#Father Befouled

[lesdeuxmuses]

Father Befouled - Crowned In Veneficum (Everlasting Spew Records, 2022)

[thethcministry]

[gbhbl]

EP Review: Father Befouled - Immaculate Pain (Everlasting Spew Records)

As brutal as ever, as sickening as always, as violent as only they can be, and as virulent as they often are, Father Befouled return with a new slab of horrible death metal sounds.

US, Georgia’s death metal titans, Father Befouled are back with a new EP called ‘Immaculate Pain’. This new tome of suffering will be released on September 13th, 2024, via Everlasting Spew Records. As brutal as ever, as sickening as always, as violent as only they can be, and as virulent as they often are, Father Befouled return with a new slab of horrible death metal sounds. Featuring five…

[valleyofsacrifice]

[forestdeath1]

Canon Sirius through quotes

Part 3. Harshness and toughness (and how Sirius Black differs from James Potter). It's long. Really long.

Sirius isn't a soft crybaby. His harshness (and even cruelty) goes beyond the silly teenage pranks we usually see in fanfiction. Sirius is often either whitewashed by newer fans or overly demonized by anti-Marauders fans. Sirius has a tough exterior but a heart of gold. He's not childish and had to grow up early, though he can still be quite fun.

‘Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,’ said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. ‘Of all the people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought ... .’

"Of all the people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought" – this shouldn't be taken literally. Rosmerta saw many others regularly, Dumbledore, Lily, Remus, and many others, and out of all of them, Sirius Black was the last who could turn to the Dark side? Seriously? Did Sirius walk around with a halo and angel wings?

One trait that is always emphasized in his appearance is his haughty, bored look.

Rosmerta speaks metaphorically, not literally. She saw Sirius once a month or two when they went out to Hogsmeade to have fun and drink. In those moments, Sirius was lively, funny and noisy (especially lively after running away from home), and perhaps he even flirted with Rosmerta in a childish manner, melting the heart of the adult woman.

Sirius can be funny, although his humor is always edging towards dark:

"Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose.’ 

Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset. 

‘Sirius!’ she said reproachfully. ‘Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I’m sure he’d respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he’s got left, and Professor Dumbledore said –’ 

‘So, what are Umbridge’s lessons like?’ Sirius interrupted. ‘Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?’

Moreover, he interrupts Hermione, not letting her finish her point. He sharply outlines if he doesn't want to listen.

"the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards"

Dark humor.

‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ the elf repeated. ‘Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black –’ 

‘And it’s getting blacker every day, it’s filthy,’ said Sirius.

Here he responds with a clear "Black" shade. His mother also loved to talk about filth.

‘Sirius – it’s me ... it’s Peter ... your friend ... you wouldn’t ...’ Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled. ‘There’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them,’ said Black.

And again. And here’s his mother:

‘Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers –’ 

‘Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth ...’

Sirius desperately wants to be unlike the Blacks, but he is still Sirius Black.

‘I thought it was the perfect plan ... a bluff ... Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you ... it must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.’

Sirius's humor isn't the only harsh thing about him. Even though here he has a reason – after Azkaban he met James's traitor – his way of speaking reflects his overall personality. The way one speaks is a mirror of personality, even if Sirius has PTSD, it only exposes even more vividly what he might control in a calm state.

‘Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.’ (Peeves)

At the same time, yes, he can be cheerful and infect everyone around him with his cheerfulness. If he's in a sombre mood, he creates a quite oppressive atmosphere around him that everyone feels. Just as with a good mood – everyone feels it.

Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. 

-

Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak’s room, singing ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs’ at the top of his voice. 

-

Sirius’s delight at having the house full again, and especially at having Harry back, was infectious. He was no longer their sullen host of the summer; now he seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have done at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help.

But the ability to be cheerful is in no way connected to being very harshn at the same time. This is precisely the case with Sirius.

Of all the Marauders, only Sirius is really harsh and can be truly dangerous (the author wrote about him, “The best-looking, most rebellious, most dangerous of the four marauders”). James was also a bully, but he's not harsh, despite the fact that it was he who pulled down Snape's trousers. Why? I think Sirius was already aware of what they were doing. James – not. Without awareness, it's too early to speak of any harshness and cruelty. Sirius had this awareness and still continued to do it.

Let's consider the reactions of Sirius and James in comparison.

‘Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?’ 

Sirius did not smile. ‘My whole family have been in Slytherin,’ he said.

‘Blimey,’ said James, ‘and I thought you seemed all right!’ 

Sirius grinned. ‘Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?’

A small note: Sirius didn't even react to James's "I'd leave", even though he knew his whole family was from Slytherin, and he was likely to go there too.

James lifted an invisible sword. ‘“Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!” Like my dad.’ Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him.

‘Got a problem with that?’ ‘No,’ said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. ‘If you’d rather be brawny than brainy –’

It was Snape who starts the confrontation on a personal level. James in his insults in this memory refers to moral qualities. "Who wants to be in Slytherin?" Only bad people. He is prejudiced against Slytherin because Slytherin is evil. Voldemort is gaining momentum. The first Muggle-born Minister was recently ousted. Attacks are happening here and there. Dark forces are growing. More and more of the pure-blood society talks about "Mudbloods" not belonging in this world. And "amazingly", they all turn out to be from Slytherin. James sees himself as a noble knight "James lifted an invisible sword", and he is against Slytherin not so much personally as against the moral component of Slytherin.

‘Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?’ interjected Sirius.

James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike.

Sirius immediately strikes at Snape's personality. Sirius is sharp-tongued, self-assured, and likely accustomed to considering others below himself. He probably assessed James as his equal right away. Brave, cheerful, sincere.

'Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment.'

'Oooooo...'

James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

'See ya, Snivellus!' a voice called, as the compartment door slammed...

James tried to trip Snape. James most often uses physical/magical force. He trips Snape, he pulls down Snape's trousers, he uses most of the spells on Snape in SWM. But it's Sirius who goes after Snape's personality. It looks like James has concocted a "noble justification" for his behavior and attitude and punishes Snape for existing just as he is.

Sirius, on the other hand, hardly uses magical/physical force in memories; he finds painful points in Snape's personality – from character to appearance, intentionally demeaning his personal traits.

