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kemetic-dreams · 3 years

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There is a saying, from the Africans in Haiti “You European go to church and speak about God, We dance in the Temple and become God.”-African Proverb Music and dance were highly valued in ancient Egyptian culture, but they were more important than is generally thought: they were integral to creation and communion with the gods and, further, were the human response to the gift of life and all the experiences of the human condition. Dancers were not relegated only to temples, however, and provided a popular form of entertainment throughout Egypt. Dancing was associated equally with the elevation of religious devotion and human sexuality and earthly pleasures. In Egyptian theology, sex was simply another aspect of life and had no taint of ‘sin’ attached to it. This same paradigm was observed in fashion for both male and female dancers. Women often wore little clothing or sheer dresses, robes, and skirts. In the African worldview, dance is a conduit of individual and community healing. African conceptualizations of illness and health integrate social, spiritual, physical and mental realms, all of which are impacted by trauma. The Vodou drumming rituals call upon abstract ancestral spirits, called Loas (or Lwas), for their aid, instruction, special powers and strengths as embodiment of certain principles or characteristics. While certain aspects of this religion may share the same roots, it is completely contrary to the stereotype of black magic, witch doctors, pins in dolls, and zombies portrayed by New Orleans style Voodoo (a variation of the name). The Vodou drumming rituals call upon abstract ancestral spirits, called Loas (or Lwas), for their aid, instruction, special powers and strengths as embodiment of certain principles or characteristics. While certain aspects of this religion may share the same roots, it is completely contrary to the stereotype of black magic, witch doctors, pins in dolls, and zombies portrayed by New Orleans style Voodoo (a variation of the name). There are so many subtleties and complexities in Haitian drumming, particularly in its relation to the rites and rituals of Vodou, that an overview of this kind cannot truly describe them in any detail. For instance, many of the rhythms have variations, each with their own subtitles, each assisting different loa. A good example of this is found in the Mahi rhythm - Mahi Darielle, Mahi Japeté and Mahi Deté are all variations of Mahi Simp (from the French Simple). However, some discussion of forms and techniques involved is essential. An extremely important aspect of the performance of this music is the Kasé (from the French Casser, to break). The kasé is a break from the main cycle of the rhythm into a kind of alter-ego rhythm, usually instigated by the maman drum. In some cases, all the drums respond to the kasé with their respective changes, but often it is only the maman who will change, or at least the change in the segon is more subtle. Some kasé patterns stray quite far from the main rhythm, some create a counter pulse to it and others still remain fairly rooted in the pulse. Every rhythm has a kasé, and every kasé has its own way to enter and exit from the main line. Dancers also change their steps to follow the kasé. The kasé is typically played to assist with aspects of the Vodou ritual, such as pouring libations before the drums. Sometimes these are cued by the officiating priests, sometimes by the maman player himself. However, the most dramatic use of the kasé is to facilitate spiritual possession. If the maman player recognizes the physical signs at the inception of a possession of one of the servants or dancers, he will play a heated kasé to entice the loa and may keep up the intense drumming of the kasé until the chwal in question is fully possessed. The drums of Vodou employ techniques completely unique to the style. One of the most dramatic and difficult techniques to master is called the Siyé (from the French essuyer, to wipe). With this technique the drummer (usually a segon player) wipes the drum from the edge to the centre using the tips of his index finger, often with the thumb behind for support. As the finger rubs across the drumhead, a moaning sound is produced. The technique is employed as an embellishment on congas and is often referred to as a “Moose Call”. While the tone is very tricky to learn, it is even harder to do in the rapid succession which is required for some rhythms. Vodou rites are done to call upon spirits, called Loas (or Lwas), for their aid, instruction, special powers and strengths. Loas are ancestral spirits who have become abstracted through the generations to become embodiments of certain principles or characteristics. A great feast is often prepared to entice the Loas to attend. Practitioners of the religion wear white clothes and are assisted by Ougan and Manbo (male and female Vodou priests, respectively) to become “possessed” by the loas. Through singing, dancing, and particularly the music of the drums, spirits come to “ride” their mortal hosts. The analogy of someone riding, and thereby controlling, a horse is given as an explanation of this phenomenon. The word Chwal (from the French cheval) is used to describe one who is “being ridden”. Spirits impart wisdom and direction through their chwals for the servants of the faith. The loas are divided up into several nanchons (from the French nations), families of spirits from the same ethnic group and/or serving a similar function. The most prominent nanchons are Rada, Nago, Djouba, Petwo (also written Petro), Kongo, Ibo, and Gède. Traditionally each one of these nanchons would have had particular rites, rhythms and adherents. They even would have had their own drums that were unique to that nanchon to call upon its loas. These drum sets are known as batterie (from the French for “set of drums”). Today, due to economic constrictions and social and geographic changes, the drums from the Rada batterie are the most common, with the Petwo drums also extant. Below is an overview of the several nanchons, the qualities and origins of their laws, and the rhythms and dances associated with their rites. Rada - The loas of this nanchon are strong, but benevolent, balanced in their treatment of their servants. These are the most revered spirits, and many Vodou rituals begin with adulations for them. They originate from the Fon people of Dahomey (present day Benin). In Fact, the word Vodou comes from the Fon word for “God”. There are many loas in this group. To name a few: Papa Legba – Guardian of the Crossroads; Marassa – twin spirits who represent childhood; Dambala – the serpent spirit who represents energy and life; Ezili Freda – spirit of love and femininity; Lasirèn – mistress of the sea and music. Rhythm and dance styles played for the Rada nanchon include: Yanvalou, Parigol, Zepol, Mahi, Fla Voudou and Daomé. Nago - The loas of this nanchon represent power. Its members embody attributes of warriors and leaders. They originate from the Yoruba people of south-western Nigeria and are closely associated with Ogun (sometimes written Ogou), the Yoruba Blacksmith-God. The loas in this group have names starting with Ogun, like Ogun Fèray and Ogun Badagri. As such, they are represented by steel and fire. The Nago rites are replete with military imagery. These spirits give masculine, fatherly council and support. The rhythm and dance style associated with these rites is also called Nago. Djouba - The loas of this nanchon are connected to cultivation and farming. They personify peasants, both in appearance and manner. It is surmised that this nanchon comes from the island of Martinique. The principal loa for this group is Azaka. The rhythms and dance styles associated with this nanchon are Djouba (Matinik) and Abitan. Petwo - The loas of this nanchon are aggressive, demanding, quick and protective. The origins of this nanchon are unclear, but many believe them to be the spirits of the original slaves and Haiti’s indigenous people (The Taino – almost completely wiped out after European contact), a sort of “home-grown” family of spirits. These spirits were called upon during the slave revolts beginning in 1791 which ultimately led to the defeat of Napoleons troops in 1803 and independence in 1804. The name might be derived from a slave priest of mixed African and Spanish Blood name Don Pedro who was one of the rebellion’s leaders. One of the loas in this nanchon bears his name (Jean Petwo). Another, Ezili Danto - sister to Ezili Freda in the Rada nanchon - is a spirit of love, but with a penchant for violence or revenge. The rhythm and dance styles associate with Petwo include Petwo, Makiya, Bumba, Makanda, and Kita. Kongo - The loas of this nanchon are ancestors of the Bantu people of the Congo river basin. These spirits are gracious, and enjoy song and dance. In fact, music played for the Kongo nanchon is unique in that it is also popular in secular settings. In vodou worship houses called tanp (from the French temple) dolls representing these spirits are displayed adorned in brightly coloured clothing. Sprits include Kongo Zando and Rwa Wangol. The rhythm and dance style associated with this nanchon goes by the same name. Ibo – The loas of this nanchon are from the Ibo people in south-eastern Nigeria. Their chief attributes are pride, to the point of arrogance, and are difficult to satisfy. These spirits preside over sacred items called Kanari, clay pots in which the soul of the initiate is said to reside during ritual possession. The best known loa of this group is Ibo Lélé (the chatterer). The rhythm and dance style associated with this nanchon also goes by the same name. Gède - The loas of this nanchon are the spirits eroticism and death. More accurately they control the cycle of death and life. They are represented by figures in black with white faces. They are also tricksters. The most famous loa of this nanchon is Baron Samedi. He is macabre, obscene and lives in cemeteries. Other loas include Gède Nibo, Baron Lakwa and Gède Zarien. The Vodou ceremony almost always ends with the rites for Gède nanchon. The rhythm and dance style associated with this nanchon is called Banda. While these seven nanchons all have their distinct attributes, in a more general way the nanchons are divided into two branches, each of which takes its name from one of the nanchons within it. While there is no consensus on this point, it can generally be argued that the Rada branch includes Rada, Nago and Djouba, and the Petwo branch includes Petwo, Kongo, Ibo and Gède. Some people place Djouba under the Petwo Branch, and some others consider the Kongo branch its own entity. For the purposes of drumming, we will use the two-branch differentiation, as rhythms most rhythms being played in non traditional contexts today use either the Rada or Petro batterie. The Rada batterie and The Petwo batterie display as much contrast as the loas of the nanchon branches for which they play. The table below will illustrate some of the differences When slave owners forced their Catholic beliefs and saints on them, slaves continued their worship in secret, linking each saint to an African deity and praying to them. “The slave owners wanted to suppress the religion because they were afraid of the supernatural,” said Carrol F. Coates, a professor of French and comparative literature at the State University of New York in Binghamton who translates Haitian books into English. “They feared to some extent that the spirits could actually have an impact in their world.”

