Clayton that people with same-sex attraction are welcome to come to church. To me, he's an odd choice to give this message as he led the Church's fight in California on Prop 8 to make gay marriage illegal again. Words aren't enough. Saying I'm welcome is not the same as making a welcoming climate.

The third point is that God will help you. They include a quote from Laura F. who experiences same-sex attraction. She writes about prayer, scripture study, temple and church attendance. However, she also says she doesn't know what her life will look like in 20 years, she seems to be leaving open the possibility her journey with God will lead her to romance and out of the church. I thought that was very honest and important.

————————————————————

I found it noteworthy that nowhere in these 3 articles does it say being alone and celibate is good and what God wants.

I appreciate the idea that we can make our local congregations less homophobic/transphobic. The suggestions from the bishops shows that the bar is pretty low and it doesn't take much to make an improvement from how things are now.

The voices of the two gay members was important, what they shared was useful but nuanced, didn't make commitments to staying in the church long-term or testify that what the church requires is what God wants for them.

Even so, it's clear the publisher is very careful. They use "same-sex attraction" so often, I think readers would be surprised the preferred term of most same-sex attracted people would be gay, bi or lesbian. While they addressed some things, like homophobic/transphobic comments, feeling shame & not fitting in, I think they largely skated past the things that make queer people decide that this church isn't for them.

There's a part of me that says I'm glad we're having this conversation in the Church magazines, but another part that says this is too sanitized and doesn't get at the heart of things. These are very hopeful messages that make it seem that queer people could easily choose to stay in church if a few adjustments were made and if they only understood God loves them, which avoids the "doctrine" that excludes queer people from the highest blessings and joys and makes us essentially second-class citizens in the kingdom of God, at least according to our church.

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osleyakomwonkru · 3 years

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Octavia as The 100′s Jesus Figure, Part 4: Bardo, The Crucifixion and Second Coming of Octavia Blake

So we’re back for a fourth part of this series, which I started after season 6, because wouldn’t you know it - there’s more to be said.

In Part 1, Origin Story and the Meeting of Two Saviours, I discussed Octavia’s origin story as the Dark Saviour and her relationship with the show’s other Saviour Lincoln, and how with his death he invested her with the mission to save all of their people.

In Part 2, Saving Humanity and the First Passion of Octavia Blake, I talked about Octavia finally accepting and understanding her mission as the Saviour, redeeming the sins of humanity, and her first Passion narrative, which was left incomplete, and thus she lived.

In Part 3, Planet Alpha and the Second Passion of Octavia Blake, I wrote about Octavia’s second Passion narrative on Planet Alpha, which led to her road to Golgotha at the Anomaly, from which she is resurrected (the Crucifixion narrative still remaining a mystery) and then meets those she knew once again, before her ascension as the Anomaly reclaimed her in the last seconds of the S6 finale.

So now, Part 4 - Here we will get into that missing Crucifixion narrative, as well as the events that come to pass with Octavia’s Second Coming, the Judgment of Humanity, and how things may have played out differently had it been Octavia who walked into the glowy ball of light instead of Cadogan, Clarke and Raven.

From Dark to Light

Before we return to that missing Crucifixion narrative, which takes place on Bardo, Octavia, along with Diyoza and Hope, land on a different planet for ten years. This planet also has its purpose in our Saviour narrative, because while the show starts on dark themes, and thus needed Octavia as a Dark Saviour, in season 7 it began to shift to a theme of light and transcendence.

Enter the appropriately named Penance.

Octavia spends ten years on Skyring/Penance/Planet Beta, healing from her pain and darkness, and thus is no longer the Dark Saviour the narrative needed her to be before to bring salvation to her people, now she can be the Light Saviour who will save all of humanity.

Her new demeanour - though I hesitate to say new because it was born of ten years of peace, plenty, family, and healing, it wasn’t new to her, merely to those who used to know her for whom time had been much shorter - is evidence of her new Light. It confuses many, because they hadn’t had the same time and healing as she had, but it is evident in every move she makes. Rather than the tornado of righteous fury that she used to be, now Octavia is the steady and calm voice of reason - to Echo, to Hope, and especially to Clarke.

But back to that crucifixion narrative.

Every Noble Crown will be a Crown of Thorns

Her peaceful world torn asunder, Octavia is taken to Bardo, and thrown into M-Cap at the first opportunity. Others have mentioned how the M-Cap headcap looks like a crown of thorns, and they’re quite right - this is where Octavia’s Crucifixion narrative comes to fruition. No one spends as much time in that crown of thorns as she does.

She fights it, at first, but when acceptance is what will provide salvation to her people (or person, in this case, being Hope), she accepts her fate and faces her past - brutal days of reliving her history as the Dark Saviour, to firmly close that chapter of her life (a symbolic death rather than just her regular baptism-rebirth cycle).

She’s freed from her crown of thorns when Hope comes. Hope, the symbol of her new Light, and the Light that she will carry with her as she returns to Sanctum to be resurrected among those she once knew, those who had believed her to be lost, but who dearly needed the Light she was to bring them.

Revelation and The Second Coming

There are a lot of different moving pieces involved in the apocalyptic scenarios of Revelation, and how these come to play in season 7 of The 100 isn’t any different. So let’s take a look at some of the other key players and how they connect to Octavia’s story.

The False Prophet, The Dragon and The Beast

Now, in my Part 3 of this series (written after the S6 finale), I predicted that Bellamy would have a large part in the revelation of Octavia’s Saviour narrative. Obviously, that part didn’t come to pass, because of Bob’s absence from the show, but you can still see hints within the narrative that suggest he would have been a part of it before Bob pulled out (most notably, the Hesperides flashback in 7x04 - this flashback is pretty pointless in the context of Hope telling Echo and Gabriel that story, but if you imagine Bellamy being there to hear about how his sister raised Hope in much the same way he raised her - then it becomes way more meaningful).

But the narrative as it played out also presents interesting Biblical allusions, by casting Bellamy in the role of false prophet, fighting on the side of the Beast (Cadogan), instead of on the side of Christ (his sister).

The false prophet is said to be the second beast to rise in Revelation 13, who has “two horns like a lamb, but it spoke like a dragon” (Revelation 13:11) who is given the authority to speak on behalf of the first Beast (Cadogan), to deceive the people so that they will worship this Beast. The false prophet having the appearance of a lamb is relevant here, because Jesus is often referred to as the Lamb of God - thus, the false prophet (Bellamy) resembles the true Saviour (Octavia), not coincidental since they are in fact siblings and thus do bear some physical resemblances.

So who is The Dragon - that is, Satan? It is easy to say that the Dragon is Sheidheda, for it is the Dragon who is imprisoned, only to be released to deceive and wage war before being finally defeated. But it goes deeper than that - The Dragon is the dark side of the Flame itself, Sheidheda’s only the last prophet of that darkness. It is the Flame that gives Cadogan, the Beast, the power he needs to rule over his people - the glimpse of the idea of Judgment Day as something for the Disciples to work towards - “The dragon gave the beast his power and his throne and great authority” (Revelation 13:2) - even when the good side of the Flame, the Humanity that Becca believed so vital, wanted to keep it from him.

The Children of the Kingdom of Heaven

Jesus says “unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). Octavia’s always been tied to different children throughout The 100 narrative, first as the child herself, and then others such as Gavriel, Ethan, Madi, Rose and Hope. But the important children for the purpose of this post are the three that are the “next generation” so to speak of the leading trio of the show, and their important roles in the final battle.

There’s Jordan, the Head-centered, who takes over Clarke’s role as John the Baptist, the prophet who bore witness to the Light (Jesus) so that others would believe. His testimony shows that the Final War is instead a Test, and he’s instrumental in making sure that Octavia can stop the war and pass the test to grant humanity eternal life instead.

There’s Hope, the Heart-centered, who takes over Bellamy’s role as Saint Peter, the disciple who becomes the leader of the church after Jesus’ ascension. Hope is Octavia’s grounding force, her new rock, and her love gives her strength to continue her journey.

And then there’s Madi, the Soul-centered, who is Octavia’s next generation counterpart. It’s made clear from the start of Madi’s introduction in season 5 that Octavia is her favourite, that Octavia is the one she looked up to, and even in season 7, these parallels are there, as Madi is ready to sacrifice herself to save the others, and in more peaceful ways too, like when she’s hiding in the reactor with her two new friends, reminiscent of season 1 Octavia and her friendship with Monty and Jasper. Madi, too, meets her Crucifixion in the M-Cap chair, in an even crueler and more vicious manner than Octavia did. But when Octavia saves humanity, this liberates Madi’s soul and grants her eternal life as well.

I am the Way, The Truth and the Life

Wonkru falls apart in Octavia’s absence. There’s no other way to say it. Wonkru crumbling in 7x03 is made even more conspicuous by the fact that they don’t even mention Octavia, because they’re still denying her, despite everything she brought them. They don’t realize that she’s the one to save them all, they don’t realize that, as Jesus says, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life, no one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 4:16) - something that they will finally come to understand in the climax of the final episode.

But it isn’t time for that story yet. First we must turn to Revelation to see what happens to Wonkru and the others on Sanctum while they’ve chosen to deny her and follow the Dragon and the Beast instead.

Here we see the different plagues that strike the unbelievers - both in Revelation 8-9 and 16.

The first to come are “ugly, festering sores [that] broke out on the people who had the mark of the beast” (Revelation 16:2) - the radiation sickness that is a marker of the broken nuclear reactor in 7x03, which claims as James as one of its first victims. If you don’t remember who he was while watching that episode, look back to 6x02, where he’s one of the people attacking Octavia in the Eligius IV mess hall. He breaks faith with her, and here suffers the consequences of that.

The second and third plagues speak of both the seas and the rivers turning to blood - references to the rivers of blood created by Sheidheda’s massacres, first of the Faithful and then of the Children of Gabriel.

The fourth plague, the sun scorching people with fire, takes us to the eclipse in 7x13, where the sky is red with the eclipse. This leads to the fifth and sixth plagues - the kingdom being plunged into darkness as Emori kills power to the reactor to bring down the shield, which makes it possible for “locusts [to come] down on the earth” (Revelation 9:3) and devour those “who did not have the seal of God on their foreheads” (Revelation 9:5).

It is only the final plague - “rumblings… and a severe earthquake… [where] the great city split into three parts” (Revelation 16:18-19) - that strikes where Octavia is, with “a loud voice from the throne, saying ‘It is done!’” (Revelation 16:17). This line from Revelation calls back to what Octavia says to Hope in 6x13 before her Ascension - “Be brave, tell him it is done” - a sign that Octavia is needed elsewhere again. And soon enough she does depart to Bardo, alongside Clarke. Meanwhile, the survivors remaining on Earth have to reunite the three groups split in the bunker - those in the rotunda (Hope, Jordan, Gaia, Indra, Miller), those in the rec room (Raven, Murphy, Emori, Jackson) and those in the bunkrooms (Echo, Niylah) - to prepare for the final war and judgment.

The Fall of Babylon

Before Octavia can bring light to the world and grant humanity transcendence, there is still one more key part of Revelation that must come to pass, and that is the fall of Babylon: That is, in this ‘verse, Clarke.

Throughout Biblical narrative, Babylon stands in opposition to Jerusalem and its righteousness, just how in The 100 narrative Clarke and Octavia have always been set as foils to each other. Now, Clarke isn’t evil per se, but she’s always been set in her ways and doubles down when questioned about her past deeds - as we see both in how she faces the Primes in 6x03 and the Judge in 7x16. She doesn’t learn, and so she fails. Clarke, like Babylon, is locked out of heaven for not learning the patience and humility that Octavia did: “For her sins are piled up to Heaven, and God has remembered her sins. Give back to her as she has given, pay her back double for what she has done.” (Revelation 18:5-6).

With Clarke fallen, it is now time to begin the Final Judgment.

Final Test and Judgment

After Clarke’s fall, someone must step in to advocate for humanity, to guide the Judge’s gaze to the righteous, to the Saviour - Raven steps through the glowing orb to do so. So which figure in Revelation is most suited here? None other than the writer of Revelation themselves, historically considered to be John of Patmos, who is given these visions by the angels as a warning for humanity.

Raven bore witness to a number of the plagues, and while not always a believer in Octavia - in fact, out of all characters around for all seven seasons, they’ve shared the least screentime with each other - but they’ve still fought on the same side. Also of relevance here is that Raven’s been granted visions in the narrative of the show, like John of Patmos has in Revelation - though hers came as a result of ALIE.

While the Judge takes Raven to the battlefield in Bardo to prove humanity to be unworthy, this battlefield is instead where Octavia proves humanity to be worthy. Indra and Wonkru follow Octavia’s lead, finally recognizing that their only way to salvation was through her (see John 4:16 above), and after the Disciples too laid down their weapons, humanity is deemed worthy and the Judge grants them eternal life in the form of transcendence - rising to the heavens in the manner of the Rapture, “We who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air” (1 Thessalonians 4:17).

Where is the Judgment of the Dead?

Now, one thing missing in season 7 compared to the Book of Revelation and Jesus’ Second Coming is the Judgment of the Dead and welcoming those worthy into the domain of Heaven.

A longstanding phrase in The 100 has been “May We Meet Again”. This is part of the Traveler’s Blessing of Skaikru, and one that they use frequently with one another even in non-death contexts. So with that phrase, a lot of people expected that the dead would also be able to be part of transcendence somehow, and that beloved characters would then also be present on the beach in the final scene as they rejected transcendence to live mortal lives.

I believe, given everything in the past posts about Octavia, that had she been the one to go into the ball of light to face the Judge personally, rather than saving humanity on the battlefield, that this would have happened.

While logically I believe the best form for the Judge to take for Octavia would have been Diyoza, since Diyoza was her greatest teacher, her mind would be more likely to choose her greatest love, Lincoln - who, if we go back to Part 1 of this series, we remember is the other Saviour of this show’s narrative.

That would have been a reunion even more epic than the Clarke and Lexa reunion that the show gave us, for Lincoln and Octavia were far closer and together for far longer. And if the Transcendents possessed the powers that they do - instant genocide by crystallization at the wave of an arm, transcendence through the blink of an eye, restoration of healthy and whole bodies if those souls reject transcendence - then surely raising the dead would’ve been a simple task.