Moreover, it was Sirius who focused on Snape's appearance. No one, except him, places such an emphasis on Snape's unattractive appearance and his untidiness.

'Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was,'

Very vivid epithets. Sirius is very eloquent when it comes to demeaning someone he dislikes.

Moreover, it's James who's the attention seeker. It's James who plays with the snitch, drawing attention, glancing at the girls by the lake, and ruffling his hair to show everyone how cool, strong, brave, and awesome he is.

After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn’t tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry noticed that his father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to keep it from getting too tidy, and he also kept looking over at the girls by the water’s edge.

While Sirius, likely, isn't much interested in societal validation. Sirius is more reserved, with firmer boundaries, he's not as interested in public adoration as James might be.

Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so.

This is a typical expression for Sirius – bored and haughty. He spent nearly five full years in Gryffindor alongside James, and the bored and haughty expression is still with him. It's not just a random trait in his character – it's one of the pillars of his personality, reflecting his attitude towards random people around him.

‘Put that away, will you,’ said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, ‘before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.’

As I've said, Sirius cuts with his words without a knife. They've been studying together for five years, been friends with Peter, and he jokes about Peter like this. I think they all joked about each other in the same way, just James's "jokes" are blunt and probably he just says whatever comes to mind, whereas Sirius's are more subtle and hurtful.

Moreover, when people say this is the only episode we know of bullying by James and Sirius and that it's the worst in their history, that's not correct. This episode is the worst in Snape's life. And not because they pulled down his trousers. But because he lost Lily forever that day. This episode, likely, was quite typical for the Marauders. They were in a good mood, had finished exams, Snape just happened to pass by, there were no obvious reasons for this bullying. Harry sifted through their detention records, and there were many, very many, and how many more when they weren't caught?

Sirius got bored, and there they decided to "have some fun."

‘I’m bored,’ said Sirius. ‘Wish it was full moon.’ 

‘You might,’ said Lupin darkly from behind his book. ‘We’ve still got Transfiguration, if you’re bored you could test me. Here ...’ and he held out his book. 

But Sirius snorted. ‘I don’t need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.’

I won't discuss The Prank here, many have written about it. In general, Sirius doesn't show empathy in everyday interactions even with Remus. Sirius has a heart of gold, but his shell, especially as a teenager – tough, harsh, sharp, and cutting. The grown-up Sirius interacts with close people much more politely, though he still occasionally shows his harshness (for example, with Hermione).

‘This’ll liven you up, Padfoot,’ said James quietly. ‘Look who it is ...’ 

Sirius’s head turned. He became very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit. 

‘Excellent,’ he said softly. ‘Snivellus.’

I don't want to justify Sirius and James, but for context – Snape is fascinated by the Dark Arts, hangs out with future Death Eaters (= fascist), and they have mutual dislike from the first year. No, the act is immature, but James justifies it in his head exactly like this – Snape is bad for him, so anything goes, and anyway, "so what?" Sirius doesn't need justifications. He's just bored.

Even when James uses all the spells on Snape, he still glances at the lake:

Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands raised, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water’s edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

Why look at the girls by the lake when you're humiliating someone, if you know you're doing something really bad? James genuinely sees himself as a noble knight, deserving of admiration. Moreover, many do admire him (''Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had got to their feet and were edging nearer. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Several people watching laughed''), and Lupin mentioned several times that James was popular at school.

‘How’d the exam go, Snivelly?’ said James. 

‘I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment,’ said Sirius viciously. ‘There’ll be great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word.’ 

Again, Sirius harshly targets Snape's personal traits, including his appearance.

‘You – wait,’ he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing, ‘you – wait!’ 

‘Wait for what?’ said Sirius coolly. ‘What’re you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?’ 

And again – Sirius strikes with words.

Snape let out a stream of mixed swear words and hexes, but with his wand ten feet away nothing happened.

‘Wash out your mouth,’ said James coldly. ‘Scourgify!’

And James responds with a spell to what? Snape's insults. He says ‘Wash out your mouth.’ He appeals to the moral side of the issue.

‘I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!’

‘Apologise to Evans!’ James roared at Snape, his wand pointed  threateningly at him. ‘I don’t want you to make him apologise,’ Lily shouted, rounding on James. ‘You’re as bad as he is.’ ‘What?’ yelped James. ‘I’d NEVER call you a – you-know-what!’

This also proves that James is sure he's doing everything right. James is like a volunteer in the allies' army against the fascists, a brave Gryffindor, and his sword is to cast spells on anyone he deems not fitting his moral standards.

‘Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can – I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.’

And from the outside, it looked like this.

‘What is it with her?’ said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him. 

‘Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,’ said Sirius.

And Sirius understands it all too well. Who he is, who James is, and what Lily thinks about it all. Sirius knows about James's crush on Lily and finds it even funny that she rejects him. Likely because Sirius understands that they often cross the line. I don’t think Sirius could have stopped Potter. I don't even think Sirius wanted to stop Potter. He found it all funny. Azkaban, on the other hand, softened Sirius in his interactions with others. It knocked down his pride and arrogance. Showed him that life can be unfair and you don't need to act like a haughty jerk who thinks the world revolves around them.

At school, Sirius was more about psychological bullying, while James was about the physical. Given that James and Sirius were very popular at school and within their house, their bullying was likely directed mostly at Slytherins or at arrogant jerks like themselves who they just "didn't like."

And the adult Sirius understands that they were “arrogant little berks.” And he’s “not proud of it,” but his next words speak for themselves:

“ I think James was everything Snape wanted to be – he was popular, he was good at Quidditch – good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James – whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry – always hated the Dark Arts.”

Sirius justifies James while simultaneously praising him. Justifications always imply a partial denial of guilt. Someone fully aware of their guilt doesn’t seek to justify or be justified. Of course, Sirius said this for Harry's sake too. To ensure Harry didn’t think his father was just a bully for no reason. His father was actually “on the side of good,” is what Sirius wants to convey. About himself, he remains silent. But he doesn't miss the chance to insult Snape again “little oddball.”

Even Remus, as an adult, sincerely justifies James.

‘She started going out with him in seventh year,’ said Lupin. 

‘Once James had deflated his head a bit,’ said Sirius. ‘And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,’ said Lupin.