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ashandboneca · 4 years

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Paganism’s problem with racism

Let me make myself very, very clear: Black lives matter. I am not here to take up space and talk about my white feelings about the #BLM protests. But I 100% support everything the protestors are doing, and I 1000% support defunding the police (like actually dismantling the policing structure, not just clawing back funding). If you want to help and can’t protest, donate to bail funds and the NAACP. Donate to your local Black Cultural Organization. Uplift and elevate black voices, and call out your racist fucking uncle.

Okay. Strap in, this is gonna be bumpy, and long.

I am so unbelievably disappointed, but so massively not surprised at the response of many during this incredible time of revolution. I am disappointed in the pagan and witchcraft community for continuing to excuse and practice cultural appropriation, including ATR and Voudou. I have seen some NASTY arguments and racist backpedaling.

I am also, as someone who reads a lot of books, am really pissed off at most of the occult publishers right now. Let’s talk about why, one by one:

Llewellyn: Llewellyn as a publisher makes a lot of money from white folks writing about ATR and cultural practices that don’t belong to them. They spent Blackout Tuesday promoting their own magazine and events, and did not mention #blm in any capacity until JUNE 11. They made the following statement:

“Llewellyn Worldwide stands together with all those who have been working tirelessly to enact the changes needed to eradicate racial injustice and systemic racism here in our hometown of Minneapolis-St. Paul, across the country, and around the world. We are, as we have always been for our 100-plus years, deeply committed to elevating a diversity of voices and to act as a conduit reaching and teaching their respective audiences. We stand with our employees and authors, our local community, and our readers, who are united in the effort to build and sustain a more inclusive world. However, words are often not enough, and we are looking at what we can do better as a company. Inspired by the progressive work of our late President and Chairman Carl Llewellyn Weschcke, we have recently donated to the NAACP, and to “We Love Lake Street” and “The Hamline Midway Coalition” - two organizations working to rebuild the neighborhoods and cities our company and our employees call home. We hope that our small steps for change join with many others to create a large and lasting global footprint for generations to come.“

Which is nice, I guess. But unless you’re changing your practices and publishing more books by BIPOC authors and stop letting lily white men write about African diaspora traditions, it’s performative as hell. I mean, The money is nice, but how much did this multi-million dollar publishing house donate? $100? We don’t know because they didn’t tell us. Be accountable, and if you’re a multi-million dollar company that is HQ in Minneapolis, show the damn receipts.

They also had some horrible comments on their FB page stating that occult subjects are generally white. Wow.

Red Wheel/Weiser: I was pleased to see they’ve been promoting Lilith Dorsey’s work, as of June 10, as she’s a black author who writes about Voodou and ATR. They generally have a more balanced catelogue, and most of the books written about Voodoo and ATR are by actual BIPOC practitioners. However, they’ve made no mention of #BLM specifically on their social media, which is disappointing. I think in these times, you need to be very clear, very direct about your support. I wish they would just come out and say they support black folks and support organizations that help people fighting for rights.

Troy Books: They haven’t been active on social media since April.

Anathema Publishing: Very active promoting their own authors, but nothing about what’s going on in the world. Their stance is completely apolitical (which is BS).

Moon Books: They don’t seem to have any social media I can find, but their website says nothing.

Three Hands Press: Not active on social media since 2016, nothing on their site, and all of their authors are white.

Scarlet Imprint: Active on social media, nothing mentioned.

Avalonia Books: Active on social media multiple times a day, nothing mentioned.

I’m sure I missed some publishers, but this is a big chunk of them.

So, why is this a big deal?

It’s a big deal because it means that the majority of the information going out (specifically by Llewellyn) about ATR and Voudou is being written by white authors. It means that what should be a black led discussion about their diasporic traditions is a white led discussion. It’s a big deal because many BIPOC don’t feel at home in the pagan community, and are often told things like ‘you should just practice things from Africa’. It’s a big deal because white people have already done enough to silence and obfuscate black voices, and the last place we should be doing this is in our spiritual communities, which are supposed to be built on understanding and acceptance.

Now is not the time for pretty words and fence sitting. You are either unequivocally behind Black Lives Matter, or you are complicit. You need to directly, loudly, and authentically support BIPOC fighting for their rights. You need to join the fight.