The only reason that couldn’t happen was extratextual - there was no way Ricky would work with JRoth again, and so this extra dimension, this aspect of the narrative that could have made things so much sweeter and less bitter, had to be put aside.

Now, that doesn’t diminish Octavia’s Saviour narrative in the least - she did still save humanity. She did still bear the sins of the human race, she was still mocked, cast out and sent to her crucifixion by those who denied her. She did still return from that symbolic death, resurrected, then ascended. When she faced Wonkru again - remember, that battlefield in 7x16 is the first time the bulk of Wonkru has seen her since 5x13 - it was in her Second Coming to bring the Final Judgment to them. The trials they’d faced in Sanctum in her absence showed them the truth - that they had to believe in her again to achieve their salvation.

She was the Way, the Truth and the Life of The 100 universe, and no one would have reached transcendence except through her.

#the 100 #the 100 meta #octavia blake #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #raven reyes #biblical parallels #saving humanity #saviour narrative #bill cadogan #sheidheda #jordan jasper green #hope diyoza #madi griffin

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gasolineghuleh · 3 years

Text

Because I Feel No One Knows About It...

This is chapter two of my long fic, Of Devilish Creatures. I’ve currently posted up to chapter TWELVE so if you’re looking for something to read, here ya go!

“I see you are already comfortable with the attire of a Sibling, then. Our congregation is made up of men and women, and everyone in between.” The Sister Imperator, as she had called herself, walked me through the entrance and into a hidden door, well secluded in the stone work of the old castle. The door had led to a hidden back room, opening up into a floor plan that seemed open and spacious. How had I never noticed the size of the building? Or that it wasn’t a ruin after all?

“Hm? Oh, yes Sister. It comes quite naturally to me.” I craned my neck as she spoke, looking along the vaulted ceiling where gargoyles perched, embedded in the stone with canine grins. The ceiling itself was spacious and the stone was gilded in gold filigree where it allowed for embellishment. Every so often we passed a tapestry, and I had to wrench my eyes from it to continue following the Sister.

“The castle belongs to the family Emeritus, the leaders of our church. We’ve turned it into a makeshift Abbey of sorts, so I’m sure that you’ll feel quite comfortable here. I’ve been told that some of the dorm rooms are drafty, so be sure to let one of the other Siblings know if you have need for extra blankets. Or we could find you a Fire Ghoul to borrow to stoke your fire place.” I stumbled a little at her words.

“A what?”

“A Ghoul.” She stopped in front of another tapestry and gestured to it. Sewn into the fabric was a depiction of Hell-- or at least, how humans imagined it to be. Figures lept from the flames with horns and tails, claws extended towards the sky. On a rock at the top of the tapestry was a man depicted in a bright white robe and a papal mitre, his hands outstretched towards the sky as well. “The first Ghouls were summoned by our Papa Nihil’s grandfather.” She paused for a moment, tilting her head in contemplation. “We’ve since lost his name to time. If Papa knows, he isn’t sharing.”

“Are they all named Papa, then?” I asked, studying the tapestry further.

“Not quite. We call them all Papa as a title of respect, but they are known numerically as well.” Sister Imperator motioned for me to continue walking as she led me to a large door at the end of the hall.

“And their real names?”

“Are not spoken of. That is one of the first rules you must learn, new one. If you, perchance, learn of a Papa’s name, do not speak it. Names have power-- you know this?” She paused with her hand on the door, the ornate and gilded handle looking large in her hand.

“Yes, Sister. I do. In our teachings at my convent we learn that names give someone power over you, as God commanded the angels by their Enochian names.” She nodded and smiled and I felt the surge of satisfaction that came along with acing a test in one of my courses. I wanted to make this woman happy, I realized. “In addition, it was said that demons can be cast back to Hell using their given names.”

“Correct, Lunaria.” I started a little at my name-- I didn’t think I had given it. “Come along, I’m sure that the Papa Nihil would like to meet you. You’ve been a topic of conversation among the higher clergy recently. I believe he’s in chambers currently, along with his eldest son.”

“And what do I call him? His son?” I felt stupid for asking the question, but my mind was dizzy with the intake of information. If what she was telling me was correct, then everything I was taught in my convent had been true. Demons were here on Earth, and not only were they here, but I was sharing a building with them. My face felt flush with excitement-- never before in my previous faith had I felt this alive.

“You may call him Papa, or his numerical designation-- Primo.” The Sister smiled at me and pulled open the door, grunting a little as it stuck. When it swung wide my jaw dropped, stepping forward into the large room in wonder.

Like the previous hallway, the ceilings were vaulted and covered in ornate paintings and gold filigree. The room itself was longer than it was wide, with a large throne at the forefront of the chamber. A few pews were situated towards the front of the room, but I gathered that this room was not meant for worship-- but rather, leading. To the side of the throne was a dias, draped in a small piece of cloth that resembled the preacher’s pulpit from my former place of worship.

“What room is this?” I asked, continuing to step forward and survey my surroundings. The room was lit by a few chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, as well as sconces along the walls.

“This is the papal throne room. It’s only used during ascension or if the upper Clergy has an announcement. Occasionally it will be used for trials.” The Sister Imperator walked slightly behind me, her hand trailing along the backs of the pews. “The current Papa in charge will hand down judgements from his seat in the throne.”

“And who is the current Papa in charge?” I asked, wincing as I realized the answer would probably just be “Papa”. The similarities between my religion and this church were striking, but the differences were just as obvious.

“That would be Papa Emeritus the Second. Referred to as Secondo, colloquially. He is the second eldest son of the Papal Nihil.”

“Italian and not Latin?” I started, feeling my face screw up in confusion. “Then,” I struggled to remember what she had told me previously. “Primo is no longer in charge? Nor is his Father?” I turned to face the Sister as I spoke, but my eyes quickly left her to continue taking in the beautiful room.

“He is not, correct. They are still referred to as their papal titles, but they no longer head the church. You would do well to obey them, though.” She began to walk towards the back of the room, gesturing to a small door in an alcove. “Come along, there’s much left to see, and I promised you would make an appearance before turning in for the night.”

“Yes, Sister.” I bowed my head dutifully as I was used to doing, turning on my heel to follow her through the small door. It opened with a creak when the Sister pushed on it, utilizing her shoulder to make the old hinges work.

She led me through it with a stately wave of her hand, and I was more than happy to oblige. It opened into a more typical looking Abbey entrance hall, large and circular with a statue in the center. Except where a statue of the Virgin Mary may usually sit was a large stone carving of what I knew to be Baphomet. Ruby crystals were inlaid where the eyes would be, and they glimmered and gleamed in the light of the candles resting at its feet. I tore my eyes away and noticed a trapdoor in the floor to the right of it, as well as two corridors that shot off to either side.

“The trapdoor there leads to the Ghoul dens. Most Siblings are restricted access to that area, unless specifically ordered by a Papa, or on Ghoul duty. You will more than likely never have to worry about that.” The Sister Imperator came to stand behind me, and dropped a comfortable hand onto my shoulder. “The corridor to the left is the Papal hallway. You will enter that hallway when asked or invited by a Papa, or when on cleaning duty.” She steered me towards the other hallway briefly. “This hallway is for Siblings. It leads to your dormitory, as well as the kitchens and the library.”

“You have a library?” My ears perked up. Reading in solitude was one of the few graces I had at my former convent, even if the literature was boring. I had a feeling that the books here would be much more interesting.

“Sathanas yes, child! I’ll have the Archbishop Copia show you around it. That’s more his domain than anyone elses. For now, let’s go visit Papa Nihil and get you all settled in for the evening.” As we began to walk towards the opposite corridor, I pointed towards two large oaken doors, nearly two stories tall and carved into a depiction of the fall of the Lucifer.

“What’s behind those doors?”

“That’s the Chapel, small one. I’ll have a Ghoul take you on a tour tomorrow for the rest of the Abbey.” I followed the Sister Imperator down the papal corridor, marveling at the stained glass windows that took up one whole side of the wall. We passed one of purple and gold, and another of green and silver. Each one depicted a man in skull paint in different poses of divinity-- snakes wound around the man in silver and green, while large black cats rested at the feet of the purple one. After passing one more glass panel of red and black with large potted plants in front of it, we stopped in front of one of white and gold.

“These are beautiful,” I commented, moving forward to study the golden one further. The man was standing tall, his arms raised into the air as a goat head shone in black above him. Around the goat was an inverted pentacle, the tip of the bottom point of the star glowing a bright red. The evening sun filtered through the window, casting the colours on to the floor of the corridor and over my feet.

“They are decades old, now. The newest one is for his youngest son, Papa Emeritus the Third.” The Sister gestured towards the purple stained glass window at the beginning of the corridor. “All of the Papas live across from the window that depicts them, and their chambers are off limits unless invited.”

She used this as a segue to direct me towards the door directly across from the gold and white stained glass, knocking on it swiftly and firmly. From inside I heard an elderly voice answer, calling to us to enter. She twisted the knob and pushed the door open, holding it for me to enter before her. As I did, the first thing I noticed was a comfortably crackling fire in the sitting room, and the heady aroma of incense.

“Ah! Sister! You’ve brought the newest eh… Sister!” An old man in skull paint stood up and walked towards me, reaching his hands out for mine. I gave him my right hand and he took it warmly, smiling and pressing a kiss to the top of my hand. I loved him immediately. When he looked into my eyes I saw that they were cloudy with cataracts, but the left one was clearly white.

“Papa,” I said, inclining my head respectfully towards him. His smile grew broader and his grip on my hand tightened shortly before letting go.

“This one has respect! Good job, Sister Imperator. Leave us to talk, eh? Why don’t you go wrangle up a better habit and a grucifix for her?” The Sister Imperator nodded to him and tossed me a covert wink before leaving, pulling the door shut behind her. “Now, Sister… Come and sit. Let’s talk.” He moved his hand towards the sitting area and I complied, moving forward and taking a seat. It was only now that I noticed the other man sharing the space.

He greeted me with a warm smile like his father, but remained seated. He had a steaming cup of tea in one hand, and the other arm rested across his leg, which was crossed over the other comfortably. His robes, similar to his father’s, were black with red filigree and the same symbol strewn down the front. When he moved I could tell that the inside of the fabric was either silk or linen.

“Good evening Sister,” he said, inclining his head towards me and raising his cup. His left eye was white, and his skull paint seemed faded compared to his father.

“Papa,” I repeated, dipping my head to him as well before crossing my leg over the other, getting comfortable in the plush chair.

“Now then,” Papa Nihil groaned, taking his seat slowly once more. “Tell us how you have come to enter our Abbey, Sister. Do you believe you are here to stay?” The answer came to me quickly and I was surprised by the sincerity of it.

“I do, Papa. I’m already more comfortable here than in the convent I was raised in.” I took a deep breath and recounted my tale to the two men, who listened intently. I explained how I was orphaned as a baby and grew up in the Catholic faith, destined to be a Sister. When I began to explain the draw of the book, the older man nodded sagely and held up a finger.

“I enchanted that book many eons ago. I am glad to see that it found its way into your hands. Many years I’ve waited for someone to bring it back to me. May I see it?” I nodded and reached into my pack, pulling the book out and handing it to him. “Ahh… It still smells the same.”

“Father, if I may?” His son waited respectfully until Papa Nihil gave him the go ahead to begin speaking. “Sister Lunaria, are you quite certain that you’d prefer to dedicate your life to the adversary you studied for these past eighteen years?” I turned my head towards him and surveyed him intently before speaking.

“I am. All my life I’ve felt that I have a greater purpose. I never had a chance to know my parents, or a family. Only the rigid order and structure of religion. I’m already more comfortable here than I ever have been before.” I remembered briefly his position and finished speaking with a quick “Papa.”

“Hm. And you are willing to sing your praises to Him? Pray to Him at night? Bend the knee and subjugate yourself to Him? A higher power than even your God?” Papa Nihil interjected with a flap of his hand.

“Leave the child alone, eh? She has come to us for refuge, and who are we to turn her away?” Papa Nihil leaned forward and met my two-toned eyes with his cloudy ones. “She has the Eye of Providence, my son. She is meant to be with us.” I blinked, slightly taken aback-- the only comments I had ever received about my eye had been either nonchalant or negative. Some of the Sisters had claimed that I was marked by the devil. They whispered about me in hushed tones. I brought my hand to my eye self consciously before letting it drop.

“I was told that when I was a baby, my left eye was injured and the colour never developed. The nuns at my convent said I must have been hit in the same accident that took my parents.” Already the two were shaking their heads and frowning.

“You have been lied to, little Sister.” Primo leaned forward and made eye contact with me, his gaze firey and intense. “Have you not always felt the pull of greatness in your heart? Do you not see shadows in the corners and feel a kinship?” I fell silent, looking at my hands folded in my lap. He was right, of course, but I had never put words to the feelings until now.

“You’re right. I suppose I never thought of it in that way.” He sat back with a satisfied smile, looking to his father for confirmation.

“Tell me, Sister, what did you do at your former convent?” Papa Nihil reached for a cup of tea and took a long sip, his eyes peering at me from over the rim of the cup.

“I was in charge of the youth and the library. I taught the little ones.” A ghost of a smile lingered at my lips as I remembered the joyful shouts of the children in my convent, all orphans like myself. I did love them, and my heart gave a pang when I realized that they would be looking for me today. “I was good at it.”

“I see. Father, would it be a terrible idea if, perchance, we sent her to live with--”

“Not now. Let her be settled first. She still has to meet your brother, and take a tour of the Abbey. She doesn’t even have a rosary yet. It’s insane to attempt to place her at a work detail off campus. She can work in the library.” Papa Nihil leaned forward and picked up a rotary phone, dialing an extension quickly.

“I think you’ll be quite comfortable here, sorella.” Primo winked and nodded at me before busying himself with his tea once more. In the lull in conversation, I attempted to draw him in once more.

“The plants outside your stained glass window are beautiful. Are they yours?” I had clearly asked the right question as his eyes lit up brightly and he gave me a wide smile.

“Yes! Aren’t they so wonderful? I tend the gardens outside, and the orchards. Once you’re comfortable and settled you’ll have to come and see my greenhouse!” I smiled at his enthusiasm and nodded, genuinely happy for the invitation.

“I would love to, Papa. Do you do all of it yourself?” I asked, keeping an ear out for Papa Nihil’s muttered Italian conversation on the phone.