 ‘Even Snape?’ said Harry. ‘Well,’ said Lupin slowly, ‘Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn’t really expect James to take that lying down, could you?’ 

‘And my mum was OK with that?’ 

‘She didn’t know too much about it, to tell you the truth,’ said Sirius. ‘I mean, James didn’t take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?’

Lupin finds a genuine justification for James. The concept of “violence in any form is bad” isn’t fully grasped by them. They follow an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Lupin even was ready to kill Peter, and he insisted that war is not a playground and that killing is sometimes necessary in war. Remus, though gentler and kinder, and preferring not to engage in conflict, genuinely wished Sirius and James hadn't bullied anyone at school, but yet, he still reconciles with all they do and even justifies James.

In Sirius's mind, James may have acted like a fool, but Sirius doesn’t genuinely condemn it. He just thinks they were too arrogant. And Sirius’s behavior after Azkaban (how he became gentler with others) indicates he truly realized – you don't need to belittle everyone you dislike or even like. Yet, Sirius’s harshness, even after Azkaban, didn’t disappear; it was just redirected towards what he genuinely hates.

‘Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons ... you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me –’ 

Black made a derisive noise. 

‘It served him right,’ he sneered. ‘Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to ... hoping he could get us expelled ...’

Remus's reactions are much softer, but Sirius’s reaction, even years later, is harsh and even a bit cruel. ‘It served him right.’ Because it's an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

However, Sirius’s harshness still occasionally breaks through even towards his close ones when he slightly loses control over himself after Azkaban.

‘You’re less like your father than I thought,’ he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. ‘The risk would’ve been what made it fun for James.’ 

‘Well, I’d better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,’ said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. ‘I’ll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?’

Sirius calls themselves “arrogant little berks,” but the peculiarity of Sirius’s arrogance is that it's due to his personal qualities, not external “glamour”.

 ‘I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter – I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you?’

He despises Peter for groveling, for weakness, for the same reasons he despises Regulus, considering him a soft idiot. Sirius’s arrogance was never built on finances or blood purity, on popularity, on playing Quidditch, not on his name, although the family dynamics undoubtedly influenced his pride. But overall, his arrogance is of a different level – that of a rebellious spirit, a very strong person, not like the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy is intentionally depicted as the complete opposite of Sirius Black (in character – the most rebellious of their pure-blood circle and the most sycophantic, and in appearance – black and white).

Sirius and Kreacher's story demonstrates that Sirius does not forgive those he hated and can carry hatred through the years. People usually soften over time, but Sirius has an excuse – Azkaban. Nonetheless, the behavioral pattern remains unchanged. Azkaban does not change the essence of people, it makes certain traits more vivid and pronounced. Sirius became calmer towards the people around him who help fight against evil, he toned down his arrogance and pride (even towards Snape, he no longer hurls insults first, it’s Snape who insults Sirius first), but Sirius became even harsher towards those he hates.

‘Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and it’s no good looking like that, you know it’s true. I’ve said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did ... and so did Sirius.’

Harry had no retort. As he watched Kreacher sobbing on the floor, he remembered what Dumbledore had said to him, mere hours after Sirius’s death: I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human’s ...

And he himself demonstrates this repeatedly:

At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione’s protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room.

Dumbledore believes Sirius showed cruelty to Kreacher through his indifference and neglect. That is, Sirius could shut off his empathy towards a being, despite generally being friendly towards house-elves.

‘He (Sirius) regarded him (Kreacher) as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike… Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to house-elves in general. He had no love for Kreacher, because Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated.’

Sirius was not evil. But the neglect emanating from him was very cruel, harsh, and cold. Sirius can shut away all the good within him towards anyone he despised – “And whatever Kreacher’s faults, it must be admitted that Sirius did nothing to make Kreacher’s lot easier –”

‘– comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he’s back, they say he’s a murderer too –’

‘Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!’ said Sirius irritably as he slammed the door shut on the elf.

However, Sirius likely never killed anyone, even while serving in the "Order."

Regarding his family and even Regulus, Sirius is also harsh. Even if he, like any child, deep down loved his family, it doesn’t matter because his real words and actions are very harsh and aimed at severing ties. The possible love for them deep down only further highlights his harshness and readiness for confrontation.

“I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal ... my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them”

Likely, he’s ashamed of them, and his hatred also builds a wall between them and himself.

‘Does it matter if she’s my cousin?’ snapped Sirius. ‘As far as I’m concerned, they’re not my family. She’s certainly not my family. I haven’t seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D’you think I’m proud of having a relative like her?’

And at the same time Dumbledore about James:

‘I knew your father very well, both at Hogwarts and later, Harry,’ he said gently. ‘He would have saved Pettigrew too, I am sure of it.’

I don’t know how true this is (though likely, the author speaks through Dumbledore here), but considering that Harry himself is a character whose main traits include the ability to understand and forgive others, perhaps James had this to some extent too. But Sirius lacks the ability to forgive, and this is deliberately shown in the book – that he suffered precisely because of his excessive harshness.

In conclusion, Sirius's harshness and toughness is not just teenage arrogance; it's directly a trait of his personality, something that cannot be overlooked when talking about the canonical Sirius, not his sugar-coated substitute in fandom. Sirius had to grow up very early, and all this left its mark on him.

Of all the Marauders, only Sirius is really harsh and can be truly dangerous.

But Sirius was not cruel in a moral-ethical sense, or more precisely – ideologically. There's no reason to believe Sirius is constantly drawn to the dark side or that he's amoral. His constant fight against his family suggests instead that he formed high ideals within himself. No, Sirius is not amoral; he has difficulty with empathy (especially in childhood), a tendency towards aggression and cruelty (mostly in childhood, he controls himself quite well as an adult. Well, for Sirius Black quite well), arrogance, but he very well understands what is right and what is wrong.

‘She’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.’

[meanbossart]

You liking The Devils honestly explains a lot of your work to me. You know that scene in the movie where the nuns get ugh, creative, with the crucifix? I could see Durge just describing those fantasies to any person who happens to be nearby. He has no shame in it and would love watching someone like Gale squirm at the thought.