What do I suggest? Start putting pressure on these publishers to uplift and promote BIPOC voices. Speak with your wallet. But truly? Read more writing by BIPOC. Follow people on here like @witches-ofcolor, @borinquenaqueer, @hellboundwitch and @blackwitchspace. Read more blogs from folks like Bri the Hoodwitch, Crystal Blanton, and Black Witch. Elevate those voices and really, really listen.

AND TELL OFF YOUR RACIST UNCLE.

#Ash and Bone #ashandbone.ca #witchcraft #traditional witchcraft #heathenry #The Crooked Path #black lives matter

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feralphoenix · 3 years

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SONGS OF RESISTANCE: The View Myla Grants Us Of Hallownest’s Moths

hello again hollow knight fandom, i am back with my picante takes and ready to discuss two things i love: myla hollowknight and the moth tribe! Let Us Be Sad About Them Together.

as with my previous essay i’m going to be putting this fellow up on dreamwidth later for accessibility purposes since my layout text may be too small for high-res pc users. this time i’ll be attaching that in a reblog to avoid this post getting eaten by the dread tungle algorithms.

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR TONIGHT’S PROGRAM: This essay discusses colonialism and genocide both in real life and the fictional depictions in Hollow Knight, as well as racism in the zombie horror genre and in fandom.

ALSO: if youre from a christian cultural upbringing (whether currently practicing, agnostic/secular, or atheist now), understand that some of what i’m discussing here may challenge you. if thinking thru the implications of this particular part of hollow knight worldbuilding/lore is distressing for you, PLEASE only approach this essay when youre in a safe mindset & open to listening, and ask the help of a therapist or anti-racism teacher/mentor to help you process your thoughts & feelings. just like keep in mind that youre listening to an ethnoreligiously marginalized person and please be respectful here or wherever else youre discussing this dang essay

SONGS OF RESISTANCE: THE VIEW MYLA GRANTS US OF HALLOWNEST’S MOTHS

In this house we are all love Myla.

Well, in all fairness, there are probably plenty of Hollow Knight fans who aren’t interested in her character, since which fictional characters one attaches to is always a matter of personal preference. But she’s still well-loved for a minor NPC and inspires a high level of devotion in her fans. There’s nothing that whips folks into a frenzy like a cute character you can’t do anything to help, and unlike some other characters in Hollow Knight Myla’s fate leaves no room for ambiguity. Once you pick up the Crystal Heart you’re left with only two choices: Avoid her, or kill her.

A lot of Hollow Knight’s world is designed to make you care about it so that it will hurt more when Ghost’s violent skillset proves too limited to save something or someone. The consequences of Hallownest’s founding and policies have directly or indirectly caused a great deal of damage to everything, and chief among those consequences with massive damage and a wide splash range is the Infection. Much has been said elsewhere by other people about Hollow Knight’s predominating mood being a struggle against futility, with Ghost arriving at the eleventh hour and every new tragedy designed to make the player more desperate to find something actionable, only finding out by trial and error what’s beyond your personal ability to save.

Myla, in that sense, is a typical example of that worldbuilding. She’s a particular kind of stock character in the zombie horror genre, the innocent who falls victim to the plague and cannot be saved, wrenching audience hearts and demonstrating the stakes.

But Hollow Knight plays with the trappings of zombie horror in a very unusual way, one I find thematically fascinating.

For a quick overview, the “zombie” as we know it in popular culture is an appropriation of a voudou (the Black American spiritual practice) concept that deals with the fear of slavery killing one’s spirit. (People more versed in/with roots in voudou culture can give a much more comprehensive overview than this simplistic one.)

The zombie horror genre, especially in Western media, is part of the great white fragility stock plot trifecta (the other two being alien invasions and robot uprisings). Zombie horror in particular expresses white fears that marginalized ethnic groups will rise up violently in revenge for their mistreatment and destroy white society. The fear of “that which is human, which ‘humanity’ is not” (to borrow mecha visual novel Heaven Will Be Mine’s pithy term) and the extreme levels of violence towards human-but-not bodies typical of zombie horror are often an expression of such bigotries. This is, again, a subject that’s been discussed in greater depth and with more nuance elsewhere.

But what Hollow Knight does is take the ugly metaphors and it makes them literal, makes it harder to ignore the toxic subtext of the genre. The Infection is literally a native god’s revenge on the settlers who committed genocide* against her people. How the Pale King’s colonization of the crater negatively affected the preexisting groups of bugs underpins every level of the worldbuilding, as does Hallownest’s cruelty towards its neighbors.

Hollow Knight is a game that is about the tragedy of Western imperialism. It is one of the work’s central themes. There are a lot of conversations that need to be had about the ways these themes manifest and, on a real-world level, about fandom’s predisposition to avoid the subject.

But, for now, let’s get back to Myla. If she fits such a stock zombie horror archetype, and Hollow Knight uses zombie horror tropes to underline the conversation it attempts to have about colonialism, then what has Myla got to teach us about the overall worldbuilding?

There's two topics I’d like to broach here: First we’ll get into how the circumstances of Myla’s infection fit in to the implied role of Crystal Peak in pre-Hallownest society. Then let’s take a long look at the lyrics of Myla’s song and what it implies.

MYLA, THE CRYSTALS, AND THE HOLY MOUNTAIN

If you think about it, Myla is an interesting outlier compared to the other NPCs we encounter on the verge of succumbing to the Infection. Both Bretta and Sly are unhappy: Bretta is a lonely, anxious bundle of abandonment issues yearning for someone to sweep her off her feet; Sly misses his pupils and loved ones who’ve left him in death (we never learn who Esmy is or what they were to Sly, but we sure can tell they’re not around anymore). The temptation to dream away those sadnesses seems to play a part in their vulnerability to the Infection, and also why Ghost’s interruption brings them back to reality.

Not so Myla. She appears to be blissfully unaware of her fellow miners’ fate, and most of her dialogue prior to her infection (besides the song - we’ll get to that later) is about how much fun she’s having at her job and how much she enjoys Ghost’s occasional company.

Yet she still winds up infected when Ghost’s back is turned. Why?

Not to discard the possibility that Myla’s got her own issues too, but in her case there seems to be another likely cause at hand: The crystals. If hit with the Dream Nail before infected, she mentions that she can hear them “singing” and “whispering”.

Under the The Hunter’s Hot Takes section of the Hunter’s Journal entries on various Crystal Peak enemies, we can learn more about the crystals - particularly in the entries for the Husk Miner and Crystallized Husk.

Crystal Peak’s crystals were thought of as particularly precious in Hallownest and harvested en masse for use in luxury items and the like. To do so, the mining operation was set up throughout most of the mountain, though the area around its peak still remains largely untouched. However, there’s more to the crystals than just that. Like Myla, the Hunter notes that the crystals can be heard to sing very very softly if one listens closely enough.

Perhaps of even more interest than that is this particular comment he gives us, from the Crystallized Husk journal entry: “There is some strange power hidden in the crystals that grow up there in the peaks. They gleam and glow in the darkness, a bright point of searing heat in each one.”