“Sathanas no, child. I have Earth Ghouls and Water Ghouls that help me to tend to it. It’s too much for an old man alone!” Another reference to Ghouls… As soon as I opened my mouth to inquire further, a knock sounded at the door. It was timid and hesitant, as if the person wasn’t quite sure that they should be knocking.

“Come in!” Papa Nihil called, reaching behind him and dragging a blanket from the back of his chair into his lap. The door opened slowly with a creak, and a man stuck his head into the room. He had mousy features, with short cropped brown hair and a rosy complexion. His top lip was lined with a dark black lipstick, and a large necklace hung at his chest-- the same sigil that appeared everywhere.

“You called for me, Papa.” The man stepped into the room and gave a short bow, wringing his hands in front of his chest nervously.

“Archbishop Copia! We have a new Sister of Sin in the Clergy,” Papa Nihil gestured towards me and I sat up a little bit straighter. “And she has made it known to me that she specialized in child care and library work. Perhaps you need an assistant in that library of yours?”

“I do, Papa. That would be wonderful.” He ducked his head into a swift nod and turned his eyes towards me. I was taken back briefly by the sight of his eyes-- mismatched, like mine and the Papa’s. Did everyone in this Abbey have the white eye? “Pleased to make your acquaintance Sister…” He let the title hang, waiting for me to supply my name. When I did, he rolled it off of his tongue like fine wine. “Lunaria… Come with me, Sister Lunaria. I’d be happy to show you my small home here in our Abbey.”

I stood and bowed my head towards the Papa’s, who remained seated by the fire. Papa Nihil waved a hand towards me and smiled broadly, waving me towards the door. Primo inclined his head towards me again, and reminded me to come by and see his gardens when I was given the chance. When I took my place in front of Archbishop Copia he smiled warmly again, and waved me through the door. As we walked down the corridor in the direction I had come from initially, he quizzed me on what I might know from my time in the Catholic convent.

“And what of the fall of Lucifer, Sister?” I opened my mouth to answer, but he held a hand up. “Before you answer me, know this. I was raised Catholic, like you. I rose to the rank of Bishop in my time there… I remember much of their teachings, as you were most likely taught them. Listen to me when I tell you this, Sister. Things are better here. You are understood. There is no fire and brimstone for you to fall into.”

“I--” I cut myself off, chewing at my lower lip for a moment before looking him in the eye once more. “I was always so afraid of the repercussions of my actions that I… I believe that I forgot how to live, Archbishop.” I smiled at him. “Although your title being the same as the church does soothe me.”

“I think it made it easier for me as well, Sister. The transition was… less than kind, for me. I left the church in disgrace.” He shook his head slightly as if to dispel the thoughts, and motioned to me to continue down the hall. We walked in silence for a moment more before he spoke again. “Papa Nihil has been so gracious to me as to allow me to run the library. The Ghouls are helpful as well. I fear I’m better at words on pages than conversations.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve always gotten along with books more than the people who write or read them. Archbishop, I’ve heard about these Ghouls but I’m unsure what… or who they are.” Copia huffed a laugh and glanced tot he side at me. He halted outside of a large door with “LIBRARY” emblazoned above it in gold.

“Now is as good a time as any to meet some, don’t you think?” He studied my apprehensive expression before explaining. “Ghouls are Hell-spawn servants. They serve us in our daily work, and do whatever they can to make things more comfortable for us here on Earth. They aren’t malevolent. No need to worry. Come, I’ll introduce you to mine.”

“Yours? You own them?” I asked as Copia brought his hand to the handle of the door.

“Yes and no. They own themselves, but each high ranking clergy member summons his or her own Ghouls when they’re promoted. Mine have been with me for a few years now, since I attained Archbishop. They’re loyal, and surprisingly loving… and very cat like.” He finished speaking and, before I could question him further, pulled open the door and stepped inside.

The library was as I had imagined it and more. Large, towering book cases laden with thick tomes tottered along the walls, some of them veering dangerously to the side with the weight. Small picnic benches were in between the shelves, with a large seating area against one wall, flush with a ceiling-to-floor window. The smell of parchment, leather and ink was heavy in the air along with that same scent of incense. A smile grew on my face as I saw the comforting fire in the seating area, as well as two steaming cups of liquid-- presumably tea.

“Shall we sit, Sister?” Copia stretched his arm out, motioning for me to join him by the fire. I sat down in the overly stuffed armchair, swinging my feet as they dangled uselessly off of the floor. Copia handed me a small saucer with the cup of tea and I took it gratefully. “Would you like sugar? Milk?”

“Please, both.” Copia looked behind me and motioned someone over. I turned around and only barely suppressed a gasp.

The person approaching was inhuman-- claws, a tail and horns. His face was a shining and chrome mask that seemed melded to his skin. The eyes underneath were glowing a pale blue as his tail swished back and forth excitedly. A large smile tugged his cheeks up into dimples, revealing pointed teeth behind his lips. He crept forward slowly, a plate in one hand and the other hand extended. As he got closer I noticed that he was dressed smartly, in a black vest and suit pants.

“Sister Lunaria, meet Rain. My Water Ghoul.” I nodded, dumbstruck, as the Ghoul came closer and held the plate out to me. Arranged neatly on the porcelain top was a small decanter of milk, and some sugar cubes.

“It’s been so long since we had someone new in the Abbey!” he said. His voice was nothing like I had expected-- instead, it was pitched like a man in his mid-twenties, and exuded friendliness. I couldn’t help it, and I smiled at him.

“Your name is Rain? Like the--”

“Precipitation, yes.” He wiggled the fingers of his free hand to simulate rain falling and his grin grew even wider. “Boss, can I sit? I wanna talk to the new one for a bit. It’s been ages!” Copia was already shaking his head.

“You’ll have plenty of time later, Rain. Papa Nihil has assigned her to work in the library. You’ll see her often. Go on back to the dens and let the others know to steer clear of the library for a few days. Not that most of them will have an issue with that.” Copia smiled dryly at Rain, who snickered as he nodded.

“Right on, you’re the boss.” He set the plate down on the table between us and looked to me once more. “Nice to meet you, Sister Lunaria. I hope you’ll be with us for a while.” I couldn’t stop the smile that I beamed back at him and watched as he left, whistling and tail swishing happily.

“They really are like big cats. Incredible! If only my Abbess could see this.” I suddenly remembered my own Abbey, far down below in the valley. I wondered if my absence had been noticed yet.

“Mm, thoughts of home? That will happen often, especially as the similarities become more and more jarring.” I was already shaking my head.

“That place was never home. I only felt accepted by the children there, and they’re… Not the best company.” Copia started to laugh, a cute chuckling sound.

“I understand. I’m good with children myself, but the conversation… Lacking.” He tipped his head towards me and winked, and I laughed. A smile curved his lips upwards and he took a sip of tea to hide it, but I could still see his mustache curling. “The children you’ll find here are nothing like that. Most of the children here are Ghoul kits.”

“Kits?” I raised an eyebrow. “They breed?”

“No, no. They have kits. Breeding implies that they rut like animals. I assure you, Ghouls are entirely human in the matter of anatomy, sex and--”

“Okay! I eh… I meant only that they have children as other species do?” My face was growing flushed and hot, only deepening in my embarrassment. Things of that nature were never spoken of at my convent, and if they were, they were shut down quickly the Mother Superior. I was educated in that area of course, but discussing it out loud was a different matter entirely. When I looked at Copia, I noticed his face flushing as well.

“My apologies, Sister. I forgot briefly who I was speaking to. Sex is viewed very openly here, and you may see or hear things that are eh… Sinful to you.” He flashed a quick smile before clearing his throat and continuing. “You know your letters?”

“Yes. Latin, French, and English.”

“Fluent?”

“Yes, Archbishop.” I took another sip of tea, draining the small cup before leaning forward to set it on the table between us. “Forgive me for asking but, where am I expected to sleep? It’s getting late and I had such a long walk.”

“You walked here? From your Abbey?” His eyes widened in shock as I nodded. “You walked nearly ten miles, Sister! Come, let’s get you to a shower and a bed. As my assistant, you’ll be living in the small chamber behind the library. It’s quite small, I apologize, but I believe you’ll be comfortable here. I am always just next door if you need anything.”

Copia stood and guided me towards the back of the library, one hand on the small of my back. I was so tired, and I had only noticed it when I sat and drank the warm tea. My lids felt heavy, and my limbs sluggish. My feet ached with every step and my back hurt from carrying my pack. He led me to a small, out of the way door, and pushed it open to reveal a modest but comfortable bedroom.

“Thank you, Archbishop. What time is morning mass? I’ll have to set an alarm.” I moved into the room and set my pack down on the floor, putting a hand to the bed and testing the mattress.

“Tomorrow is Sunday, Sister. We have Saturday mass. Tomorrow is a rest day. I’ll come and collect you around noon, and I’ll walk you through your new duties here. Rest.” Copia gave me another smile and pulled the door shut, leaving me alone in the small room that was to be my home.

#lorraine writes #fics #ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost #papa emeritus #cardinal copia #copia #popia #papa iv #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iii #papa iii #terzo #of devilish creatures #odc

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penwieldingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Dante's Prayer - Chapter 3

The 2nd part of the Ball, hope you guys will like it. Let me know what you think about this. A big thanks to my beta @fortheloveoffanfic for keeping me on track with the characters 😉

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2094

"Mrs. Gray, why don't we retreat to the parlour for a drink and leave the men to talk their business." Helene suggested linking her satin gloved arm with Polly's and led her away from Thomas and her husband, nodding at the two men in parting.

"Lady McCann, please call me Polly, after all, we'll be family soon once the wedding is done." the Shelby matriarch told her nephews soon-to-be mother in law with a smile, the two women nearly gliding over to the smaller parlour of Castletown House.

Returning the smile, the duchess nodded her head. "By all means, then I'm Helene. We will be family soon, given that my daughter won't bail on us." A soft sigh left her lips, knowing Saoirse could be difficult. "Your nephew will have his work cut out for him, I reckon."

"Oh he'll learn how to deal with it. I have a good feeling that once they'll get to know each other they'll find common ground." The words were reassuring, yet both women knew that it would take a while for their children - in Polly's case she felt like her brother's children were just like her own - to warm up to the idea of sharing a life together.

Arriving at the doors separating the sitting room from the grand ballroom, Helene nodded at the butler, who let them enter. They sat down at the round table, plush armchairs providing comfort as the Birmingham resident looked around the room. Polly thought back to the time when she had to work hard to provide for her family and be there for Ada and Finn during the war, and all she could feel was gratefulness toward Tommy who was able to give them the life they led now.

"Has Thomas told you what he wants his wedding to be like?" the mother of three inquired, nodding at the butler in thanks for bringing them both refreshments and leaned back into the high-backed armchair. "I gather now that it is his second wedding he might want to change a few things."

Taking a sip from the champagne, the gypsy lightly shook her head. "So far, he hasn't said anything. He only does this out of duty to the family. I told him it was a good deal, but other than that he's not going to object to anything. All I can ask of you is considering a custom my family on my mother's side has partook in every time during a wedding." Polly wasn't too sure, the duchess would agree to traditions of the travelling folks but the soft smile on her face and the light nod gave her hope.

"I haven't always been a duchess, Polly." the blonde lady started, holding the Flute glas in her hand and watching the champagne sparkle in the soft glow of the lamps. "My mother originated from Germany, her cousin married the emperor of Austria and she was made Empress of Austria and Hungary. I often visited her when I was still a child and Sisi would visit the travelling folks of Hungary. Not all is as it seems, my daughter has the same spirit in her as Elizabeth did. Headstrong, modern, loyal to a fault, kind and with a childish wonder the war has snuffed out in many people. I do hope that Thomas won't try to do what the war hasn't been able to do. Despite me agreeing to this arrangement without her consent, she is still my little angel and I will grant you your customs just like we have ours, but should your nephew hurt her in any way, he will wish for war to take him again."

Nodding her head, Polly grinned at Helene, knowing they would get along splendidly. Protective of her family, just like herself, the Shelby matriarch knew that there was a good future ahead, bright was still to be questioned, but good at least.

Just then the decorated glass doors of the light coloured parlour flew open, a disheveled looking Arthur standing there, eyes ablaze and his face red from anger.

"Did ya know, Pol?" he asked storming over to his aunt, hands already grabbing for her arms. "Did ya know 'bout 'er, hm?"

Polly had never been someone to be frightened or threatened, especially not by her family, so she wouldn't start now and still Arthur always had a soft spot in her heart. Delivering a hard slap, she pushed the eldest of the brothers away from her, regret shining in her eyes. "What the fuck are ya talkin' about, Arthur?"

"I'm fuckin' talking about Niamh." he glared, his cheeks already turning a darker shade of red from anger and the hit he received. "She's been here all them years, pregnant with ma son, so 'm askin' again: did ya know 'bout it?"

Wide eyed, Polly felt the wheels in her head turning, remembering the girl Arthur had left behind to marry Linda, the redheaded beauty in the back of the church. "She was at the wedding, didn't say a thing, just left when it was over. That's all I know."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Arthur stumbled back into the armchair on the other side of his aunt, closing his eyes to order the thoughts in his head flitting about like butterflies. "What am I gonna do now?" Polly moved over to him, pulling Arthur into a tight hug because she knew it was hard on him.

Even though she wasn't a fan of Linda, her nephew loved her and she had to live with that. Now he needed to make a decision on what to do with the mother of his first child. "You need to talk to her, that much is clear. And get to know him, too."

Nodding his head against his aunt's belly, Arthur felt a small portion of the weight lifting of his shoulders. Linda would be furious, she already was with him leaving for Ireland to be part of the wedding preparations. Nothing had been decided yet, but the eldest Shelby had a distinct feeling, that Lady McCann would want the ceremony to take place in their home and he already dreaded the day the whole family would again sit on Tommy's side of the church and Linda coming face to face with his former lover and mother of his first son.

"I thought you'd have ta greet guests." he said, a cigarette perched between his lips as he watched his wife-to-be gazing at the sky.

"And I thought you would talk about business with my father." she replied, a smirk grazing her features and might he say it looked more like a small smile than a smirk.

Her body leaned against the banister and Tommy couldn't help but let his eyes roam over it, breathing in the smoke of the cigarette he had missed all evening. "There's not much business to talk about when there's a wedding about to take place."