You know, he has probably had some vivid dreams and/or fantasies involving Astarion - uh - befouling a representation of Bhaal. He already expresses constant disrespect towards his "father" and occasionally brings him up in a sexual context as a "joke". This is no reach.

[unironicallytes]

Dear Brother: Overall Supplemental Lore

Domitius' Vow

[Below is an in-universe Familial Padomaist fable, used to explain the role of vampires within the Dark Brotherhood.]

It is said that in the Brotherhood’s early days, there lived the pious assassin Domitius, whose heart was ever-blackened and whose hands were always bloodied. Domitius toiled away to ferry souls to the Void throughout his life, and his own time finally arrived when he failed to best a target in combat. Domitius fought valiantly, but accepted his demise with humility and acceptance. “Alas, though I cannot deliver this soul to my Father, it is fated that mine go in their stead - it is a blessing to have lived a life in devotion and received my end,” he thought, as his target prepared the final blow. But amidst the struggle, their flowing blood mixed, and Domitius became infected with something unnatural as he passed into Void’s embrace. When he arrived at the threshold of his final home, Domitius could sense something was wrong. For he remained suspended just above the Nothing Behind The World, hung from his chest by a painful and stubborn hook whose other end remained Anchored in existence. He found his soul had become like oil, whereas the Void was like water. He could not break apart into the swirling abyss no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much the Void lapped at his edges to erode him. In agony, he cried out unto Sithis: “Oh, Dread Father! I have come home to thee, but something holds me in place, has cursed me with everlasting form! I pray thee, wouldst thou cut me from it, so I may rest with my Family below?” Sithis, an ever-watchful parent, heard his child’s cry and drew near. He pulled a shape from the eternal nothing with which to greet Domitius: he stretched skin and sinew across many rattling bones, grew endlessly deep eyes, and split into a gaping snake maw. His voice was the sound of rushing wind through deep caverns, of floodwaters overwhelming a dam. “My child, why dost thou cry out so?” Sithis asked. But before Domitius could answer, Sithis could see what the problem was. Something Anchored his child, and would not let the Nothing consume the soul properly. He moved yet closer to examine, but then recoiled.  “Vile coagulant of Bal! Not yet dead, but no longer alive - trapped between! A Schemer plays such foul tricks on my children!” Sithis lamented. He could not yet cut Domitius free, for the tether repelled his Void. He reassured his poor child as best as he could. “Though thou art afflicted with stagnation, thou remain my son, and I carry love for thee. Thou must go forth again, but as Undead. When thy befouled Anchor rusts and weakens once more, I shall sunder thy soul properly. But rest assured, child; no Daedra can keep thee from my grasp for long. Thou shalt find no restless eternity in Coldharbour so long as thou honors my name.” Domitius became invigorated in spite of such sad news. “Then I go with thy blessing, Dread Father. I will take this affliction and turn it to a Dark Gift instead, with which I shall spill blood for thee. I will only share this Dark Gift with those who are worthy. I vow to return one day.” Sithis was proud. He lifted Domitius with many hands and placed him back into the world. And Domitius did as he said he would do: with the Dark Gift, he worshiped and taught for centuries longer; and he only bestowed the same Gift to Siblings who understood the responsible use of such a tool. To possess the Dark Gift was not a gift to oneself, but a gift to Family still living. It was a selfless postponement of one's final rest to instead remain committed in unholy service.  The time came for Domitius to return home a second time. He bade his Listener to plunge Blade of Woe into his chest. When Domitius fell into the Void again, Sithis did as he said he would do: he broke apart the Anchor's chain, then lovingly dismantled his child’s soul, allowing it to dissolve freely into Nothing with him. And so, as it is said - vampires and other such anomalies have been bestowed a serious responsibility. One must use their Dark Gift wisely and in service to Sithis. Do not let temptation for permanence cause you to falter, for you must never forget where your true home lay.

[yodomi-nikki]

A self-insertion fantasy about the sons of Nurgle from Warhammer, Putrid Blightkings, Tamurkhan, and Kayzk the Befouled. What if they liked you?

Machine translation and Japanese (native language) are included.

Putrid Blightkings are monsters who are completely corrupted in both body and mind, living to receive and spread the love of Nurgle. However, when they see you, they remember the simple desires they had when they had a decent body. It was to get a stable job, have a partner they love, and spend modest but happy days. For them, who have lost their way, lost hope, and given up and let everything go, you are their first love who will never age in nostalgia. They have no knowledge or skills like demons or doctors, so the only way they can give you the blessings of God is through simple and primitive exchange of bodily fluids and mucous membrane contact. They are happy to do this to make you more attractive.

Tamurkhan is a king who is loved by Nurgle, and his authority will hinder your free actions. When he is not on the battlefield, he always makes sure you are within his sight. While he growls that others should take care of the dogs, the Toad Dragon is breaking the fence in the barn out of loneliness. Tamurkhan does not apologize for what is right. He will treat you as a lady worthy of being next to the champion, and educate you. In return, as a brave warrior endowed with the power of Nurgle, he will not let you disappoint him. But for a moment, he will reveal his soft and delicate nature to you... It is the body of a huge, white, fat, hideous insect, just like the title of the Maggot King. When Tamurkhan warms it against his bare skin and asks it to sleep, he looks shy and pitiful, which is hard to imagine from his behavior towards his subordinates.

Kayzk the Befouled is a proud knight who is a poster boy for the cover of the Nurgle world's charity calendar. He gave up his body and offered his soul to Nurgle, showing the noble path to the lesser souls who found themselves in his father's arms on the way to hell. Kayzk is not arrogant, but he is always fighting on the front lines and has an overzealous side that argues with the unworthy. He finds comfort in watching you tend to the rot beasts in your tent. If he had no soul and could not feel, he could watch for hours. If he had vocal cords left, he would have said, "You too can offer your soul to the god as an ornament. I am already there. I want to be with you under my father! Shine by my side!" However, pus bubbles in Kayzk's throat, and all you can do is watch with a smile.