I don’t think it’s a particularly revolutionary idea to point out that there’s some connection between the crystals and Radiance’s power; this is something many players have intuited just based on Myla’s dialogue. But, in order to understand what Myla is demonstrating about the game’s world I think it’s important to think about what that connection is.

Speaking of which, the local Whispering Root has two important clues for us: The phrases “light refracted” and “energy contained”.

The very top of Crystal Peak is one of the only places in the crater where the moths’ architecture has escaped Hallownest destroying it, and is the only place in the entire game setting where their religious iconography remains fully intact. There are stone monuments covered in their language (which has been destroyed with the rest of their culture) and the statue of the Radiance - this is easier to see in the Wanderer’s Journal tie-in book, but the huge stone arches upon the Crown represent Radi’s halo and its rays and encircle her when viewed head-on or from a distance instead of the side view we get in the game.

The crystals grown here were used by the moths to store and cultivate Radiance’s light. It’s impossible to know what sort of architecture/infrastructure existed inside the mountain before Hallownest stole it from the moths. But between the massive scope of her statue and all the texts at the Crown, and the fact that the moths were working with their literal actual god’s freely given power here, it can be safely asserted that Crystal Peak was a holy ground to them.

Hallownest didn’t care about the mind-boggling level of spiritual significance Crystal Peak must have had to the natives, though. To the Pale King and his people, the crystals are just a natural resource to be harvested for personal profit.

This is unfortunately a conflict that still plays out in colonized countries today. If you’re American, #NoDAPL probably comes to mind; Canada, Australia, and New Zealand are filled with these sorts of horror stories too. Settler disrespect for indigenous sacred grounds is a huge problem that needs addressing. If you’re looking at the story of Crystal Peak and thinking it’s very on-the-nose... maybe it needs to be.

Anyway, Myla is nowhere near as miserable as Bretta or Sly, but she still notices that something’s up with these crystals. She hears the voice coming from inside, and she’s curious, and she tries very very hard to listen to it... so she DOES end up hearing Radiance’s voice. Radiance’s real voice, not the songs and whispers inside the crystals: The voice of a frightened, angry, grieving god who knows there’s a new vessel running around in Hallownest, and doesn’t want any part of that. A voice that’s pleading for someone, anyone to kill this dangerous creature, and save her from the threat Ghost poses.

Between how freaked out Radi is to know Ghost is poking around, the tendency we see in her boss battles for her to panic and kneejerk blast things at full volume/vibrance when she’s panicking, and the way her dream broadcast seems to be only a one-way communication line while she’s in the Black Egg... naturally this spells disaster for poor Myla.

Similar to the Moss Prophet, this small tragedy is a demonstration of the eleventh-hour state the conflict is in: The Pale King has escalated this situation so far, and Radiance is so traumatized and isolated, that bystanders who might in a kinder timeline have become Radi’s allies instead get caught up in her AOE. Myla’s definitely not as aware of the overall situation as the Moss Prophet, since she’s a Hallownest bug and not an indigenous one the way they are. But she noticed things were not as they seemed, and she was curious. Who knows what new possibilities could have opened up, if Radiance was able to truly communicate with bugs in the outside world?

Small side note before we move on, but I’ve noticed a tendency among some folks who notice the missed connections to come down extra hard on Radiance and chalk Myla’s infection/Moss Prophet’s death down to deliberate cruelty on her part. I’d like to gently push back against this.

Living in a post-colonial world we all absorb some level of prejudice from our surroundings, and it’s important to take a look at our first assumptions about people (or, in this case, fictional characters lol) to examine whether these prejudices we’ve inherited have influenced those assumptions.

So, if your first instinct is to look at this situation and say the problem is that Radiance is being too harsh and too angry where she should have stepped back and softened her emotions for others’ benefit to gently persuade them to her side... Please think about how when people of color and non-Christians express anger or hurt at our treatment, or even so much as calmly assert our boundaries, white/Christian viewers often view us as much more aggressive and threatening than we actually are. The “angry black woman” trope is a good example of this stereotype. You may want to look up the HuffPost article “Why It’s So Hard to Talk to White People About Racism” and its discussion of white fragility to further understand this phenomenon.

It is absolutely essential to remember the complex power dynamics in play in Hollow Knight and that the Pale King deliberately imprisoned Radiance (who had at this point already gone through an extreme amount of trauma) in a way that would compromise her ability to communicate with others. If you can extend compassion to characters like Ghost or the Pale King and empathize with their motives/feelings when their actions cause harm, but you are not willing to do the same with Radiance... it’s important to sit down with yourself and examine why that is.

THE MEANING BEHIND MYLA’S SONG

Okay, let’s switch gears and take a look at the lyrics to the song Myla sings, since it’s got some interesting things to tell us too.

The first verse, which you can hear from Myla the first time you meet her/before you acquire Vengeful Spirit, goes:

Bury my mother, pale and slight Bury my father with his eyes shut tight Bury my sisters, two by two, And then when you’re done, let's bury me too

There’s not much particularly story-related going on here except foreshadowing that Myla may in fact wind up dying. Most of what we get here is that a) this is a song about burying the dead and b) it’s morbid as fuck.

Curious, a new player might think of the mention of burying the dead; there are a lot of corpses just lyin’ around all over the ground - something that might lead one to believe Hallownest didn’t have such a custom. Later players will discover the Resting Grounds, confirming Hallownest did bury its dead... and that the gravekeepers are all dead too.

Let’s look at the second verse, which Myla remembers and will sing after you pick up Vengeful Spirit:

Bury the knight with her broken nail, Bury the lady, lovely and pale Bury the priest in his tattered gown, Then bury the beggar with his shining crown

This right here is where it gets interesting. The first verse describes the singer’s family as dead or dying, but the people we’re burying now sure do have some parallels to Hallownest's ruling body, don’t they?

Among Hallownest’s Great Knights, three of them - Dryya, Isma, and Ze’mer - were women. They are also very dead or might as well be: Dryya was killed by Traitor Lord’s resistance, Isma is a tree spreading acid through the kingdom’s waters to cut off access to the City of Tears, and Ze’mer hung up her nail after her mantis girlfriend’s death and only lingers on as a revenant.

While there aren’t any characters who are described in-text as “priests” in Hallownest, the idea of a tattered gown might bring Lurien the Watcher to mind, or perhaps the Soul Sanctum’s magicians before they went rogue.

The lovely, pale lady in the song can only refer to the White Lady, Hallownest’s queen. And there’s only one man in the game who has a shining crown: The Pale King. The lyrics are particularly derisive towards him in a way they aren’t to any of the other figures listed, too.

So, it seems like whoever came up with this song didn’t think much of Hallownest. With that in mind it’s hard to think that it originated from any sort of faction loyal to the king.