Nodding her head, Saoirse turned her face towards his own as he leaned against the stone parapet next to her. "I hope Arthur has calmed down again after his encounter with Niamh when I left." she said after a moment of silence.

"Ach, he's fine. Needs to talk to her, though." Tommy shrugged, his stormy blues void of emotion as he stubbed out the cigarette on the banister. "His wife's goin' to have his hide, but he'll get over it."

Shaking her head, Saoirse looked away from the gang leader, feeling like the little progress they had made went up in smoke just like the cigarette. "You shouldn't be so indifferent to the feelings of others, one day you might not have anyone left to turn to."

"Often enough you only have yourself to rely on." he replied before he stood again, running a hand through his short hair and holding the other out to her. "We shouldn't make your guests believe that we hate each other, it's bad for business."

Snorting, the youngest of three took his hand, feeling the warmth of Tommy's skin through the satin of her glove as he led her inside to the ballroom. "Who said anything about me liking you? I don't really care what my guests think, mother's guests on the other hand, that would be a shame. After all, they came all the way from Austria and London."

"I see, you're not going to make it easy for me, are you?" he wondered, twirling her around so they could dance to the waltz the orchestra started to play. "What is this marriage going to look like, hm?"

Putting her left hand on his shoulder, Saoirse mentally thanked her mother for making her take the dance lessons in Vienna or else the future bride of Birmingham's most known gangster would have been an embarrassment. Her right hand delicately laid in his left and she couldn't help but wonder if they could do more than just hold a gun and kill. "I believe you'd like me to play the obedient wife, staying at your house and doing nothing, what with your fortune now. I heard you have a son, so probably be a mother to him, while you go out and do whatever you do."

"So, ya do know something 'bout me." he smirked, leading her across the grand room, unaware of the other dancers and their families. The pair danced in their own world and voiced their opinion on the upcoming union. "And here I thought ya didn't know anything."

"My sisters talk, Mister Shelby, although I didn't know which one my husband-to-be was, I still heard their opinions on you loud and clear."

The smirk on his lips widened at the thought of what Amalie and Louise had told their sister. "An' what pray tell did they tell ya?"

"Oh, you know, that you're a gangster, cold as ice, a former war hero and would do anything to get money." Saoirse shrugged, trying to rile him up as she saw his blue eyes darken. Tommy knew that he had to keep it cool. It wouldn't do him good to drag her off and…no, he wouldn't yell at her and make a scene, that would break the deal he made with her mother. He'd rather enjoy the rest of his life while it lasted.

Pulling her tighter into his body, he felt a satisfied grin make its way onto his face at her gasp. "You'd do well to keep those comments to a minimum. That money you so kindly brought up will grant you safety among Birmingham and the rest of England and Scotland. I don't want another of me wife killed because she wouldn't listen and had a mind of her own."

"Well then, you'd better look for another wife because I can be just as stubborn as you, Mister Shelby."

"I'd rather not. You're more than enough." Wincing at the thought of having to go through that process again, Tommy shook his head. The music had changed and another waltz was played. "Besides, finding a good woman that freely accepts my son is quite rare in these times."

Pursing her lips, Saoirse looked up into his stormy blue eyes. "I couldn't imagine someone not liking your son. Judging by what Louise told me about him, I take it he's a ray of sunshine."

"Are you really trying to make me hate you right now? But yes, Charlie is in fact a ray of sunshine despite having me as his father." Before the youngest daughter of the Duke could say anything, Tommy had twirled her outward, keeping his eyes on her face as he read the delight written all over it.

He couldn't help but enjoy these moments, couldn't remember the last time he danced like this with anyone that hadn't been Grace. When Saoirse had returned to his arms, she sent him a grin, a genuine one at that. "I'm not trying to make you hate me, I was stating a fact and to be honest I can't wait to meet your son."

Nodding his head at her answer, he led her around the ballroom for one final dance. "In two weeks you will meet him, so I do hope you won't change your mind about this arrangement."

"Don't do anything to make me change it and I'll be there." she answered him, her right hand squeezing his left tighter than before and Tommy couldn't help but grin at her attempt to threaten him. Life would be a lot more interesting once the wedding was over.

tagging

@fortheloveoffanfic @fics-not-tragedies

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby #shelby family #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders

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annavoncleves · 3 years

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the saga of henry the young king

ok so, henry the young king, eldest (living) son of henry ii (he did have an older brother, william, but william died as a baby so in practice henry's oldest) dad's the king of england, lord of wales and ireland, count of anjou and maine and aquitaine, and eventually brittany

lots of titles, lots of sons as well, and rather than the oldest son getting everything like comes in later (unless he's an only child/only has sisters) at this point he has to share with his brothers, though he does get the Best Cut, which in this case is the kingship of england

BUT

kingdoms are a lil different to other realms, in that, whilst counties and duchys can be split whilst dad's still alive, bc those are vassals of the kingdom, the throne can't be split up, obviously

so even though henry is named 'henry the young king' (an attempt at securing the throne, after the absolute clusterfuck that happened to henry ii's mother, empress matilda, whose throne was stolen by her cousin stephen after her father's death, bc she was a) a woman, gasp and b) the lords of england didn't think SWEARING AN OATH TO RECOGNISE HER AS QUEEN BEFORE THEIR KING AND PEERS was BINDING ENOUGH, so that henry's chosen heir would. actually get the throne when he died) he has no actual power

which tbh, looking at his record, is probably a good thing, bc although he thought a lot of himself, he wasn't actually that great a leader of men

he was a very good jouster tho, but that's neither here nor there

SO. henry ii is king. henry the young king is basically the king-in-waiting, whilst all his legitimate* younger brothers get THEIR inheritances (well, richard and geoffrey do, getting aquitaine and brittany. john - later known as bad king john, yes the bad guy in robin hood, he's based off THIS john - is the youngest and doesn't get shit, gaining him the nickname 'lackland')

*henry ii was a bit of a slut, but all kings were, and was actually pretty good to his bastard sons, by the standards of the day, anyway. he made one of them an important bishop and gave the other a position at court. fun fact, when henry ii does eventually die, it's one of his illegitimate sons at his bedside, and none of his legitimate sons

[in the words of the astounding @searchingforserendipity25: “to be the only illegitimate son at that bedside, crowded by all those absences” damn queen, go off]

BUT. henry the young king, king in name, but JUNIOR king, and only titular. younger brothers get their lands. he's pissed.

daaaaad, he whines, i want a go at ruling now

i'm ruling now, wait your turn, henry ii says

no, fuck you, henry the young king says and starts a rebellion

despite being... well, a bit useless, henry the young king is VERY popular (idk, bc he was moderately handsome and good at jousting?? it makes no sense to me why the people liked him as much as they did, he didn't exactly do anything to earn their love or allegiance as far as i can see) and quite a few lords get behind him

also wanting a bigger portion than they've been given, richard and geoffrey join the rebellion, bc they want more of that sweet, sweet land, as does their mother eleanor of aquitaine who fell out with her husband at some point

henry ii, against all expectations, successfully puts down the rebellion and henry the young king et al are in troubleeee, but henry ii can't afford to really punish his ungrateful offspring as much as he'd probably like, so he goes the other way and gives henry the young king a nice big allowance to keep him happy, which works for a little bit

then henry the young king, beautiful imbecile that he is, decides he's gonna rebel again. it ends the same way. he's just not very good at war, is the only conclusion i can come to

SO the second rebellion is in progress (henry the young king is allied with his brother geoffrey again, but not richard, who appears to have learned his lesson... for now. richard does rebel again later, but he waits for the right moment, proving he had some degree of intelligence that the other two... lacked) when henry the young king gets sick

i'm gonna have to copy and paste from wikipedia for this bit to explain what he was sick WITH bc there is no way i can beat this: "[Henry] had just finished pillaging local monasteries to raise money to pay his mercenaries [when] he contracted dysentery at the beginning of June."

you heard that right

he got dysentry whilst PILLAGING CHURCHES

it was a real Bruh moment for karma

anyway, he starts getting sicker and sicker until it becomes clear He Ain't Surviving This, at which point he does what a lot of people do when faced with the reality of their own mortality: say 'oh shit, i fucked up' and try and apologise

he's also pretty out of it so at some point in a presumably feverish stupor 'as a token of his penitence for his war against his father, he prostrated himself naked on the floor before a crucifix'. just stripped off, got on his belly, presumably in one of the few moments he was not shitting himself, and says 'lol my bad'

unfortunately for henry the young king, he's got form for being a tricksy, underhanded bitch. (seriously, why was he so popular?? enquiring minds - mine - would like to know) and when the messenger gets to his dad saying 'welp, i'm dying, i'm real sorry about the wars, come see me on my deathbed?

henry ii takes one look at that and goes: 'he's not really dying, is he?’

the messenger: uh. yeah. really dying.

henry ii: sounds fake

the messenger: no, he's really really sorry and really really dying

henry ii: this is Definitely A Trap

so henry ii isn't gonna be taken to a secondary location to get imprisoned or murdered by his rebellious son, which u can't entirely blame him for, considering henry the young king is currently In The Process Of Attempting To Depose Him when this all goes down, BUT henry ii also figures that if his son really is dying, and he doesn't grant him forgiveness, then he's gonna be haunted by that shit/his son won't find peace/bad things will happen. so he takes one of his rings and gives it to the messenger and says, take this to my son as a token of my forgiveness. the ring couldn't come from anyone else, so henry the young king will know it really comes from his father, and henry ii doesn't get possibly murdered, so everybody wins!

messenger goes back to henry the young king, who we presume has now got some clothes on, or at least a strategically placed sheet, and gives him the ring. as expected, henry the young king dies soon after, get this, holding the ring that his father sent him.

like. i don't think he was a good king. i don't think he would've been a good king. but. he dies holding onto this ring. and he's got a lot of people around him, but his dad isn't there, just this ring.

when henry ii gets the news that henry the young king is really, really dead now, he is meant to have said the absolute soul-crusher of a quote that made me want to tell you this whole saga in the first place: "He cost me much, but I wish he had lived to cost me more."

like??? this kid tried to overthrow his dad. TWICE. he spent all the money his dad gave him and then some, which led to the aforementioned pillaging monasteries, he signed up to go on crusade that his dad specifically told him not to fucking go on (which he died before he could fulfil)... he did EVERYTHING wrong. like. so much.

and his dad just wants his pillaging, disobedient and wasteful son back.

and that is the story of henry the young king, the only junior king england ever had.

#henry the young king #henry ii #the plantagenets #plantagenet era #angevin empire #storytime!#yes i did copy and paste this from my ims with searchingforserendipity25 bc she told me it was good #yes i know it will get no notes #history #british history #english history #we love a dysfunctional family

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girlmaster132 · 3 years

Text

Rosaria x Female Reader: Hidden In the Shadows

Rated: Mature

Words: 4k

Warning: Kidnapping, Death

First-Person POV:

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Mondstadt is such a beautiful place, the kind people, the breathtaking views. It is known as the city of wind and freedom. And for someone like me, it's the finest place to steal.

The Windblume festival has also begun doubling the number of people in the streets. My excitement reached its peak. I strode inside Mondstadt, flower wreaths and decorations welcomed me. I walked on a smooth blue carpet that reached the center.

Relief rushed through me knowing that this place has bad security. Knowing that most members of the Knights of Favonius are incompetent and lazy asshats, stealing here would be a breeze.

I smirked and watched the crowd form in the town center. Good Hunter has released a new dish and everyone's going crazy. I wore my hood and approached the nearest table. Golden Chicken Burger had a fragrant smell that could reach all the way here.

I sat in a chair and observed the potential victims. My other "friends" were doing their own business in the corners of Mondstadt. I wasn't on heavy duty today, so the simplest thing could be the greatest treasure.

I shifted my view to different people studying their clothing. A child wearing a flower headband, a man with booze, I saw a woman with a pouch of mora just hanging at her belt. I laid my eyes on the price and studied a route in this massive crowd. I stood up and quietly approached her.

I pretended to whistle and accidentally bumped into her. I swiftly swiped the mora on her belt and grinned hastily hiding the heavy pouch in my jacket.

"I'm sorry dear, I apologize for being ever so clumsy," I bowed down.

"Oh, no worries! A lot are excited for the food a lot of people bumped into me already."

"Well of I go, hope you have a nice lunch!" I winked and strutted away. I felt the bulge in my jacket symbolizing my success. I stretched and got ready to go back to base, I left Monstadt while giving empty smiles to whoever passed me.

My boots crunched at the grass, I strayed off the path and entered the woods. Boars and birds roam around. The sun was starting to set and after a few more steps I arrived at our camp. Some greeted me and when I entered the tent, I was met with devious smiles. The smiles of sinners, "Welcome back capt. Got anything worthwhile?"

I threw the pouch of mora and he clumsily caught it. "I did most of the work last raid, better not expect me to give you more than that." The rats rapidly took the pouch and fought over it. The coins dropped like heavy rain, clanking on the table, some even fell on the ground. They scattered around the room collecting the precious mora.

"This would be 5000 Mora. Nice catch capt."

She handed me a few coins, "Nah I don't need that, keep it for yourself. I'm fine with the food and shelter y'all provide me," I yawned and stretched. I walked around the room and observed the map of Mondstadt.

"Where are you going? It's night, the best time to get treasure. But you already did your share for this week?" I scoffed and

"You don't need to know." I sighed and stood up, "I'm going to the usual. See ya lads."

...

The moon glowed amidst the dark sky. The breeze was gentle and the town was silent. The lights gave a warm atmosphere as I walked to the cathedral. Thieves are sinners meant to be punished. It's ironic that I visit the church every night. I walked around the entrance and looked at the mountains.

Dragonspine was seen, I wonder how my fellow Treasure hoarders were holding up there.

I reached the back and stared blankly at the graves, there was a man singing lullabies. I eyed him and sat down at the stairs and waited for my friend to come. I blanked out and leaned at the huge door. The door opened quietly and I met with her.

"Tsk, stop sitting there like a homeless person and come in already." I blushed and laughed. A light blue color sparkled on her clothes.

Cryo Vision

...

The floors creak as I slowly approached the room. The windows glistened the moonlight. I tiptoed through the hall and kept looking back at the window I went in.

Desperate for a place to stay in, the treasure hoarders are my last chance. I strained my breaths through my pounding heart. In the hall were three rooms. I chose the door beside me, my hand wandered to my pocket and took a pin out. I knelt and unlocked the door. There Infront of me is an empty and dusty room. There were boxes stacked against each other and a sole table inside.