ブライトキング達は、ナーグル神の愛を受け、それを広める為に生きる心身共に腐敗し切ったモンスターです。しかし、あなたを視界に入れる時、彼らはまともな肉体を持っていた頃の素朴な願望を思い出します。それは安定した職に就き、想い合う伴侶を持ち、ささやかだけど幸せな日々を過ごす事です。道を踏み外し、絶望して、全てを諦め手放した彼らにとって、あなたは郷愁の中で永遠に歳を取らない初恋の人です。悪魔や医者のような知識や技術を持たない彼らが、あなたに神の恵みを与える手段は、単純で原始的な体液交換と粘膜接触しかありません。彼らはあなたをより魅力的にする為に、喜んでそれに励みます。

タムルカンはナーグル神の愛を受ける王で、その威光であなたの自由な行動を阻害します。彼が戦場にいない時は、いつでも視界にあなたがいるように仕向けます。犬の世話など他の者にやらせておけと唸る一方で、納屋では腐敗獣が寂しさで柵を壊しています。タムルカンは当然の事について謝罪しません。あなたを覇者の隣にいるに相応しい淑女として扱い、または教育します。その代わり彼自身もナーグル神の力を賜った勇士として、あなたに失望される事だけはするまいと思っています。そんな彼も本当に一時、少しだけ、あなたにだけは柔らかく繊細な本性を顕にします…。それは蛆虫王の称号そのままの、巨大で白く肥えた悍ましい虫の本体です。それを素肌で温めて眠るよう頼む時のタムルカンは、部下達への振る舞いからは考えられない���内気でいじらしく見えます。

汚れたケイズクは、ナーグル界のチャリティカレンダーの表紙を飾る広告塔で、誇り高い騎士です。肉体を捨てナーグル神に魂を捧げた彼は、地獄へ堕ちる最中に尊父の腕の中に収まっただけの下等な魂に崇高な道を示します。ケイズクは驕らない代わりに常に前線で戦い、不心得者と言い争う熱心すぎる面も持っています。彼が安らぐのは、幕舎で腐敗獣のケアをするあなたを眺めている時です。魂が無くて感じないのなら、何時間でも見ていられます。彼に声帯が残されていたら、「あなたもその魂を神に装身具として捧げましょう。私は既にそこにいます。尊父の元であなたと共にありたい！私の側で輝いて下さい！」と口説いたでしょう。しかし、ケイズクの喉では膿が泡立つだけで、あなたは笑顔のまま見守るしかできません。

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie Pt. 168- Gypsy Origins Part 1 of 3

Summary: Haldir's patience is tested during a long, bitter journey. A hypnotic tale of past truths be told.

*Chapter Warnings* language, angst, blood, violence, death, child death

Chapter characters: Haldir, Delphine(Jocelyn), Rumil, Orophin, Harker, Jemma, Zeddicus, Jessie, Thomas, Ravenna, Finn,

Chapter word count: 7,000

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist:

As the dawn of the new winter day shone it's light through the sky reaching bare trees, Jocelyn reluctantly surfaced from under a sizeable pile of brush where she had sought shelter through the cold black night from the evil enchantments of the dark forest and the wicked ones that dwelled within it's borders. Still weakened from the burning cross branded onto her chest by the nutty nun's red hot iron bar, the witch doctor slowly and cautiously crept over the pathless snow covered forest floor, squinting her light strained eyes as she searched for the way out before the befoul breeze consumed her thoughts and lungs for it's morning breakfast. Being accustomed to the lifeless woodlands of the Dorwinion realm, Jocelyn soon found the hidden exit only seen by the trained eye and as she crossed over, trained eyes were watching her. Six of them, all blazing blue, belonging to Haldir, Rumil and Orophin whom were all armed with engaged arrows upon her.

Gasping, her hues, also of blue, frantically darted beyond the trio of platinum locks in search for Bash.

"Where...where's Bash???"

Haldir, being the leading Marchwarden of Lorien and the only Silvan elf of the three that spoke Westron due to all his travels, chose to toy with the witch that he was undeniably unfond of.

"One could only presume his flesh has been ripped from his warlock bones and his soul stripped of his rotting carcass. It is usually the outcome of being left at the mercy of the devil himself."

Her brow raised as she smirked at Haldir's rather serious expression.

"And I can only presume that you are lying through your pretty white elven teeth. Any fool can see that you deeply care for Josie and you would not allow harm to come to those who have risked their lives to help her, even if those I refer to are warlocks who happen to be relatives of the notorious Lord Narcisse, who's reputation highly precedes him in not being a very liked man, but compared to Rahl, Stephane is a fucking saint. I know that you did not leave Bash and that young boy to die and I also know that as wicked as Rahl is, he would not kill his brother and son. His father yes, because the wretched warlock deserved it. Rahl was merely toying with them as you toy with me. I did not willingly leave them. I..."

"You ran for your wicked little life." Haldir scoffed.

Jocelyn bravely marched right up to the poison tipped arrows that were still held upon her and defended herself.

"I am not wicked!! And...what would you have had me do??? YOU were the ones with weapons, not me! Now where are Bash and Charles??"

"Being escorted by the others back to the castle as you now will be. You will follow me. Jo needs you. She's waiting."

Haldir swiftly departed as Rumil and Orophin held their armed stances, while Jocelyn huffed and stomped off to follow the Marchwarden.

After a few minutes, Jocelyn became annoyed at the two brothers behind her and glanced back at them with a scowl.

"Can you please give me some elbow room??" she snapped. "You know, personal space, ever heard of it??"

Ignoring her complaints, the two elves silently carried on behind her with flat expressions which only riled her up even more as she offered them another scowl.

"You know, my mother used to tell me that always having a resting bitch face could end up with it becoming stuck like that. In your case, I can see that to be true. Do you speak? Have you ever? Do you even know how??"

Still, there was not a single word from any of the three elves.

"UNbelievable!"

Jocelyn shook her head and then ran up beside Haldir.

"Am I going to have these arrows in my back the entire way? Why am I being treated like a prisoner?? I have done nothing wrong!"

"Haven't you?" Haldir snarked as he kept his eyes straight ahead.

"Ok, I can clearly tell that you do not like me which is probably because, like all the other fools, you believe the UNTRUE stories you have heard about me."

"I do not like you because you reek of deceit and you insult myself and my brothers."

"Well hello pot, meet kettle...you certainly have been no prince charming."

"I am no Prince. Personal space." Haldir snarked and sped up his large strides in which Jocelyn now angrily trotted behind him.