We’re missing a line from the third verse, which Myla sings after you’ve beaten Soul Master and she’s beginning to become infected. But what we do see of it is Huge in terms of lore:

Bury my body and cover my shell, [...] What meaning in darkness? Yet here I remain I’ll wait here forever ‘til light blooms again

So. The “protagonist” of this song’s family has died, and they expect to die as well, but even unto death they're waiting for Hallownest to fall and the light to return.

The moths became Hallownest’s gravekeepers after the Pale King forcibly assimilated them. Under the Pale King’s light, the moths forgot Radiance and most of their original culture, but Seer tells us in her final monologue that a few individuals remembered just enough to pass bits and pieces down through the generations. This secret resistance among the moths was what kept Radiance alive and prevented her from being sealed away entirely.

This song Myla sings comes from that moth resistance.

Code songs amongst oppressed ethnic groups are very much a real thing, especially when groups have to communicate or signal each other within hostile parties’ hearing. Since I’m American (and had a big ol crush on Harriet Tubman as a little kid lmao!) the first thing that came to mind for me when I made this connection was the working songs escaped Black slaves used in the Underground Railroad.

These have another point in common with the moth gravedigger song Myla sings, in that they enter the general cultural consciousness through out-group people who don’t know the true context. If you ever pick up a book of American baby songs, you’ll probably find some Underground Railroad code songs in there - often because generations ago white kids heard these songs from Black slaves or servants, and went on to sing the same songs to their children with zero awareness of what the songs were really for.

So some Hallownest bug somewhere probably heard the moths’ song and liked it and sang it in a context totally divorced from its original one, and it got spread around and passed down to become one of Myla’s old favorites, with her seemingly not realizing the meaning behind the lyrics. The moths’ song of devotion to their lost god survived them as a people.

This is some VERY realistic and layered worldbuilding. There is so much to glean from just one NPC’s dialogue when put together with other clues. Of course all of it is SAD and DEPRESSING, but Hollow Knight is a tragedy with a super unsubtle point to make about the unsustainability of Western imperialism.

What happens to Myla is awful, and upsetting, and unfair. So was what happened to the moths and their sacred ground, and to Radiance too. It’s important to understand the scope of the conflict that led to all this happening, trace it to its roots, and lay it at the feet of the ones responsible for engendering all this tragedy in the first place: Hallownest and the Pale King.

*A NOTE ABOUT MY USE OF THE TERM “GENOCIDE”

This is a tangent, but since there’s some debate about whether it’s appropriate to define the Pale King’s actions towards indigenous bug nations as genocide, allow me to cite the official definition of genocide here.

The Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (the Genocide Convention for short) defines genocide like this:

Genocide is any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, religious, or racial group, as such:

A) Killing members of the group

B) Causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group

C) Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part

D) Imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group

E) Forcibly transferring children of the group to another group

Among the abovelisted, Hallownest is guilty of A (Deepnest and the moths), B (Deepnest physically/the moths vis a vis brainwashing), C (the mantis tribe and the hive), and E (the moths, which we know from Marmu, and possibly the mosskin also - Isma is mosskin).

Then there is cultural genocide, i.e. acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, religious, or racial group's way of life. Let’s look at the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (DRIP) and how it defines cultural genocide:

A) Any action which has the aim or effect of depriving them of their integrity as distinct peoples, or of their cultural values or ethnic identities

B) Any action which has the aim or effect of dispossessing them of their lands, territories or resources

C) Any form of population transfer which has the aim or effect of violating or undermining any of their rights

D) Any form of assimilation or integration by other cultures or ways of life imposed on them by legislative, administrative or other measures

E) Any form of propaganda directed against them

Hallownest is guilty of every item on this list. A: The moths, attempted with Deepnest. B: The moths, the mantises, the flukes, the mosskin; also attempted with Deepnest. C: The moths, the mantises, the flukes. D: The moths; attempted with the mantises and Deepnest. E: The mantises and Deepnest.

Any sort of discussion of the wide-reaching harm Radiance caused MUST include the context that the Infection is her response to multiple levels of genocide. Discussion that does not include this context loses nuance and simplifies the conflict and power dynamics portrayed in the game in ways that reflect real-life racism and Christian supersessionism.

Now, this is NOT some sort of holier than thou Fandom Purity dunk to say that it’s Bad or Wrong to care about Hallownest’s nobility. Like, one of my favorite characters in this dang game is the White Lady, who spent a long ass time enabling her husband’s actions before she finally walked out on him over the mass infanticide thing. You can, and it is okay to, love TPK and want rehabilitation for him while acknowledging that the dude has done objectively bad things.

I just feel that it’s important to keep things in perspective so that we don’t wind up stirring a bunch of real-world bigotry into our fandom funtimes. A lot of us don’t have the luxury of turning our brains off and simply Not Seeing It, because these same sorts of dynamics are behind a lot of the hardships that threaten our everyday stability.

It’s pretty hard to have conversations about those things in real life if one can’t even recognize them in fiction. So, this might be a good opportunity to start practicing anti-racism so we can better utilize that ideology in real life, where the stakes are much higher.

#hollow knight #hollow knight spoilers #hollow knight meta #myla hollow knight #the radiance #hk myla #hk radiance #essay #long post under cut -

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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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thorsthot · 4 years

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Do you have any resources for someone new to and interested in witchcraft?

took me a minute to do this because I didn’t want to miss too much, but ofc open to talking about things if there are any questions !

before i unpack loads of different information on witchcraft. remember that everyone’s journey into spirituality and witchcraft is massively different. there is absolutely no “right” or “correct” way to go about being a witch. everything is more or less a personal thing. choose the things that are right to your journey or the things that you’re drawn to. if what you’re doing or seeing doesn’t resonate with you, leave it. witchcraft is ultimately what you make it

remember that the internet is a BIG and broad area. there’s so much information to take in, and you may not know where to start. and that’s okay. however, note that somethings don’t work and that’s also okay. know that some people are only here to mislead others and use their gifts for negativity 🧿 while other people will kindly and graciously share information that they know.

(currently writing up a bunch of different posts for my divination or “witchblr” sideblog @celestialaphrodite — posts will range everywhere from astrology, tarot, crystals and candles,, etc etc)

anyways, information is here and if there are any questions, i am more than happy to share what i know and learn with you what i don’t. i also understand that this may be a lot of information, so don’t feel like you gotta read alll of it so soon, so i’ve split it into a few different topics.

types of witches/witchcraft

starting this off with types of witches. there are SOO many different types and forms of witches and witchcraft.

this article from thought catalogue explains a lot of different types of witches. as well as this article from wiccanow

more “modern” witch types are city witches and pop culture witches. there are also witches known as “closet witches”, those who aren’t necessarily able to come out as a witch. don’t feel like you need to flaunt your craft either, find what works for you.

don’t feel like you need to claim a specific thing either, because like i’ve said, every journey is different and you shouldn’t have to feel like you have to know, try, and/or be everything.