I walked towards the boxes and opened them. Coughing from the dust. Inside were broken bottles and cans. I pushed the box away, there needs to be something worthwhile here or I'm dead. I scanned the boxes and crawled to the table.

I ruffled at the table contemplating if I should hurry up or take this slow. I opened the drawers, piles of paper were in there. I stumbled and covered my mouth. I looked back and there were still no signs of people coming in. I gazed back at the table

The light from the window reflected a circle orb that caught my eye. I scrambled to it and took the papers above it away.

A Pyro Vision

It had no color or life, its owner must be dead. I sharply inhaled and grinned. I took the vision and fiddled with it. Relief surged through me, I'd finally get home and be able to attain Mora once I sold this.

"Oh, sweet mother of the archons! I'm saved!" I looked up into the ceiling and kissed the vision. Suddenly I heard stomping noises from the first floor. I quickly pushed the vision into my pocket and ran outside. I locked the door from the inside and slowly closed it. My heartbeat was faster as the footsteps were getting close.

I hastily jumped out of the window and harshly fell to the ground. My knees trembled and I stumbled. I picked myself up and stared at the pyro vision in my hand. I took a headstart and ran away passing the homes of Springvale.

I reached the forest, took out the map the treasure hoarders gave me. I followed the location running through the trees in the dark. I advanced and found the location. It was an empty camp with no sign of life or a fire source. I saw a girl a little bit older than me sitting under a tree staring at the darkness.

"Do you need help?" I whispered. I saw the table had food, cold but still food. I took a piece of bread and handed it to her. Getting near I got a better look at her. She was frail and her body was skinny. Her mouth had blood on it.

"I think you'd be needing that more than I do kid," She said with a raspy voice. I gazed upon her empty eyes. "You also shouldn't be here... I think you got the wrong location kid."

"Why not? The Treasure Hoarders led me towards here," I took out the map and showed it to her.

"Get out of here now those assholes tricked you!"

"Tricked me! W-what are you talking about?"

"You are nowhere near the Treasure Hoarders land. You're in the territory of the Ace Onyx if I were you I'd take this bread in my hand and have your last supper here." I paled when I heard people near us.

"Well, well, well what do we have here? You caught a new bitch?" I shivered and looked back. A punch met with my face and I fell down. I rubbed my face as my eyes got watery. The girl watched silently. "I wonder how this one would sell in the market." He loomed over me holding my face as he observed me.

"It'll be worth a fortune boss!"

He let go of my face and raised a hand. I covered my eyes and waited for the inevitable. The girl ran up with unbelievable speed as she roughly pushed him forward making him stumble. I gulped as the devilish eyes surrounded us.

"Lay a hand on her and I will kill all of you worthless scum!"

"Ya' talk big for a slave that knows no remorse and has killed countless innocent lives. You've taken all my dirty work and followed all my orders like a dog on a leash. Are ya' sure that you aren't part of this so-called worthless scum?" He smirked. I shakily stood up and walked backward, I looked back ready to escape.

"I am sick and tired of following your orders, getting innocent people involved just to survive and live a life. I'd rather die right here right now."

"K-kid let's go!" I took her hand pulling her towards me, yet she stood there unwavering. She glared at them with fire coursing through her soul.

"Fleeing makes you a traitor, and traitors can only earn their freedom through victory in combat," He raised his hand signaling the other bandits to stop. He took a dagger and threw it at her feet, she glanced back at me. Even if that hate wasn't towards me, it was enough to freeze to the core. "Well, come on then! Kill me, and you can leave this place. I'm long in the tooth now, while you've got youth on your side. You can do this, can't ya?"

She halted me from running away. I saw a smirk on her face. Like she was confident she was about to win. I sat back down on the ground as I watched the fight begin.

The girl twirled the dagger on her hand as her eyes were fixated on their leader. She inhaled and was quick on her feet; she struck upwards, slashing his shoulder. He prepared a jab which she dodged and elbowed him in return.

She ripped through his clothes, striking every opportunity she got. Every attack is driven by hate and rage, showing no remorse. This didn't even seem close to a fair fight. The leader was bleeding through several wounds. She didn't stop there, Her strength was admirable; she flipped him over and he roughly collided with the land.

She took him by his hair and brought him up. She stabbed him right in the heart, taking the knife out. The leader coughed out blood as she hit him in the face with the hilt of the dagger. She pushed his head down and didn't hesitate to stab him at the back of his head multiple times before he fell to the ground. She breathes out slowly, not even a single sweat dropped from her forehead.

She smeared her hand over the bloody head and disgustingly licked it. An eerie silence as everyone watched in horror. I breathe out and fog is released out of my mouth. I saw that the place was starting to get cold. The sky darkened and clouds swirled above her.

Something glowed in the sky. I squinted and gasped. A cryo vision slowly descended from the sky. My eyes widened as it fell into her hands. The bandits stood there trembling and terrified. They have no chance of winning against a person that has killed their leader. Let alone received a vision from the gods.

"Anyone else?" She pointed the dagger at them. Cryo manifested on the weapon.

Knights arrived at the scene and the bandits fought them. The girl took my hand and attempted to flee. We ran as fast as we could until we were out of sight, giving me enough time to do something. I crouched down and started digging in the ground.

"What are you doing?"

"None of your business—" More knights came in surrounding and trapping us. I hurried and threw the unused vision on the ground. I quickly stood up and stomped on it hiding it from the knights.

I hyperventilated and felt arms wrapped around me. I looked at her, she wasn't scared or startled at all. Men pointed their swords at us and instead of attacking us the knights just kept us in place. I covered my ears at all the screaming happening. Knights against the bandits, I saw sparks of different colors appear, symbolizing that the vision holders arrived and wiped everyone clean.

"Come on you two," The knight calmly said. Rosaria didn't falter, mostly because we're surrounded by knights and vision wielders far more superior and stronger than us. They locked up our hands with chains. They led us to a carriage in front of us. I gasped at the result of the fight.

Pools of blood surrounded them, huge deep cuts with oozing ichor out. Some were burnt and others had their eyes opened. The lifeless figures made my stomach churn as I stopped the non-existent food from going up out of my mouth. I froze with fear as the knights opened the carriage and helped us in.

I sat there traumatized that visions of those poor souls kept popping up in my head as if it won't leave me alone until I die.

"Rosaria," She quietly said.

"What?"

"My name's Rosaria." Silence overtook us, the carriage door closed and it started moving. "The nearest place we can stay is at Mondstadt. It's our only way of surviving. So if I were you, I'd like you to stay put and accept your fate."

Everything went hazy and I felt lightheaded. I relaxed and laid down on the floor. Everything has been so exhausting that I fell asleep.

...

I opened my eyes blinking multiple times with the sun blinding me.

We were both in the same cell, Rosaria was quietly fumbling around her newly acquired vision. And I was playing with my chains. Her wounds healed up quicker than I thought. I had a bandage up on my face after that punch.

We heard the door open and clanks of armor echoed around the cells. Knights escorted a tall man with them. He was looking down at us and I felt a tinge of intimidation radiate from him.

One of the knights took the key out and opened the rusty gate of our cell. Rosaria tensed as the man walked in. He crouched down to our level and surprisingly gave a warm smile.

"I am Varka Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius. I've heard about you two caught at the site of the Ace Onyx last night. You two seem young—"

"I'm talking to no creep."

He chuckles, "oh no you got it all wrong. I would never do anything bad to you children. Instead, I suggest that you go to the Cathedral and be cleansed by the light of our archon. You still have the chance to turn your fate around and live a normal life," Varka said.

"And what exactly— you want us to be nuns?"

"Indeed, I believe with all my heart you two would be reformed."

I noticed he was more inclined towards Rosaria. I have a feeling He deemed her more dangerous than me for having a vision.

I'd do anything to give me a temporary home.

"We accept."

...

A few days later I returned to the site of the fight. Everything was empty now, the bodies, the camp are gone. The place has been cleaned and a few animals were roaming around. I dug up the ground and found the vision I hid. I glared at it not knowing if I should feel happy that I saved a soul or to sell it to get back to my old ways.

"You all tricked me!" I yelled surprising the assholes.

"How the fuck did you survive?"

I tossed the unused vision at them. Their eyes widened, visions are hard to get. Unused ones are rare, and being able to steal them is rarer.

"W-what happened to the Ace Onyx group?"

"Whatever the fuck that group is they're gone! I was there to witness the Knights of Favonius kill each and every one of them!"

"They're gone?" They said with shock plastered amongst their faces.

"What? What's so special about them?" I asked while shifting my view to each one of them.

"They're our enemy faction, we've been battling for territory and power ever since. If they're gone that means..."

"We're the strongest faction in Mondstadt and Liyue."

"Does that mean?"

After the oh so meaningful conversation they immediately accepted me. They even paid a huge sum of mora for the unused vision I gave them. They celebrated that night and I rose the ranks quicker than I thought I would.

This is the life.

3 Years Later

It was a busy day, I walked up the stairs headed to the cathedral. I wonder how Rosaria is? Balancing my life as a treasure hoarder and commoner. I walked up the stairs.

"Miss Rosaria, please, show a little more circumspection in your actions! You are a member of the Church. How is it appropriate that you simply never turn up for hymn practice?" I overheard sister Ophila shouting.

"Please calm down, Sister Ophila. Miss Rosaria, I'm told that you have never attended a single one of your compulsory classes. Is that so?"

"Yes," Rosaria deadpanned.

"Mother Maria, please look at this... Rosaria's theological essay is an utter mess!" A sister chided while showing her a piece of paper. Sister Ophila took it and read it with a contorted look.

"Miss Rosaria, if I may ask frankly... do you intend to do any work at all here at the Church?" She asked while looking melancholic.

"No. I've already found other work." The sisters sighed in unison. Rosaria never showed so much as a hint of anxiety in any of these exchanges.

"Fine, miss Rosaria we'll let this pass this time but please take your next duties seriously." Rosaria bowed and the sisters left. I stood there as awkwardness filled the air.

"Hey Y/N I know you've been watching there. I could hear you a mile away," She glanced at me. I laughed at their antics. "Sorry, you had to see that. That was embarrassing."

"No, it's fine! I'm just worried maybe with all this work you're doing, you might not be feeling well," I said while scratching my head.

"You ask me that as if you didn't leave the church. I should be asking how are you?" She trudged away and I followed her.

"I'm fine really, I don't understand why they won't let you leave but here I am strolling around Mondstadt freely. Also, the additional fact that you're the one with the vision and I'm a useless person."

"You're nowhere useless to me," She muttered. Rosaria was forced to stay in the church by Varka. I still have no idea why he was so hellbent on the idea that Rosaria would be a nun and would reform. It's been three years and she's the same as ever.

We both reached the edge of the cathedral and sat at the edge of the cliff. We watched as the moon rose and the city turned calm. Rosaria took a cigarette out and started to smoke.

"What do you plan to do with your life?" I stretched.

"If the church wasn't so disdainful and bigoted I would like to do many things. I'd also want to spend my life and be with..." she trailed off.

"What did the church do again that's stopping you from doing what you want?" She glared at me and I scrunched my brows. "What?"

"You're denser than the dense. Stupid even. Whatever," She stood up and rolled her eyes.

"Hey?! Don't say all of that and then leave me hanging! Did I do something wrong?!" I ran up to her and grabbed my hand. She pulled me in and kissed my cheek.

"That kind of dense, you blundering buffoon," She scoffed and walked away. My mouth was wide open and I was dumbfounded.

...

Present

We entered the church and I yawned.

"How are you and what did you do today?"

"Oh you know, the usual. I was roaming around Starsnatch cliff to watch its amazing views."

"Was it a lovely sight?"

"Yeah—"

She used her elemental skill and teleported behind me. She hit my feet and I fell down. She tugged my shoulder and tossed me, sending me flying to the wall. I hit the wall with a thud as I groan and rub my back. The ice crawled up behind my back and my body slowed down. Her hand grabbed my neck and pulled me up. She glared at me with a burning hatred that pierced my soul.

"Treasure hoarders always get on my nerves. I can't believe you're the infamous Y/N. The brat that leads the group of treasure hoarders that terrorized Springvale for an entire month. I can't believe you're a vicious rat that's been hiding under our noses. How dare you betray me and my trust?"

I struggled to breathe and felt her hand trembling. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If she was trying to make me feel bad, she was doing the right thing.

"Are you that "thing" my fellow treasure hoarders kept talking about?"

"It seems like you misunderstood me from the start. I may have been a friend to you, but I've been working for the church at night. Skewing and finding the threats of Mondstadt." I held her hand struggling for freedom, "Though I'd kill them the moment I catch them." She leaned in and we were face to face.

"Well, what are you going to do? Are you going to kill me now?"

"No, I'm going to do something better." She opened her mouth and I felt fangs bite into my neck and I wince in pain. She held me in place while she sucked on my blood. I breathed heavily and the world around me went hazy. Lightheaded, she pulled out and licked my neck. Chills ran down my spine and body. She shoved me down to the floor and smirked. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

I panted heavily and lifted a hand up to my neck. To check if I was dreaming or not, I smeared blood across my neck and looked at my hand.

"Y-you're a vampire! I thought they died whenever the rays of sunlight hit them! Does being inside a church not hurt you?"

"Oh, poor kitten do you seriously believe in those silly fairy tales? You've been my friend for a few years by now, yet a dense idiot like you hasn't caught on to the fact that I wasn't a normal human at all."

"How long did you know that I was part of the Treasure Hoarders?"

"I've known since the past month you've led your little buddies to attack Springvale. I am quite impressed that you've deceived me. But you've also angered me! But I can give you the luxury of freedom, I can spare you," She chuckles. "I'm quite starved. I would surely like to drain you right here right now. I've been waiting for a reason to do this." I gulped and looked at her eyes as she licked her lips.

"No... I will give back everything! Everything I stole! Just spare me!"

"How about we make a deal? I won't turn you into the Knights of Favonius. In exchange for something."

"I'll do anything! Calm down!"

"For someone as sinful as you, every night we meet here and I'll take a little bit of you."

I panted heavily and dreaded the future.

"So what's your choice? To rot in a cell for the rest of your life, or to give me something of yours every night? I promise I won't take much and you'd live." She smiled sadistically.