"Yes. I can tell. Princess may be a better term. And what do you mean deceit? I have deceived no one. If anything, "I" have been deceived here. I would much rather resume my torture at the nunnery than to be forced to return to the lion's den per se OR to be anywhere near the likes of you and your bow happy brothers!"

Haldir spun around so fast that she bounced right off of his chest and tumbled with a hard thud onto her ass.

"Is that all your witch lips do is babble? My goal is to bring you to Jo who needs your help and who I thought you cared for and who in this moment, you remind me VERY much of."

Her gaping eyes then turned to a glare. "Call off your guard dogs or you will have to carry me for I will go no further!"

Haldir thought of you again in that moment, how you had refused to get out of his way and he had picked you straight up and moved you himself. The memory had the Marchwarden chuckling inside of his mind, but on the outside, his face matched the solemn spirits of his brothers who now stood behind him as they all leered down at her.

Haldir's tone was ominous as he spoke through slitted lips. "That could be arranged."

Their piercing eyes now had the feisty brunette quite anxious.

"I dare you to try sprite. Maybe you should heed all the rumors as they say I am poisonous and I do believe elves can be poisoned. Who will help you then? It's a long walk back to the imported Mirkwood healing water. Go ahead...touch me."

The silence and the stares between the four were intensely long and then Haldir finally lifted his hand and motioned for his brothers to lower their weapons.

A smug smirk grew on Jocelyn's lips as the two elves complied. "Good boys. As if you would have shot me anyways Haldy. You need me."

"Jo needs you. I can always shoot you in the leg."

"And then you WILL have to carry me." she quipped and hopped to her feet and walked off to a tree and pulled out a knife.

The arrows swiftly rose again, this time by all three elves.

"What are you doing?!" Haldir growled as she began to cut into the tree.

"It's Spruce bark, which I would have figured a wood elf would know of. It has medicinal purposes, although I don't think it can do anything for that stick up your ass." she replied in a mordacious manner as she cut the pulp out and ate it while gazing in the exasperated elf's eyes. "Would you like to try a piece for good meas...."

Before she could finish her sentence or even blink, Haldir swiftly swiped the knife clean from her hand with an elven move completely invisible to the eye.

"It would seem there was good cause for our weapons. Bo cín té witch (On your way witch)."

Jocelyn's mouth hung open at her empty hand and then her eyes fumed at him before she stormed off. "This is bullshit!"

Haldir mumbled under his breath as the elves now followed her. "Yes it is."

An hour had went by as all walked in silence and Jocelyn's steps were slowing, for the tree bark's energy boosting properties were wearing off and the area of the forest they trekked through became all too familiar to her.

"Could I please have my knife back? I need more of the pulp. My chest is on fire, yet I am freezing and I am tiring." she asked in a defeated tone.

"How is it that you are chilled with the fur of a dead animal constricting your neck?"

"It is not real. I am not some savage like you think me to be. I am just someone who was thrown into a world I did not ask for. Now please...are you not an elf of light? If you have a heart under that tough guy act, which I think you do, for you are doing all of this for Josie, then help me before I collapse or you you really will have to carry me. I need to be stronger to help her. God..I still cannot believe she is here in Dorwinion, but it was inevitable that she would cross paths with Stephane at some point since Jul....never mind. I don't want to talk anymore. I...I feel sick."

Jocelyn sat on a fallen tree, lightly panting and then began to weep.

Haldir stopped and cut a large chunk of the bark, then removed the pulp and chopped it into bite size pieces for the ailing witch.

"Tha...thank you." she sniffled as she took it and kept her eyes to the ground as she nibbled. "Why...do you think I am deceitful?"

"The scent of secrets spill from your pores. For many years, Jo has known and believed your daughter Sarah to be simply her human neighbor and best friend in the mundane world, which included you and I now believe that to be of no coincidence, for now here you are, a witch, in middle earth's magical realm and I have since learned that lady Lola is also your daughter. You also claim you are in fear of a recently deceased Caroline and that you should not speak of Jo. Why is that? Jo has been deeply hurt by that wretched witch turned vampire for she too was full of secrets and lies as you clearly are. I will not let you hurt her too. Speak the truth or as I mentioned, I can and will force you. What is your involvement with Caroline and why is Harker after you? Something happened here. I feel it."

"Here I thought you could actually be nice. So interesting. You speak of deceit as if you have not swam in it yourself. You can sense light and darkness and force truth from others and I... I can see all of that in their eyes, the windows to the soul and yours speak loudly. Jo...you...you love her....intimately you have been when she was not yours to be with. It would also seem...yessss, that you were also intimate with her mother. Now who reeks of deceit?"

Haldir's jaw clenched and his nose flared. "Wicked you are! I have had enough of your deflection."

Jocelyn's breath was lost as her eyes were taken against their will by the unseen power in Haldir's hypnotic glare. She could not pull them free from his wild, dilated blues. She could not even blink as tears dripped down her cheeks like a leaking faucet. She could not move from the log beneath her, only tremble and whimper as the magical elf's lips began to move.

"Im orth- i fána o nin eyes. Ennas na- baw dolen hen faer tur- deli-. Im orth- i fána o nin eyes. On- nin i dolen hen faer hides." (I raise the veil from my eyes. There is no secret her soul can hide. I raise the veil from my eyes. Give me the secrets her soul hides).

Haldir raised his chin and stared down the slope of his nose at the vulnerable woman.

"Tell me about Harker. All that you know and have experienced."

The memories began to play like a movie and Haldir could see them all as they were transferred from her eyes to his while she told the story in her trance like state. It was if she were reliving it right there in the present.

I...I'm in bed. I don't feel well. I can't sleep. My stomach is cramping and my sheets are bloodied. I have become a woman on my 13th Birthday. It's the night of the summer solstice celebration, the longest night of the year and I am the only child there. My older brother Jeremy is away.

I hear violin music and my father's obnoxious laughter from the traveling carnival outside. I see people drinking and dancing around a bonfire from the window of our trailer. My gypsy mother is giving tarot readings. They're all gypsies, even my grandfather but I knew they were much more than that. He's coming in to check on me. I can smell his old spice cologne.

He's bringing me a potion for pain. It's glowing. I ask him as I always did, are you a witch? Is this magic? He's laughing. He says...