and id have to say something on pagan witchcraft since we’re talking about this. do not feel as though you have to be pagan (or wiccan) to practice witchcraft. you do not need to be a specific religion to practice something. also, don’t feel like witchcraft has anything to do with the devil, cause it doesn’t. unless you want it to, of course.

working with deities/spirits/ancestors**

**i'm explaining this point a bit further later in this post, but if you are white, do not use deities or work with spirits that don't fuck with you or your ancestors. do not use things that do not belong to you.

african deities

greek deities

norse deities

egyptian deities

here’s a list of deities from wikipagan

don’t go fucking around with spirits all willy nilly, they will fuck you up. if anything, work with your ancestors. all on them for guidance.

grimoires, spells, and other witchy supplies

on your journey, i recommend keeping a notebook (or a google doc) of what you learn. every single thing that you learn and that works, you should write down (or type). grimoires (or, as they’re often called, book of shadows) are used for you to keep track of what you learn. write down spells, invocations, key things, quite literally WHATEVER you want. you could also have more than one for different topics/subjects!

see, the thing about spells is that, not all of them will work, and as i’ve repeatedly said, that is more than okay. you have to practice them, study them, use them; and separate the ones that work, from the ones that don’t.

when learning about spells, there are different times to preform each one, whether it’s a specific day, hour or moon cycle. there also may be specific tools to use when preforming a spell or ritual. working with these different advantages(?) are going to help your spells come true. as well as the power of belief. believing in your spells, in the magic, yourself and your craft.

of course there are many different free spell books on the internet. the internet is your friend (but also your enemy)

note that you shouldn’t feel like you need to buy so many supplies. i work a lot with candle magic, and all that requires is my intentions, a candle, and some source of fire.

links on:

sigils: sigil magic (lonerwolf), creating and activating sigils (sigildaily)

talismans/amulets: talismans, amulets and charms (llewellyn)

candles: beginners guide to candle magic (forestofwisdom)

crystals: crystal meanings in alphabetical order (crystalearthspirit), cleansing crystals (energymuse), more about crystals (energymuse)

herbs: (groveandgrotto) glossary of herbs and their meanings,

oils: anointing oils and how to use them (artoftheroot),

using forms of divination within the craft (tarot, runes, astrology, etc)

many people, including myself, who practice the craft often use other forms of divination in their craft. here are some forms of divination you could look into (via learnreligions).

since a lot of my rituals involve moon cycles, i use a few apps to track moon phases and the zodiac and house. i also use astrology to see currently planetary aspects, etc. I also use tarot as a tool for rituals as well.

witchcraft and a convo about mental health, blackness and cultural appropriation

one thing that not a lot of people mention on here when talking about the craft (and even sometimes spirituality) is mental health. not everyone has the mental strength to practice witchcraft every single day. and i’m here to tell you that’s okay. lot’s of people say that witchcraft and spirituality is a way of life, and it is. however, sometimes you need a break and/or to not take everything so seriously and enjoy your time indulging in your craft free of restraints and feeling as though you HAVE to do something.

the spiritual and witchcraft community can be extremely toxic, especially if you’re Black. lots of gaslighting about beliefs and overall miseducation towards people who are naive or new to the craft. the community is the greatest and the worst thing, find what helps you and take breaks from it all when you need to.

if you are Black, do not feel as though you need to fit a specific standard or role within witchcraft, by all means, create your own lane. there are sooo many Black people (including myself) who are into and practice spirituality/the occult/witchcraft,, and still, we are a minority. and unfortunately, there is anti Blackness within the community no matter how you flip it.

in recent years, witchcraft has become more mainstream. and with that, cultural appropriation will come into play, and it has. we can talk about the usage of sage, dreamcatchers and other Native American practices and tools; as well as white people being fucking idiots and using voudou/hoodoo when that is NOT something they should ever even think about doing.

i personally, believe that you SHOULD NOT use things that don't belong to you. and this goes especially if you are white, but you shouldn't even pray to and work with deities and spirits that aren’t yours/haven't claimed you/aren’t for you, etc. that shit will get you fucked up, if not by another person, but by the spirit themselves.

finally, a few overall links

Llewellyn.com

witchipedia.com

learnreligions.com

didn't add too much on spirituality and the occult and meditation and all that other stuff. but like i’ve said earlier, i’m more than happy to share my knowledge on whatever and further discuss things -- if there are any questions, of course! safe witching ✨🔮

#anon #mane this took forever my bad #tiy talks: witchcraft #the read more thingy fucked it :( but

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euphoricnyctophilia · 4 years

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Things I noticed while watching part 21

This is just something I’ve noticed in general, Salem is a terrible familiar. He’s helped Sabrina twice that I can think of ( in the maze and with Batibat) but other than he’s useless. He didn’t warn Sabrina about the witch Hunter and when she had a nightmare about Nick he just kinda looked at her and offered no comfort. He’s really out here to being a cat.

Zelda is a literal witch, can she not heat the water herself?

What do you mean, “who will say black mass for us?” Umm your new directrix, keep up

“Raz my berries daddy-o”

Hilda not knowing to how to answer the phone when she’s at the academy

Mary’s soft little voice. I missed it

When Mary says “Dante” like “Dauntey”

Zelda’s face when she’s hitting the statue of Blackwood. Also on the second swing the mallet just hits nothing and goes straight to the floor

“Praise it to heaven” is that bad or good? Wouldn’t you not want the council to know what you did?

The one time Sabrina (or anyone) goes to check on Ms. Wardwell and it’s not even to really see how she is

How does Dorian have a business? How are these witches paying for drinks?

If there’s only one flower, how does Dorian know that someone else hasn’t already taken it?

Also why is this evil flower the only thing that can get rid of his pimple? Has he asked Aunt Hilda?

Ross moving the microphone out of his face like he does in that video of him performing in that yellow shirt onstage at a concert

Roz and I have almost the same curl pattern and I would like my hair to do that

The dead people shoes are rainboots, bowling shoes, and cowboy boots

Zelda did not need to put her lotion on with her leg up like that

The incantation not transporting them back unless they have the flower sounds like some bs

Sabrina saying “I love you guys” like they’re about to die before they enter to portal

I appreciate that he’ll isn’t all fire and brimstone

I would also like to know whose job it was to go out and paint all of the signs in blood so people could navigate through hell

Caliban’s accent is too melodramatic for me

Can someone please tell me what year this show is set in? Because I can absolutely guarantee you that no house in New Orleans looks like that in the present day.

Prudence’s “pink dress and black undergarments” look is trademarked because no one else is physically capable of pulling it off

Sabrina saying “ Don’t look, nobody look.” And Theo looking immediately around.

How does uncle Jessie know that Lilith is the one who sent him to the field of witness?

Lilith petting the glass with Nick’s tongue in it

Richard is doing a really good job of pretending to be Hilda pretending to be Blackwood

I love that you can see Miranda trying not to break character when Richard says “hunky dory”

I don’t like that Harvey ready the sign that said Forest of Torment then said “I think we’re here”

Theo: There’s a crazy tinman trying to kill Harvey

Sabrina and Roz instead of getting up to help: WhAat?