"Fine... I'll do it."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Author's Note: I uh post in wattpad too- https://www.wattpad.com/story/264619512-genshin-impact-oneshots-x-readers-x-characters

#genshin impact #genshin impact rosaria #rosaria #genshin impact x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #rosaria x reader #genshinimpact #genshin_impact #genshin x reader

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noodlecupcakeswritings · 3 years

Text

Sanctify - Chapter 1 (Ben SoloxOC AU)

Ben Solo is looking for a new place to call home. When Snoke arrives offering a home, food, community for the simple price of manual labour Ben and a few others jump at the chance to start over. Upon arival at The First Order Ben meets Cora, Snokes daughter. Whilst Ben and Cora grow closer Ben learns the secrets of the town, and Cora has some secrets of her own.

Please leave likes, comments and reblogs if you like it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Warnings: Religious themes, Cult AU, Cult stuff, Implied abuse, No Ben in this chapter, Romance themes, Sexual themes

Prologue

The First Order reside at a small town, housing all 351 of their flock. Snoke has kept the flock going strong for at least thirty years. Disfigured by an accident, Snoke claimed that God had saved him and made him see the light. Eight years into his leadership and he had been gifted a child as he was unable to have his own.

Chapter 1

Cora

Today was Sunday, God’s day. Being the pastor’s daughter, I was expected to be at the town’s church to help set up before morning mass. Pulling my hair back in a tight bun, I pinned back any loose strands before heading downstairs. My father had already left, likely to go over what verses he planned to read today. Slipping my feet into my shoes, I left the house and walked through the small town. Climbing the steps of the church, I slipped inside to find my father as predicted. “Good morning,” I greeted.

Snoke looked up from his bible, his thin lips curving into a smile, “good morning.” Traversing the pews I made sure not a single bible out of place or it didn’t look too worn or battered. The wood creaked as someone else entered the church. Brendol Hux with his son Armitage in tow. Armitage was dressed in white, like myself. A symbol of our purity. All the unmarried members of the flock were expected to wear white and to be covered so that we may not be tempted by the flesh.

Armitage had been my closest friend since we were children. We were practically inseparable. It was just a shame he wasn’t husband material due to being born out of wedlock. My father had made it very clear to me what kind of man I would marry. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a crush on him. It certainly didn’t stop him from trailing after me like a lost puppy sometimes. Sometimes I believed he was more devoted to me than God. Not that I minded, it was nice to know there was someone willing to do anything for me.

“Good morning, Cora. Can I help at all?” Armitage asked. “Of course, I was just making sure everything was in its right place if you wanted to take the other side.” Armitage nodded, doing as I had asked without hesitation. Glancing at Brendol, I could already tell he was in a foul mood with his son. But Brendol was always in a foul mood with Armitage. It was as if Brendol wanted to make his son’s life miserable. I knew about the beatings Armitage received; I’d seen the bruises. Armitage always did his best to keep them hidden or play them off as if he had been clumsy. One day I would catch Brendol in the act and expose him to my father.

Once the pews had been checked, I took my usual seat at the front on the left side. Armitage sat beside me, a small fresh bruise on his lower jaw. Swallowing my rage for Brendol, I instead placed my hand on Armitage’s, comforting him. Armitage met my gaze, his deep green eyes looking sad like a puppy’s, whilst mine were full of pity. This was a look we had exchanged often; words didn’t need to be exchanged we knew what the other was thinking. Armitage always had to ensure I wouldn’t say anything, that I would always keep his secret, as if he were too ashamed to share it with anyone else.

The church filled with the rest of the flock, and soon everyone had taken their seats. Not a single person was late so as to not be seen as rude or disrespectful to our God and leader. Snoke opened today’s mass with the lord’s prayer, which we all recited with him. Hymns were sung and verses were read. “Our lord came to me last night; he believes we need to expand. That we should welcome some new lambs into our flock, ones that need saving from the sins of the world. Tomorrow I will take a small group with me to find these individuals and return them to us, where they will be born anew,” my father declared.

There were a few hushed whispers here and there, out of the thirty years my father had guided the flock we hadn’t accepted many newcomers here. Most didn’t last long enough. “Have faith. Have I ever led you astray? Have I ever endangered your lives, your children’s lives? Has our town ever been threatened?” He asked, looking around as if daring someone to speak up. We all knew the answer was no. Life here was perfect, almost like our own Eden. Whilst the others lacked faith, I didn’t. I knew my father would never do anything that could lead us to harm or ruin. Besides, if they didn’t trust my father, they didn’t trust in the word of God and that would make them traitors.

Service finished, allowing the flock to mingle and chat. Slipping outside, I walked to the large lake that sat behind the church. It was also the area we used for any ceremonies and events. Taking my shoes off, I sat on the grass and dipped my toes in the cold water. My dress was hiked around my knees, so I didn’t get it wet. “Cora?” Armitage called from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder at him, I smiled softly to invite him closer. His hesitancy to approach was because of my exposed lower legs, not that I cared if he saw them. Any higher than the knee and that would be a problem.

Armitage sat beside me; his gaze trained on the lake in front of him with his hands in his lap. “I wanted to see how you felt about your father finding potential new members for the flock,” he spoke softly. “I see no harm in it. It’s not like we accept newcomers all the time. I trust my father to pick only the ones he deems worthy, the ones that aren’t too far gone.” “I hope so, I wouldn’t want anyone endangering the flock, or you.” A soft smile spread across my face, “and you would protect me?”

Finally he turned to look at me, not without stealing a glance at my exposed legs first. “Of course. I’d do anything to keep you safe, to keep you happy,” he confessed. My smile grew at his sweet words and I placed my hand over his, “you always say the nicest things to me.” Taking the opportunity, Armitage laced his fingers with mine, “you deserve more than nice words, Cora.” A small bundle of blue forget-me-nots were growing around the lake, the flowers small and delicate. Picking a large stem, I brought them to my nose and inhaled the faint sweet scent.

“Like flowers?” I asked. Trailing the flowers down from my neck to my chest, I smirked as Armitage followed the trail down with his eyes. Catching himself, he picked his own forget-me-nots and gently threaded the stem through my hair. “Lots of flowers,” he replied with a small smile. I met his gaze once more, the gap between us seemingly smaller now. A tension was there too, one that I hadn’t experienced often and only with Armitage.

“Armitage! Stop bothering Cora and make yourself useful, boy!” Came Brendol’s voice. The moment was ruined, as was the peace. Armitage quickly got to his feet, a little flustered and panicked. “Coming!” He called back. Armitage helped me to my feet, my dress falling back into place to cover my legs before I slipped my shoes back on. “Armitage, you know you're always welcome to use the spare room if your father gets too much tonight,” I reminded him. “I know and I’m eternally grateful for your generosity.” I’d offered him the spare room multiple times, but he never took me up on it. Watching him go, I knew that tonight would be no different.

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The next morning I made father breakfast as part of my usual routine. As his daughter, it was my job to cook and clean. And I took great pride in my cooking. As it was his last proper breakfast for the next few days, I wanted to make it special, so I had gone all out with bacon, eggs, sausages, and toast. We prayed over breakfast before eating. After washing the dishes, father and I headed down to the town’s gates. A car was already ready and waiting with two other community elders inside. Unfortunately, Brendol was not one of them.

My father turned to me, taking my hands in his as if he could sense my nerves. It wasn’t often he left, and I always worried about what he would come across and all the sinful temptations out there. “Worry not, daughter, I have the strength of God on my side. Who knows, perhaps I’ll even bring you back a husband,” he teased. “Now that would be a miracle.”

Taglist: @dreamscapehaven, @cltex84, @neeharlow, @jana-banana-fana

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jungleslut101 · 3 years

Text

I'm taking you home little lamb.

Summary- The deputy has been MIA for 3 months and the seeds take matters in their own hands when everyone else come back without their lost lamb.

__________________

The last everyone heard or seen the deputy was when she was taking out one of Jacobs wolf beacon. That was 3 months ago, no one has heard about her after that, even though it's been better for the cult,Joseph won't stop begging his brothers to go and look for their lamb together.

Which is why they are walking through a deep forest in the cold autumn weather. One of Jacobs men reported that there's been sight of the deputy deep in these woods.

After walking around 10 miles they come upon an abandoned rusted cabin. They slowly head for the door, hearing no sounds they doubt she's here but it's worth to check. John carefully opens the cracked door with Jacobs rifle pointed at it and Joseph's pistol in hand just for precaution.

They can slightly see inside pass the threshold but still no sight of the lamb."I'll go first just incase there are traps" Jacob whispers and they both nod

"Be careful brother and don't hurt her if you find her" Joseph whispers back. The brothers give him a weird look.

Jacob walks in checking inside each room he passes until he approaches the messy kitchen connected to the living room. He approaches where he can see a fire place just barely staying lit with a couch facing it. Either some one is here or been here.

Jacob stops dead in his tracks when he sees the woman who's been ruining their lives for the past 6 months sleeping soundly on the couch with blankets covering her lower half. He must be hallucinating there's no way he caught the she devil this easily, this must be a really good trap or a really sick joke either way he slowly takes coordinated steps towards her but she still doesn't stir even slightly.

Jacob reaches for his receiver radioing his brothers. "She's here" he whispers. After a minute John and Joseph find their way to the leaving room seeing their brother kneeling beside the couch.

"Come here,slowly" they both comply but no one prepared them for the image In front of them. They're little lamb sleeping on the couch looking so innocent.

"Who would've believe she's the devil who's brought havoc upon years of hard work" John scoffed making Jacob chuckle and Joseph giving them both side glares.

"I can feel the heat coming off her body " Joseph deliberately starts moving his hands towards her face just touching her cheek with a feathers touch. "She looks so harmless and angelic" he makes himself chuckle a bit Jacob and John watching his movements like a hawks eye finding it a little unusual that their brother act this kind towards her after everything she did. "Let's take our little lamb home" Joseph moves some of her hair that has fallen on her face behind her ear making her stir and wake.

Rook doesn't acknowledge her surroundings immediately but when she does see her 3 enemy's she's been trying to rid of for so long all looking at her she jolts upright from the couch making Joseph fall flat on his back with her sudden movement. Before she can reach the other side of the couch where she left her shotgun Jacob grabs her ankle making her fall on her stomach. The air gets knocked out of her so she turns while taking greedy gulps of air,but that is short lived when Jacob crushes her body with his own making her breath hitch again.

"And where do you think you're going so soon pup? We just found you" he grins down wolfishly at her making her tremble from fear.

"Jake your scaring our dearest deputy get off the poor girl for fuck sake" John couldn't hide the excitement from his voice which made her more nervous.

"Brother John is right we don't want to scare our lamb back in to hiding" Jacob slowly removed his weight from her but he still had her trapped with his thighs on either side of her hips and a little weight on her pelvic region.

She whimpered a little, her mind still hazy from sleep. Maybe she was having a nightmare this can't be real. Jacob shifts his weight a little making her moan in discomfort. Not realising she's only wearing panties and a loose Metallica shirt making her legs and thighs bare for their prying eyes.

She's getting a little flustered so she bucks her hip to try and escape from Jacobs hold which has Jacob lose his balance and almost crush her with his weight if it wasn't for his fast reflexes, holding himself up with his palms flat next to her head. "Careful kitten" his tone is low and predatory, she can feel his hot breath on her face making her stomach churn.

"Get the fuck off me seed" she bucks her hip with more strength this time hitting her stomach with his making both of them gasp unintentionally. Her from pain him from surprise.

"My child calm yourself we're not here to hurt you"

"Shut the fuck up hipster Jesus and you ginger fuck I told you to get off of me"

She glares at Joseph then at Jacob whose expression is still shocked

"My my deputy who knew such vile words could come from someone like you" John laughs.

"Johnny quiet for once, I think the deputy has something to tell us huh pup isn't that right ?" He gives her that damn smirk again.

"I have nothing to tell you fucking peggies now Get Off!"

"What are you talking about Jake" John asks with curiosity.

"Well since our dear lamb won't share with the family I will." He carefully flattens his hand on her stomach where he can feel a bump there." Our deputy has a little pup on the way isn't that right?" He laughs manically. He wasn't sure at first when the baby bump hit him in his abdomen but now that he touched it his 100% sure.

Joseph gasps "What are you talking about brother? Do you mean she's pregnant" Jacob nods still rubbing rook's baby bump.

She starts getting flustered again and this time she thrashes to get the mountain Man off. John looks dumbfounded but snaps himself out of it when he sees her struggle. " Jake you should probably get off of her. You're stressing her out." Jacob nods and slowly gets off of her making her exhale the long breath she's been holding in.

"Don't fucking act like it's your asshole."

"Hmm of course my dear but if I may who exactly is the father of your unborn child? I hope you at least keep count of the many sins you commit" his statement makes rook laugh madly.

"Oh Johnny, I'll let your brother do the math on that one" John furrows his brows then looks at Jacob making her laugh more "oh no honey don't look at him. Look at your other brother, the holiest man of all, The Father." They all turn to Joseph to see him pale with his mouth agape. "Ohh he didn't tell you? Well you see after a month into the fighting, your brother radioed me, asking to meet him at where all of it started so we can put an end to it. At first I wasn't gonna go cause like who's dumb enough to go, well I was I thought I was gonna go kill him which would make it easier for the resistance to take back the county. But when I got to the church and I saw the Holly man himself shirtless with sweat coating his skin something snapped or maybe I was just too horny." She heard Jacob chuckle "Anyway one thing led to another the next thing we knew he was fucking me on his Pulpit, the Holy man fucking the heathen in the place of God, The place where he gives his sermons to his beloved children The Father fucking me all raw and roug.."

"I've Heard Enough!" Joseph yelled making her stop talking. "You know my dear rook you didn't have to go into details." He kneeled Infront of her taking her head in between his calloused hands. "You should've told me you were carrying my child I would've--"

"You would've what Joseph huh? All you were gonna do is put a huge target on my back. You know what will happen if the resistance find out I'm carrying one of the greatest cult leaders child, they'll find me and rip the child out of me while I'm still conscious."

"You think I would let that happen, you think any of us would let someone near the mother of my child. Do you think this wickedly of me? " Joseph sounded sad which made rook a little sad.

"Get up my dear we're taking you to my bunker where it's safe" John chirped in all happy and excitedly. "After all can't have the mother of my brother's child in danger."