A witch doctor. It's hocus pocus my child.

He watches me drink and then, there is no more sound. The music has stopped. The laughing has stopped. I hear gasping. My mother is shouting for my grandfather.

Papa!

I'm watching once again from the window as he goes to her. She's clinging to my father while others stand near, staring at a man I have never seen. He wears black leather, his hair is light and his eyes are blue, but they hold darkness. He is not wanted here. I'm listening to my grandfather and the man speak.

Be gone warlock! Your kind does not belong here.

Oh but I do. You see, I too enjoy a good carnival. In fact, like you, I have my own traveling funfair, but I must say, it is much more...fun...than this. Maybe you have heard of it? Harker's World of Wonders?

It is a circus of freaks, all like you. You steal children and their souls.

I do not steal them. They are given to me. Just as you are going to give me yours. I smell her.

He looks at me in the window. I am so scared. I..I have peed myself.

And I see something else you're going to give me as well. Mmmm, I wish that I had Jessie's girl.

My father's name is Jessie.

I see the man ogling my mother. He runs his tongue over his teeth. My mother shouts at him.

I will give you nothing!

Jemma, Jemma, Jemma...you will, or everyone here will die in a matter of seconds. Do you want all of their blood on your hands? It's simple really. Give yourself and your daughter to me and I will let them all live.

I'm watching my mother. She is stringing her slingshot behind my grandfather's back while the warlock speaks. She lunges forward and shoots a rock clean though his hand. She screams at him.

Get out of here! Leave this camp you murdering bastard!

He's angry. He clenches his fist and blood pours out.

I warned you witch. Now be still and watch.

I'm shaking, too scared to watch...but I do. His injured hand forms the shape of a gun and real bullets spray and shatter the trailer next to me. There's an explosion and so much fire. There's so much screaming. I hear my mother's screams. I cover my ears and scream too.

Many are dead in seconds like he said. I see my mother and grandfather. They're alive, but I do not see my father. Now I see him. He's running to me! I hear him shout for me. Joss!!!

I'm screaming and banging on the window. Daddy no!! Get down!!

I hear more bullets firing and I watch him fall. My mother and grandfather watch him fall. I..I can't breathe. I can't move. I hear my mother screaming again. I see her running to him, crying out his name. Jessie!!!

She falls onto him, pleading for him to wake up... but he doesn't.

I run from the trailer in my nightgown to go to my dad and the evil man grabs me. My mother panics and begs him to let me go.

Your father will be next. DO you give yourself and the child to me???!!

Just take me! Leave my child with her grandfather.

NO Momma!!! I cry and try to free myself, but he is too strong.

Two for the price of one is the deal...or DIE!

My grandfather curses him. The man laughs and twirls his finger. My grandfather begins to bleed from his eyes.

Your magic does not work on me old fool Zeddicus!!

My mother pleads for him to stop. She agrees to his deal.

You can have us!!! Please stop!!

We ride off with the warlock on his black horse and never see my grandfather again for many years."

Haldir's heart slightly palpitated when she finished, for it saddened him deeply what had happened to her and family, but he knew he had to make her continue, for there was much more he needed to know.

"Tell me all that transpired after."

Jocelyn's flooded eyes fluttered but remained locked in the Marchwarden's as she resumed her terrifying tale.

"I'm waking up. I don't know where I am. I don't see my mother, only other children, lots of them, boys and girls, all of different ages and skin color. They're scared. Some are crying. I'm looking around. I think I'm in a stable? I'm not sure. The walls are wooden. It smells. The floor is dirt. I see daylight creeping through the cracks in the walls.

An older woman speaks to me. She's dressed like a servant.

Come child. We must clean you up and then you will sit quietly with the others until it is time for your bread and water.

I tell her my name and ask her what hers is. She says names do not matter here. I am a number and to do as I'm told.

She bathes me in a stall. The water is dirty and cold. She makes me wear a large cloth for my undergarment, pinned like a diaper. She's brushing my tangled hair. It hurts. She's not gentle like my mother. I hear noise outside. When the woman tends to another child, I sneak to the wall and peek through a small hole. I see lots of me. I think they are guards and I see strange looking people, carnies I suppose, some with physical ailments, almost animal like, dressed for circus acts. I see Harker's trailer. His name is on it. He's coming out with my mother! She's crying, her hair is a mess, her clothes are torn and he is smiling and groping her. I yell to her.

Momma!!

A clammy hand covers my mouth and I'm pulled away from the wall. It's the servant.

Hush child!! Do not draw attention to yourself. You are to be seen and not heard or you will moved up the waiting line.

Wh...what is that?? I ask her.

To be taken to the witch in the woods and you will never return.

But..but I want to see my mother!

You cannot. Ever. She belongs to the master now as do we all. Now go sit down. It is time to eat. You must stay in reasonable shape for when your time comes. If you are rejected, you will suffer dearly.

I'm shaking and crying. I can't stop. Night falls and I hear the most frightening sounds outside. Screaming, moaning, laughing. I cry myself to sleep. Every day is the same. Every night is the same. Every 3 days, I watch children from different groups, nine of them, leave at dusk in a wooden cage on wheels with iron bars. They are replaced with new ones by Harker over the 3 days after and the cycle repeats. He does the work. His men make the delivery.

We travel to new places each week. Places I do not recognize. I don't think I am near home anymore. I scratch marks into the walls each night with a rock to keep track of the days. When we move, I count the marks and memorize the number and then start all over again.

352 days have went by and I am 14 now. It is the summer solstice again. I think I am the oldest of all the children. I am lucky I have not been chosen yet but I wish I would be so I could see the sky and breathe the air again, even if it was for the last time. I regret my thoughts. Dusk is settling in and the wagon is being prepared. Harker comes for me and two others from my group. We're all screaming and crying as we are dragged to our wooden chariot. I...I hear my mother!!! She's still alive!! She's shouting my name and running to me.

NO!!! Please!!! Not her!!

Harker strikes her. She falls to the ground. Her lip is bleeding. He orders the guards to take her away. They carry her off, barely conscious as she reaches for me. I am picked up and violently thrown into the wagon. The children are huddling in the back while I sit alone at the door being gawked at by the two guards who follow.