I forgot that Harvey literaly had to kill his brother because of Sabrina

Prudence and Ambrose drinking cocktails, fuming

Marie and I had the same reaction when Prudence said “hoodoo voudou”

I feel like Lilith would’ve eaten Hawthorne’s face, I know that we were meant to recognize him, but why is he green?

Sabrina is really out here making up spells

I really like Grandma Walker’s costume

“We will not have our sovereignty challenged by them again.” So what happened the first time? I would’ve liked to have seen it. What did she say to them?

Also Lilith calling it her “right to the throne” is the energy this season should’ve manifested for her

Zelda really cut into the cake with malice

After the council leaves the cake only has one slice cut out of it, even though three of them had a slice

“You are in highschool in hell, there is no god.”

The face Granma Walker makes after she says they should do Harvey next, is one my grandmothers make a lot

“It is our Queen’s prerogative to change her mind.” I am in love with this minion.

Zelda leading the coven in a prayer to Lilith

You can see the split where Michelle’s false lashes come out from under her real ones

When she says “they’re praying, to me” the minion isn’t in the room, so she’s asking if Lucifer/ Nick can hear it? That would be an interesting twist if Lilith and Lucifer can hear when the other gets prayers

The way Lilith’s jaw locks into a smile when she says “Sabrinaaa”

I was having a real issue with the length and volume of Lilith’s hair for like this entire season, but right here as she’s coming down the stairs with her two fingers up, the locks are thriving and I’m living for it

“My green one.”

It was completely irresponsible of Lilith to agree to let Sabrina take Nick out of hell. She could’ve helped Sabrina find another prison and then half the problems caused in the rest of this part could’ve been avoided

If I didn’t have the fingers of a lesbian I would want my nails to look like Prudence’s when she’s lighting that candle before she and Ambrose use her blood for the spell

Scotchland

The lights coming down from the ceiling are eyeballs in sockets

I’m really ready to drop kick all of the kings of hell for disrespecting Lilith

They want Caliban to rule because he’s made out of clay from the pit. But Lilith was created by God and made out of dirt, wouldn’t that make out her more in their favor to rule because she defied him, turned away from him, and lived. I get that they only think of her as less than and subservient, but even if you’re a sexist asshole you have to admit she has a wicked backstory.

Lilith’s face when Caliban says “this is salvation”

“what a disappointment you are,” “back at you”

“It’s basic cosmology”

“This so called prince Caliban is made of dirt” He’s right as he should say it

“I do lie, and often, but not about this.”

Lucifer’s face when Nick and Sabrina kiss

“You’ve obviously never been to highschool” as a response is proof enough that Sabrina shouldn’t rule.

Caliban says that “monarchs rule by divine right” but he’s... made out of...dirt...

Caliban is really out here referring to himself as “prince of hell” but shouldn’t Lilith know who he is then? we should know who he is, because someone probably would’ve used his name in an expression like they use for other demons like when Zelda says “Mephistopheles save us....”

“And I’ll decide wether or not I want to defend it.” Really? You’ll decide whether or not you want the throne that you promised to Lilith but then decided to claim and you don’t even really want it enough to defend it?

Lilith really said that Sabrina could go home if she had a way of doing so as if she wasn’t gonna help her. Tbh I wouldn’t have blamed her.

None of these kids seem to have jobs. Is Cerberus letting them eat for free since he’s dating Hilda? Because he’s basically her uncle now.

#caos #part three chapter twenty one #zelda spellman #ambrose spellman #lilith #madam satan #sabrina morningstar #mambo marie #faustus blackwood #prudence night #harvey kinkle #rosalind walker #theo putnam #mary wardell #im mad all over again #rewatching this nonsense #3.21

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ladydiamond40 · 4 years

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So next week I have two stories planned...first is chapter two of Strange Magic and I wanna clarify a few things...first of all, voudou is like a second religion in New Orleans and Marie Laveau is the most famous voudou Queen. In fact, the most common story is that when a wealthy man’s son was accused of murder, he went to her for help and she spent several days in prayer with three Guinea peppers that she put in her mouth to show the loa that she was willing to suffer in the young man’s place. She then put the peppers under the judge’s chair and the verdict came back as not guilty. The father then gave Marie Laveau a house on Saint Anne’s St. in New Orleans that was named Maison Blanc (White House). Now to move on to the important stuff...age of consent in LA is 17, but if there’s a gap of 4 or more years and if the couple isn’t married, then it’s still felony carnal knowledge of a juvenile. Okay...now that that’s done...on to Season of the Witch...this one starts with some tentacle porn and then it moves into some heavy topics - sexual assault and forced drug use...so...questions, comments, etc.? Hit me up on Twitter via DM

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neworleansvoudou · 5 years

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"Marie Laveaux was of remarkable intellect and force of character. She had no equal and cared not whether the men and women she aided were old in coquetry and vice or young and innocent." ~ Richmond Daily Palladium 1900 🐍🐍🐍 If Marie Laveau were alive today, I truly believe she would be at the forefront of the #MeToo and #BlackLivesMatter movements. I envision her standing in front of the White House as a #SisterResister, protesting the current administration’s racist policies, and attacks on health care and the environment. Instead of Alyssa Milano, it could have been Marie Laveau sitting behind Brett Kavanaugh at those now infamous SCOTUS hearings that mobilized the female warrior aspect of the country like never before. She would be advocating prison reform, laying the gris gris down at the border for those seeking a better life or in need of asylum, and making sure no one forgets that there are children held in cages in internment camps for brown people right now, at this present moment, in post-slavery America. 🐍🐍🐍 But the reason she would be doing these things might surprise a lot of people who are unfamiliar with her as a living, breathing human being. Marie Laveau is no myth; she is no mere legend. While her reputation precedes her as the notorious Voudou Queen of New Orleans, in reality, she was a free woman of color who ruled the city during antebellum New Orleans. This was no small feat. She was a devout Catholic, an independent businesswoman, a mother, and healer who lived her life in accordance with the corporal works of mercy. Stories abound about her magickal prowess, freeing men from the gallows and healing the sick from the brink of death. Her belief in Catholicism guided her life as well as her magick in such a distinct way that people from all over the world are inspired by her spirit and her story. This phenomenon is evidenced by the fact that her grave site is purportedly one of the most visited pilgrimage sites in the United States, second only to the King of Rock and Roll, Elvis Presley. *excerpt from the Magic of Marie Lavea https://www.instagram.com/p/B36gxn9AkRo/?igshid=1v3z181j8syn3

#metoo #blacklivesmatter #sisterresister

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we-need-a-sexy-skeleton · 5 years

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A Night On The Town: A One Shot Set in the, The Voodoo King Universe

Want to Read the main story? Chapter Three - Chapter Two - Chapter One

Want to read more stories in this universe? The Body Sleeping Next to me

A/N: This is my second time posting this, and I would like to apologize to everyone who I have now had to tag twice because that is very inconvenient. However, I had to re-post it because the read more link wasn’t working.