"He's right pup you already look weak and malnourished. If you want the baby coming out healthy and well you need to be somewhere stress free and safe."

"I'm fine right where I am, it's safe here"

"Not anymore my little lamb. I'm sorry but I'm gonna take you to one of my brothers bunkers whether you like it or not. I prefer it be willingly" she looked at him for a while looking for anything in his expression but nothing just that cool calm face he always wore. She nodded making them all sigh in relief. "John,Jacob please go pack everything our rook has, the sooner we get to the bunkers the better." They both nodded and got to work.

Joseph slowly brought his hand up and layed it on her stomach were he could feel the bump. She gasped not expecting him to do that. "I didn't know I was pregnant you know. But after 2 months in to it Kim was the one who told me I was showing the signs she experienced so she gave me a test. I was hoping for it to come back negative but something in the deepest part of my heart also hoped for it to come as positive" she laughed with tears perked up in her eyes some falling free even though she tried hard not to let them.

He caressed her stomach with light touches not realising his eyes was also welling up with tears. She brought her hands to his cheek wiping the tears that came free something that was too intimate for them both but somehow felt right. Joseph brought his forehead to hers closing his eyes just enjoying the moment.

Not knowing what she was doing she touched her lips to his so lightly that he barely felt it. When he didn't pull away she deepened the kiss a little making him grab her neck with his other hand that wasn't rubbing her stomach to deepen it even more. This didn't feel wrong at all. Maybe the baby would be the sign of hope in this hell. The hope everyone needed.

"Let's take you home little lamb"

The End.

#Joseph seed/female deputy #john seed #jacob seed #female character #unplanned pregnancy #hurt/comfort #Fluff #Mentoin of smut

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

Text

Vampr Erik Origin

Okay so let me make a disclaimer:

I had to do a lot of research to try and create his back story in summary form. I basically learned a lot of shit that I didn’t know so with that being said, you guys can feel free to fact check me because I feel like this needs to be factual as far as the history of it goes. Also, Erik was born/reborn in an era that is very touchy. I mean, we go through crap as black people everyday but I used some very degrading words to represent how it was back in this time. If this is offensive, please feel free to let me know I will change it. I don’t want to offend or make anyone feel bad. So, here it is! This is the origin I came up with.

Erik Stevens is his alias but he was born Ricardo Dupoux. Erik was born in 1856 in New Orleans, Louisiana. Just 29 years before he became a vampire.

Erik’s mother was born in 1836. Her name was Fabiola Adonis and she is from Louisiana but her parents and family (Erik’s grandparents) are from Sainte-Dominigue which is now known as Haiti.

Erik’s father was named Jacques Dupoux. He was born in 1827 in Cuba and he migrated to Louisiana with his family when he was just four years old.

Both sides of Erik’s family originated in Sainte-Dominigue and began to migrate out during the black Haitian Revolution as free people of color. The Haitian Revolution was a successful insurrection by self-liberated slaves against French colonial rule in Saint-Domingue, now the sovereign state of Haiti. The revolt began on 22 August 1791, and ended in 1804 with the former colony's independence. It involved blacks, mulattoes, French, Spanish, and British participants—with the ex-slave Toussaint Louverture emerging as Haiti's most charismatic hero. The revolution was the only slave uprising that led to the founding of a state which was both free from slavery, and ruled by non-whites and former captives. It is now widely seen as a defining moment in the history of the Atlantic World.

Haitian Vodou, is an Afro-American religion that developed in Afro-Haitian communities amid the Atlantic slave trade between the 16th and 19th centuries. It arose through a process of syncretism between the traditional religions of West Africa and the Roman Catholic form of Christianity. Vodou is an oral tradition practiced by extended families that inherit familial spirits, along with the necessary devotional practices, from their elders. In the cities, local hierarchies of priestesses or priests (manbo and oungan), “children of the spirits” (ounsi), and ritual drummers (ountògi) comprise more formal “societies” or “congregations” (sosyete). In these congregations, knowledge is passed on through a ritual of initiation (kanzo) in which the body becomes the site of spiritual transformation. Many Vodou practitioners were involved in the Haitian Revolution which overthrew the French colonial government, abolished slavery, and formed modern Haiti. The Roman Catholic Church left for several decades following the Revolution, allowing Vodou to become Haiti's dominant religion. They referred to themselves as “serving the spirits” more so than using Voudou to refer to Haitian religion.

Jacques Doupoux and Fabiola Adonis were well respected within the Vodou community. Erik’s father was a hounsi bosale and Artisan. Hounsi is essentially a dedicated member of Vodou, an apprentice of priests. His mother, Fabiola, an Ounsi, oversaw the liturgical singing and shaking the chacha rattle which is used to control the rhythm during ceremonies. She had a voice that used to lull Erik to sleep. Jacques wanted Erik to follow in his footsteps and later become an oungan; a Vodou priest. He was born as a “child of the house” or a pititt-caye. Being an oungan provides an individual with both social status and material profit. Erik was present for his father's initiation when he was just a baby with his mother in a shared Ounfò; Vodou temple. There were four levels of initiation that Jacques Doupoux went through. That sealed Erik’s future.

The Ounfò was a basic shack in Bayou St. John. The main ceremonial space within the Ounfò is known as the peristil. brightly painted posts hold up the roof, which is often made of corrugated iron but sometimes thatched. The central one of these posts is the poto mitan or poteau mitan, which is used as a pivot during ritual dances and serves as the "passage of the spirits" by which the Loa; the spirits, enter the room during ceremonies. It is around this central post that offerings, including both vèvè and animal sacrifices, are made.

Free people of color owned the most property in Louisiana but of course, that didn’t go down in history because the whites didn’t like it. As for Erik’s family, his mother and father were free people of color that became sugar planters, for slave owners, and they also shared Haitian refining techniques to successfully granulate sugar. Erik favors his father more so than his mother, sometimes confused as his father’s younger brother.

The Colfax massacre and the Coushatta massacre happened in 1873. This sparked fear for Erik’s family and they held a certain Fete for Lwa which is a public ceremony. The drums beat, the congregation started to sing and dance for the Lwa. The Lwa came to the ceremony via possession. The Lwa prophesied, healed people, cleansed people, and blessed them and assisted them in resolving issues. Erik was 17 years old and he didn’t share this with his parents but he was running for his life from a group of white Southerners one day when he was walking the bayou of New Orleans. Erik ended up sleeping in Baton Rouge until the morning.

Erik often stays within the Ounfò, well into adult age. He became a hounsi bosale like his father, often participating as a ritual drummer or an ountògi. He would sing specific songs in Haitian Creole with some words of African languages incorporated in it. He was a Food Artisan like his mother. He admired her craftsmanship in the kitchen. Cheeses, breads, fruit preserves, cured meats, beverages, oils, and vinegars were some of her handmade specialties. This is one thing that attracted women to Erik besides his handsome features. He was Strong, tall, studly, rough around the edges and not afraid to challenge someone to a fight or a gun battle. Erik was charming, protective, heroic, funny, cocky which earned him the nickname “Big Ego Ricardo”. Erik was hard-working, religious, smart, sculpted, dependable, and an amazing lover in bed.

Long dreadlocks, whiskey-colored eyes, full, soft lips, and a smile with dimples so deep it charmed anyone. He wore fundamental ivory cotton band collar work shirts unbuttoned to show off his defined pectorals because he was proud of his body, sometimes paired the shirts with a vest, cotton brown or black knickers, riding boots, and a series of Vodou jewelry around his neck and on his fingers, some with symbols representing Papa Legba, La Sirene, Ogoun King, and Baron Samedi. During Vodou rituals, Erik would wear a cotton cloth around his head like a bandana, bare torso because of the amount of sweating he does during drumming to keep up with the dancers, Vodou symbols painted on his face to represent whichever Loa they were serving, white linen pants and bare feet.

He was obsessed with guns. He would often go down to the bayou to practice with stolen pocket pistols, shooting empty glass bottles and bean cans. He’s a protector, he did this just in case his family were in danger. The symbol of Vodou love on one of his ring fingers is what attracted his late wife, Justine LeBlanc to him when he was 27 years old. He was selling artisan bread one afternoon from an open shop window on Bourbon Street. Justine was six years younger than Erik. She was a Creole of color from Louisiana, like Erik, except her family were sent to Louisiana on slave ships from sub-Saharan Africa instead of Haiti like Erik’s family. She spoke a bit of English, and French with words from African languages. Erik spoke English and Haitian Creole with a little bit of Portuguese and Spanish.

Justine LeBlanc worked closely with Marie Laveau, who was rumored to be the granddaughter of a powerful priestess in Sainte-Dominigue, who began to dominate New Orleans Vodou that later became Louisiana Voodoo. These spiritual leaders served a racially diverse, mostly female, congregation. Weekly worship services took place in the homes of Voodoo leaders. Their sanctuaries were characterized by spectacular altars, laden with statues and pictures of the saints, candles, flowers, fruit, and other offerings. Voodoo ceremonies consisted of Roman Catholic prayers, chanting, drumming, and dancing. Vodou was brought of Haitian origin, however, the type practiced in Louisiana later in years is almost always known as Voodoo.

Erik was known to be a ladies man. He spent time flirting and fucking woman within his community. Pussy was practically thrown at him. Justine, however, changed all of that. They spent so much time together within one summer that Erik decided that he wanted to jump the broom with her which was symbolic of sweeping out of the old and sweeping in to the new to welcome a new household to the community. Justine lost her virginity to him the evening after their marriage and that’s when they started having children. Erik has two young twin girls; Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux. After that, Justine couldn’t conceive anymore which she was often depressed about. Erik wanted to be fruitful because his mother came down very ill when he was five and she couldn’t conceive either. It was either her life or her ovaries so she had them removed.

Despite everything going on in America with slavery and racism, Erik; Ricardo, lived a happy life. He was feared and respected, a following of close male friends were like his comrades. They had his back, Erik had theirs. That all didn’t last very long. In June of 1884, when Erik was just 28 years old, things began to make a turn for the worst. Erik’s father, Jacques Dupoux, was lynched. With the 1880s dawning, a new era of violence ensued. White supremacy represented a central tenant of their platform and led to even greater levels of violence as they tried to reverse the advances made for African Americans during Reconstruction. They capitalized on rumors that black crime had expanded after the abolition of slavery. As a result, the number of lynchings soared across the South and hundreds of lives were being taken. Lynch mobs often justified their actions as attempts to defend white Southern womanhood from “libidinous” black males.

This angered Erik, causing him to gather a following of men who also lost family. Erik led the revolt to fight back white supremacy. They attached about 15 homes and killed between 55 to 60 whites throughout Louisiana. They also arrived on a local sugar and cotton plantation that often sought help from Erik’s own family for harvesting sugar cane. The revolt and about 20 slaves burned the plantation to the ground but that wasn’t before they hacked the entire family to death. Erik was made public enemy number one. His face was on wanted posters throughout the South but he was depicted wearing a scarf around his mouth and nose. Of course with Erik’s actions, some of his family and friends suffered. Vodou rituals were invaded and the members slaughtered. Marie Leveau and her following were protected but not Erik’s lineage.

Ricardo Dupoux AKA Erik Stevens returned home after successfully burning down another plantation and killing the entire family, including the children, execution style in 1886. Marie Laveau warned Justine that Erik was dangerous and he would endanger her and the children if she stayed with them. Marie instructed Justine to bring her something that belonged to Erik, something sentimental. Justine brought her Erik’s father’s ring that he wore around his neck. Marie performed a ritual that later informed Justine that Erik was in grave danger and this life as Ricardo Dupoux would soon come to a bloody, gory, gruesome ending. Marie told Justine that she couldn’t interfere because that could possibly go badly. Justine had to keep that big secret to herself to protect her children no matter how much she loved and adored Erik.

Erik wasn’t himself anymore. He became this angry, rude, vengeful man that killed without a backwards glance. He also turned to what is said to be evil magic in Vodou. Instead of becoming an Oungan, Erik became a Bokor and an occultist. A Bokor is a Vodou witch for hire who is said to serve the loa “with both hands”, practicing for both good and evil. Their black magic includes the creation of zombies and the creation of ‘ouangas’ talismans that house spirits. Bloods are usually chosen from birth but Erik was instead initiated in. He found the spirits, the orisha’s the Eruziles, not a priest in the flesh. The whites kept crossing the line in a spiritual and physical sense, it became Erik’s right to protect himself and his family with curses and hexes.

Erik caused moderate to severe suffering to those he seeked revenge on by hexing them and also using dark charms such as curses, the most heinous act on an individual; the worst kind of dark magic. He performed blood maledictions, a specific type of curse that may not kill the target but can remain within the victim's body, and be passed down as a genetic defect that can resurface generations later. Erik would inflict intense, excruciating pain on his victims, poison them, and cause flames called Move Dife which means “bad fire”, an enormous flame infused with dark magic to seek out living targets. Fabiola and Justine were afraid and they didn’t support Erik’s new choices. The light she saw in her son was indeed gone. He was of greatest fear within his community and within the Southern white community.

How did Erik meet his demise?

It happened in June of 1888, five months before Erik’s 33rd birthday. The White league and the Ku Klux Klan had been deactivated since the 1870s but some members worked closely together to hunt down and kill Ricardo Dupoux, soon to be known as Erik Stevens. He decided to use Erik Stevens as an alias since his name was so well known in Louisiana where he lived. No one besides the people close to him knew how his face looked since he wore it covered but his name however was remembered. If things didn’t go as planned for him and he needed to flee with his Mother, Wife, and children, he could have his name changed to Erik Stevens. A trusted friend named Augusto Richard’s wife named Beatrice Richard and her five children were held at gunpoint in their home. They found out where Augusto lives and used that as they way of finding Ricardo.

From what they tell him, Augusto’s family will be freed if he agrees to help the Southern white men capture and kill Ricardo Dupoux. At first, Augusto declined and said that Ricardo is a trusted friend of his. They punished him by beating his wife and threatened to hang her from a structure similar to a gallow. Augusto finally gives in, joining forces with the evil white men in exchange for his family's protection. Ricardo and Augusto have been friends since they were children. Augusto was sort of a co-planner with Ricardo to attack white supremacy and racists homes along with plantations. Augusto fabricated a new place to attack, suggesting that him and Ricardo go alone this time. Ricardo agreed without hesitation because he trusted Augusto. They arrived by horse outside of New Orleans near Maurepas Swamp……..

_______________

“Augusto...poukisa nou is it la?” Ricardo asked Augusto in Haitian Creole why they were there. He didn’t like speaking English just in case he was overheard. Ricardo’s eyes squinted suspiciously around him before he cut his eyes that looked black in the dark at Augusto.

“Mwen regrèt, frè,” Augusto spoke with a shaky voice, tears flooding his eyes. He told Ricardo that he was sorry.

Ricardo pulls out his pistol, aiming it at the shadows of the trees. He couldn’t believe he was being set up by someone that is supposed to be his friend. Ricardo told his wife and mother that he would be home safely and for them not to worry. He couldn’t trust anyone now. If he got out of this alive, he was going to cut ties with his followers.

“Well, well, well...look what we got here, a nigger with a gun!!”

Ricardo follows the source of that thick southern accent echoing in the night and finds a white man standing behind him with a gun pointed at his temple.

“Drop it, boy, or I will splatter this here swamp with ya monkey brains,” He threatened while making his gun click. Ricardo could see out of his peripheral more white men stepping out of the shadows. The moon light made the weapons in their hands shine.

“Listen to him nigger!!!” One yelled.

“AIN'T SO TOUGH NOW!!!” Another yelled while a series of laughter came soon after.

“Listen, I know ya can speak English, boy. Ya friend here told us everything. How ya niggers get a hold of books I wouldn’t understand,” He laughs before spitting in his face, “I’m gonna enjoy killing ya, just like ya enjoyed killing my friends ya fucking animal. This is how we’re gonna celebrate the ending of slavery...we’re gonna gut ya, and then we’re gonna throw ya filthy dead fucking body in the swamp so the gators can finish ya.”

The foul breath of this white man would have made Ricardo puke if it wasn’t for the gun pointed at him.

“Hey, Jenson, pass me my knife!” He yells, “I wanna Kill this one slowly.”

Like a swarm of stinky flies, the white men crowded Ricardo, some kicking him in his ribs, others in his face, bloodying him up. Ricardo didn’t drop to his knees willingly, he took each and every blow like a champion, even when his vision blurred from the blood trickling from a gash in his head from being pistol whipped. Augusto stood watching the entire thing. He was Disgusted with himself for allowing it to happen.

“Should we kill his wife? His mama? His little girls?!!!!” One of them punched him in the face while two men on each side kept him still since he’s so damn strong. It was almost inhumanly strong.

“AUGUSTO OU FUKIN TRÈT!!!” Ricardo yelled, before spitting out blood on the dirt covered ground. He called Augusto a fucking traitor, “Mwen gen yon fanmi! ti bebe mwen yo! ti bebe mwen yo! ou trèt!” Ricardo growled angrily with his deep fearful voice. He could only think about his family right now. What if some of these men were watching his house right now? They definitely were plotting something besides beating the living shit out of him in the swap.

“Kick this nigger down!!! It’s six of you and one of him!!!!”

A blow struck Ricardo’s spine so hard he felt it snap. He was on his stomach, his cheek hitting the dirt painfully. One foot was placed to the back of his head while angry tears fell from his eyes.

“Any last words? And say it in English before I slice your goddamn tongue off,” The man with the boot to his head spoke harshly.

Ricardo clenched his jaw while breathing in the dirt. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, however, the asshole in him wanted to toy with them.

“...Which one of ya is da father of Helen Landry?” He asks.

It was silent for a second until the boot on the back of his head was gone, being replaced with a hand yanking him by his dreads, lifting his head from the ground. Ricardo smiles smugly, his bloody smile almost as sinister as the blood from the gash in his head flooding his eyes.

“Let me ax ya something...are ya the reason my little Helen is dying? Doctor says she only has three days left...ya poison my little girl with ya voodoo magic?”

“I CURSED ya little girl with my Vodou magic…” Ricardo spits his blood in his face, “And if I were ya, I would go check on her, Doctors don’t always tell da truth.”

Augusto flinched when he witnessed Ricardo being kicked in the face. His jaw had to be broken now. He was being lifted off of the ground again, a sharp whimper of pain escaping his mouth. His feet gave out beneath him and now he was being dragged. His chest and abs were covered in dirt just like his handsome, swollen, and bloody face. His busted lip drooped and leaked blood while his groggy voice tried to form sentences. The men laughed at him but all Ricardo did was look at Augusto with unblinking eyes, one of which displayed broken vessels.

“Anything else ya got to say, nigger?”

The source of the voice didn’t matter to Ricardo. All he kept thinking about was his family and how he failed them. His father was probably ashamed. Ricardo looked towards the sky. If only he could call on Baron Samedi or Maman Brigette. He wasn’t in the safety of his Ounfò either. He could only hope that at this moment his mother, Fabiola, was summoning the spirits.

“Guess not, hold him down.”

With a dull, jagged knife, Ricardo was stabbed in his stomach. He felt like he was punched. The impact pushed him back a little and he wheezed. A tearing sensation and a noise followed. The pain took a while to kick but he could feel the blood trickling. When it was finally withdrawn, he felt something hot and cold at the same time, pulling the skin with it as it's removed. Ricardo’s cry was a brilliant sound to them, guttural chokes mixed with an agonized roar. His fists clenched and shook each time his skin was being torn to shreds. The knife rotated and the sound of his muscles and nerves being gouged growing louder. Then, without warning, the white man jerked it all the way into his stomach, until the shiny metal had disappeared inside him and the black handle was pushing against his broken skin.

“Die Coon!!!” They yelled in unison before celebrating with loud hoots.

“Look at him choking! This ugly motherfucker is bleeding out! Let’s take him to the water!”

Ricardo could feel his body falling to the ground. His hand clutched his wound but blood seeped between his fingers. He felt weak, his eyes opening and closing. Augusto stood there spewing apology after apology while crying hysterically.

“As for ya,” the white man that stabbed Ricardo multiple times drops his knife in the dirt, reaches in his back pocket with his bloody, cut up hand and pulled out a gun, “what? Did ya really think we were gonna let ya go free? Ya just another disgusting nigger too, and ya nigger bitch, ya nigger kids? Dem dead too.”

Ricardo watched with low eyes while Augusto took his last breath before being shot in the head, point blank range.

“Wastin’ all dese good bullets,” the white man pocketed his gun again, “Hall em’ up! Let’s take em’ swimming!”

_____________

Crowded tabletops with tiny flickering lamps; stones sitting in oil baths; a crucifix; murky bottles of roots and herbs steeped in alcohol; shiny new bottles of rum, scotch, gin, perfume, and almond-sugar syrup. On one side was an altar arranged in three steps and covered in gold and black contact paper. On the top step an open pack of filterless Pall Malls lay next to a cracked and dusty candle in the shape of a skull. A walking stick with its head carved to depict a huge erect penis leaned against the wall beside it. On the opposite side of the room was a small cabinet, its top littered with vials of powders and herbs. On the ceiling and walls of the room were baskets, bunches of leaves hung to dry, and smoke-darkened lithographs.

This is where Ricardo Dupoux rested upon a makeshift bed surrounded by oil burning candles. A sulfurous rotten-egg smell that is often associated with marshes and mudflats occupies the room. His entire body ached and the sharp pain prickled his scalp. Licking his dry lips with his equally dry tongue, Ricardo tried looking around with his sore eyes but the discomfort caused him to close them. It felt damp and gloomy around him, clearly nothing is quite what it seems to be. Ricardo could feel a powerful energy surrounding him, if only he could move his body. A few rickety floorboards creaked like someone was sneaking up on him and it made Ricardo jumpy. He wasn’t physically able to help himself.

“Ricardo Dupoux, ki sa yon sipriz bèl eh?”

A seductive voice of a woman spoke to him in Haitian Creole. This wasn’t a pleasant surprise exactly.

“Kiyes ou ye?” His voice was so hoarse and his throat felt raw.

“Who muh? Well...I’m yuh rescuer of course, handsome.”

“Kisa...ki kote sa a?” Ricardo coughs painfully. He could taste blood in the back of his throat.

“Well, don’t Yuh sound sexy speaking deh Creole to Mama Dalma. Yuh in muh shack, Ricardo.”

“Mama Dalma? Prètès Vodou a?” He spoke with astonishment.

“So, muh assumin’ yuh heard stories about muh from way back when...what else do yuh know bout’ me?”

“...Nothing.” He finally speaks English.

“Yuh know so much about muh voodoo mystic powers in the Caribbean 175 years ago…I’m honored.”

Finally, standing above his shell of a body was Tia Dalma herself. Tia Dalma was a practitioner of voodoo, a hoodoo priestess with fathomless powers that was perceived as a legend. Supposedly, she has uncanny powers to foretell the future, to summon up demons, and to look deep into men’s souls. She’s mysterious and beautiful with delicate patterns accentuating her hypnotic eyes, long but slender dreadlocks like him, deep melanin skin so smooth and unblemished, and lips painted black. She wore a sheer black dress that showed off her nudity beneath it, so many curves that looked delicious, and a mystical necklace dangling between her small breasts. Ricardo could feel her seductive energy enticing him into a tangled net. She playfully giggles while stroking Ricardo’s bare, sweaty chest with her long black nail flirtatiously.

“Poor baby, him carve yuh up?” She spoke with her Jamaican Patois. Mama Dalma looks Ricardo up and down like she wanted to mount him. She was so happy she couldn’t hide her beautiful smile.

“Did ya heal me, Mama Dalma? I thought I was gon’ die by a white man’s hand.”

“I’ve seen yuh fight big brawla, I’ve seen yuh cap a shot, I’m impressed wit’ yuh...haven’t seen a man deh brave in a while...queng dem white boys.”

“...ya been watching me?” He squints his whiskey colored eyes,“who ya for ya to be watching me?”

“Mhm, I been watching yuh, handsome...It’s because I want to save yuh...give yuh a better life than this.”

Ricardo was shivering, his skin pale and cool, difficulty breathing, mentally confused, and his blood pressure kept dropping. His chest was rapidly moving from breathing too fast, heart rate beating so fast it was almost painful, and he felt like he was running a fever.

“Easy nuh, yuh going into septic shock.” She takes her hand to pet his dreaded hair like a baby with the back of her hand.

“W-what?” His lips trembled. He was numb.

“Awoah. Muh herbes are keeping yuh stable but if I take deh herbes away...yuh die.”

Ricardo closes his eyes.

“Unless...yuh have two options, handsome.”

“One’s that I should trust? How do I know ya not poisoning me? Hm?”

“I’m gonna ignore deh...here are yuh options. Yuh can stay here on muh table and die slowly...or I can give yuh immortality.”

“Imòtalite? Baron Samedi?” He almost choked on his own spit from trying to speak.

“Better than the power of a Loa...yuh be immortal until meeting deh true death. Yuh have superhuman physical abilities, senses, flight, and healing.”

“What power is dat?” Ricardo’s eyes are glossy. He didn’t have much time. Mama Dalma was cunning, she could have healed him with her voodoo but what’s better? Healing him with the possibility of him dying again or turning him into what she became 175 years ago back in her little shack in a tree in Cuba, hanging onto her last breath. Ricardo was perfect in every way and she wanted to walk the earth with someone close to her...someone attractive and strong.

“Yuh ain’t got much time...make a decision, Ricardo Dupoux,” Tia strokes his face, “It could all be yours…”

Ricardo’s eyelids fluttered before he nodded his head. Anything to stay alive. Anything to get revenge. If he was going to come back stronger and immortal, he could wipe out every single one of them. He needed to get off of that table. Mama Dalma was convincing. Maybe it was her magic that persuaded him but none of that mattered.

“I’m glad Yuh agreed.”

Sharp, fangs extended from her teeth while she looked at him excitedly with hungry eyes. She came down on Ricardo with superhuman speed like a blur, causing his eyes to grow wide with surprise. It was almost painless, more like a pinprick considering how his body felt at the moment. The sharp points sank into his flesh like a knife to soft butter. His body twitched as his blood pooled around the back of his head, dripping to the floor of the shack and seeping between the wood. He started feeling even more woozy and lightheaded. She was really applying pressure with her fangs. He could feel his body going cold and then it felt as if his soul had left his body. Ricardo didn’t know how long this went on but it felt like forever.

Mama Dalma retracts her fangs, lifting her face from the crook of his neck slowly before staring down at Ricardo with her enchanting eyes. Her fangs pop out again and now she bites her own wrist before placing it over Ricardo’s mouth. He hesitated at first but Mama Dalma opened his mouth for him. Ricardo tasted his own blood before from his busted lip or if his gums were bleeding. He even tasted blood during a sacrifice at a Vodou ritual. It was vile with a salty metallic taste. However, Mama Dalma’s blood was surprisingly sweet, and scrumptious. Just that small amount dripping on his tongue gave him the effects of alcohol consumption.

“Deh is enough, Ricardo,” She tells him, “Ricardo...deh is enough.” She says with a more stern voice.

Ricardo wraps his hand around her wrist, applying pressure to keep it there. He could feel his body changing for the better already. Her blood...he couldn’t stop. He grunted, growled, and moaned from the taste. His tongue swiped her wrist and his own teeth tried to bite her for more but he was still so weak.

“Ricardo, deh is ENOUGH, no more!!!!!”

Mama Dalma yanked her wrist away speedily, her eyes staring down at her wound healing before her. She gave Ricardo a cold look, one that has him wishing he would have listened.

“When I tell yuh to stop, yuh listen,” She spoke with a spiteful tongue.

“It was so good,” Ricardo spoke with a weakened voice, “I want m-more.”

“Soon, muh child…” Mama Dalma kisses his lips, “Now we go to rest,” Mama Dalma wraps her arms around Ricardo and then with her superhuman speed they were out of her shack and laying in a dug up ditch. The soil was cold against Ricardo’s back. Mama Dalma places him in a wooden coffin, the moonlight creating a halo around her. His eyes drooped shut and he could feel his body shutting down like his organs were no longer working. Mama Dalma crawled into the coffin with him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping a single leg around his waist.

“When yuh wake, muh child, yuh will be Erik Stevens now...Ricardo Douboux died tonight.”

Mama Dalma kissed his cold cheek before she shut the coffin so they could finally rest until tomorrow night when Erik Stevens will finally be immortal.

#killmonger #Erik Killmonger #black panther killmonger #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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