Summary: Mardi Gras through the years.

Warnings: Mentions of slavery, brief mentions of death, mentions of shipwrecks

Characters: Logan, OCs, Remy (Sleep), Virgil, Patton, Roman, Dorian (Deceit)

Tag List: @doyouhowdont @onelargemcbitch @patpots-blog @apologetically-anxious @painfullybisexual @vxrgilsanders @sanderssides-deathangel @enby-kiddo-with-a-blog @residentanchor @ccecode @sea-blue-child @cyberpunkjinx @fandoms-n-ship @alex-cain @chaosgaminggirl @lesliealiceinwonderland @knine-nights @randomfanderfriend @popsicletaco @juicy-cashew @ispeakhalflies @give-me-a-minute-to-think @callboxkat @thequeensqueer @justanotherpurplebutterfly @a-ghosts @up-at-3-am-reading-fanfic @ruby717 @phangirlandkilljoy @violetvirgil @thefallendog @vampiregeek2002 @illogicalsanderssides @happiholli @ierindoodles @whatamessofwords @thomasfandersunite @all-my-fandoms-are-killing-me @anuninspiredpoet @band-be-boss-blog @the-average-loner @unicornlogan @satanblessi @demonalisa2004

________________________________________________________________

Logan was already old by the time his first Mardi Gras happened. Fifty-five, to be as exact as possible without actually knowing his birthday. He had neither the time nor energy for anything like a Mardi Gras party. He was working on something big- something bigger than anybody would believe. He was far too busy to go out and see the people that danced in the streets- the youth that enjoyed themselves. And far too old, too. People didn’t live long in those days, especially not people like him.

But there was so much for him to see! So much for him to learn, he still couldn’t read or write, but that was the future! For people like him, for women, for men of any color or nation! He had far too much to do to be distracted by something as silly as a party. But his daughter disagreed.

“Papa,” Marie said, pouting at her father. Marie was only twenty-eight, a perfectly respectable age. And she was a perfectly respectable young woman. She was already married and had two little children, Virgil and Charlotte S’enfuire. The two were twins and eight years old, and Logan spoiled them whenever he could. But this was one time he wouldn’t go along with what they wanted.

“Papa,” Marie said again, looking at him more firmly. “Please, papa. Henri is going away next week, and I know how much you like him.”

Logan glared. “I don’t like Henri any more than I like this parade, Mon Cheri,” he said, standing. “But if Virgil and Lottie want me to go, then let’s be on our way. Your daddy wouldn’t like this, you know.”

Marie laughed softly. “Daddy was a hard man to please, papa.” Logan huffed unhappily but waved his hand.

“Oh, hush, child. I said I would go, didn’t I?” Marie grinned brightly.

________________________________________________________________

Logan’s next Mardi Gras was two years later, and he seemed much younger than two years prior. Similar to his first, it was spent in the company of his favorite daughter and grandchildren, this time at his own home, where Marie and her children moved to after Marie’s husband died at sea and they lost the house.

“Papy,” Virgil said, climbing into Logan’s lap. “Will you teach me about voodoo and the magic?” Logan looked down at the ten-year-old in his lap.

“Well, mon petite lapin,” Logan started, “The first you must learn is pronunciation. Vodou.”

“Voodoo.”

“Vodou.”

“Voudou.”

“Vodou.”

“Perfect, mon petite lapin. Now you must understand the Vodou is a religion. There is one supreme god, and then other gods that help him, for he doesn’t intercede in our affairs.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Bondye,” Logan said, setting Virgil on his feet and standing, leading the little boy to his altar room. “Bondye. What French words does that sound like?”

“Bon Dieu.”

“Very good. What does it mean?”

“Good God.”

“Well done, mon petite lapin. Those words were used to inspire Bondye’s name because we had to make our true religion look like white people’s religion.”

“Papy, I’m white.”

“No.” Logan looked at Virgil seriously. “No. You are the grandson of a slave. You are not white, no matter how light your skin is. You will be white when the blood of our people no longer flows through your veins. Your skin is light, mon petite lapin, but you are every bit a man of your tribe.”

“When will the blood go away?” Virgil asked, looking sad at the idea.

“Hopefully never, mon petite lapin, but the world is changing. You are light skinned and an attractive young man. You never know what the young girl who’s eye you will catch will look like.”

“I wanna learn more about Vodou.”

Logan laughed softly. “Yes, all right. Come along, Virgil, this will do you good someday.”

________________________________________________________________

The first Mardi Gras Logan spent with Remy was only allowed after Remy had begged Logan endlessly. Remy was new to New Orleans, he’d never been to something as fun and bright as Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Logan hadn’t been to one since Marie’s death over twenty years ago. He was scared, he supposed. Of what, he didn’t know.

“Lo, please,” Remy said, dancing Logan around their shared flat above Logan’s shop. “It’ll be fun! I promise.”

“You can’t promise that, Remy,” Logan said darkly, allowing to Remy to lead him in a rather exuberant waltz.

“Yes, I can! I’ll make sure you have fun!”

Logan found himself smiling beside himself. “Oh, all right. Let’s go.”

________________________________________________________________

Logan went to Mardi Gras every year up until Remy’s death, and he even went some years after. Maybe it was because Remy’s begging was even more effective in the body of a cat, or maybe it was because Logan had gotten quite fond of going. But he hadn’t gone since the beginning of the twenty-first century. And then, one year after meeting three film students, he found himself in a familiar situation.

“Logan,” Virgil said, pouting at his friend. Logan ignored him, pointedly reading a book.

“Logan,” Virgil repeated, more firmly this time. “Please, Logan. Even Dorian is coming! You like Dorian, don’t you?”

Logan glared. “I don’t like Dorian any more than I like this parade.” He stopped and set his book to the side, looking at Virgil more firmly. Yes. There, in the familiar tilt of his head, the roundness of his chin. “What’s your mama’s last name, Virgil?’

Virgil looked confused. “S’enfuine. Why?”

“Yes, I thought so. Well, let’s go. Will Roman meet us there?”

Virgil smirked. “Yes, your fiance will meet us there,” he teased. Logan flushed and shoved him gently.

“Let’s just go.”

Virgil grinned and danced ahead to find Patton. Logan watched him go, then called, “Virgil! Where’s your father from?”

“Senegal, why?” Virgil called back, even more confused.

“No reason,” he called. Then, quieter to himself, “Funny how bloodlines work out like that.”

“Hurry up, Lo!” Patton whined, stopping and looking back at him. “Are you taking so long to try to change our mind?”

“I said I’d go, didn’t I?” Patton grinned.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #the voodoo king #my fanfic #my fanfiction #logince #moxiety #platonic analogical #logan sanders #logic sanders #roman sanders #creativity sanders #patton sanders #morality sanders #virgil sanders #anxiety sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit

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