The journey is long and hot. We are traveling on winding narrow paths near a raging ocean. One of the children had lived in the area. Thomas is his name. His eyes are chocolate like his skin. He calls the inland sea a black sea of death. It eats the living and the dead. On the North-West side is the Dorwinion realm, a land of Warlocks and humans. He says the King is of both light and darkness. Some say he has an evil twin but the boy is not sure. He then tells me that one of the witch Queen's castles dwells on the cliffs of the South-Eastern side and that her King is a King of Goblins who dwells in the Misty mountains far away to the North-West and he also says Harker is his brother. They are both evil but not nearly as their mother, a winter witch.

He looks to the North and reveals that a very powerful Elvenking of light reigns there over the vast woodland realm of Mirkwood. He points to a very hard to see island in the North-East, Devil's Island he quietly calls it, and claims it is an isle of vicious vampires with it's own King, for the true ruler of them all and the most ruthless, reigns in the central Misty mountains. Aren't all vampires? I ask him. He says only if their heart is vicious. His finger sways to the South-East and says a younger more modern vampire, a notorious recluse, lives at the top of the mountain and leads a smaller clan. It is rumored that his mind and heart are at war over humans and that is why he hides in the shadows until he must feed. The boy ends his navigational story of the monsters that circle us by telling me that somewhere, deep in the dark forest, unseen to the eye, there's a hidden realm called the Wander Woods, ruled by a twisted Faerie Queen. I want to laugh because all these things are not supposed to be real, but I cant I cry instead because I know after meeting Harker that they are very real and that I'm about to die. I'm not in Kansas anymore and no wizard will save me. This is another fairy tale. The dark one of Hansel and Gretel.

I see the castle. It almost touches the full moon from high upon the cliff. The wagon stops at the gates. All nine of us are clutching each other and screaming. The guards are poking us with poles and tell us to remain silent. Our breaths must be preserved. We are chained in a single file and led inside. I am first.

Myself and the two behind me are unchained. Thomas is one of them. Servants scurry up to us and drag us off. They mock us as we are primped and polished. They tell us the Queen will not eat what is ugly. I'm staring out the window into the brightly moonlit ocean. There's a giant vessel. Oh my god!! They're throwing the lifeless bodies of children overboard! I pee myself again. Luckily it buys me time but it shortens Thomas's and the other child's. They take them first as I am roughly and speedily cleaned up.

They take me up to the top of the sky scraping tower. The room is prodigious and round, lit by a fire pit in the center. A woman of golden hair, pinned up under a brass crown, stands at a mirror. Her back is to me. She is weeping. There's a man of short ivory hair at her side, holding her up and comforting her.

Time is running out brother. Where is the third child!!??

A grandfather clock echoes two chimes. It is 11:30.

She is here now sister.

The woman turns and stares at us. Her blue eyes are young but evil and her skin is aging. She wears an abundance of jewelry. Upon the ring and pinky finger of her left hand are a metal claws.

I accidentally gasp and she glares at me with a wicked smile. Her voice is soft but it makes my skin crawl. She tells me I will be saved for last since I am the heaviest. I don't understand.

She approaches Thomas. He's small, maybe 10 years old and stands only to my shoulders. I squeeze his hand as she squeezes his face in to a pucker. She tells him he has beautiful skin and likes how it shimmers of youth in the light. Her smile and her gaze turns dark.

Thomas's hand slips from mine as he is lifted by his face up to her face. His feet are kicking as he helplessly dangles in the air. I...I can't breathe. I can't watch. I squish my eyes shut as I hear a sucking noise and then a thud. My eyes pop open and Thomas lies still at her feet. His skin is all shriveled. A servant drags him away and the other child is brought forward by her face. It happens again. I still do no do not watch. I feel her approach me and then she speaks to me.

Open your eyes child. I must see all of you, closely. Every detail. You must be of perfection.

I can't stop myself from opening them. She looks different. Her skin is healing. She is stronger. Now I understand why I am last. Now I understand it all. She is eating our souls to feed and preserve her youth and power.

Ahhh yes. You will do just fine fair one.

She grabs me under my chin and lifts me from the ground. I feel paralyzed. I can't even kick my legs. Her grip is so tight, I am choking and it forces my mouth open. Her mouth opens, unrealistically wide and she begins to suck my soul into her body. I feel my skin tightening. I'm slowly imploding as the air in my lungs is sucked dry. Something else is happening. Something that is not supposed to. I see it in her widened eyes as he hand loosens it's grip. I feel my skin reforming and my breath returning. I see my soul's essence flow from her mouth, back into mine. It has a fiery color swirling in it that it didn't have before. It burns my chest and then becomes cool and tingly. She gasps for air and drops me.

She stumbles back into her brother's awaiting arms and her eyes are gaping mad as she watches me slowly sit up.

Ravenna, my sister, what is it??!! her befuddled brother asks as he too gapes at me.

Help me up Finn. Now!

She's assisted to her feet and she grabs a fistful of my hair as she screams at me.

How OLD are you!!!!!???

Again, I do not understand.

I...I...I am...f..ff...fourteen.

This cannot be! She merely looks 12!" the brother proclaims. "Harker would never send anyone over 13!

She glances at the clock. It is 5 minutes till midnight.

Give me one of the other children! Quickly!

A servant rushes off and comes back with a girl who looks no more than 8. Ravenna finishes her ritual with only seconds to spare. The clock then chimes twelve times as her youthful image is restored.

Ravenna is telling Harker's guards to have Harker return with her next shipment to answer for his mistake and send an extra child to replace me. They are not pleased. She is now ordering Finn to throw me in the sea with the other bodies, but he stops the guards and argues with her.

Sister. I cannot. You must send her back. She survived which means she still belongs to Harker. Not only will it now be considered taking from a warlock, but it is a rule of the spell Jadis has placed. You must never rid of a survivor. It is an omen. There will be consequences, for the girl has consumed some of your magic.

Damn that jealous woman!! It is the only reason she has done this to me!

Sister...I believe bedding the King Jasper was the cause. Look what she allowed Jareth to do to him and his men. You should consider yourself fortunate that Jareth wanted you alive.

Fortunate brother?!!! I had to pay this price to live!! Enough. Today is your lucky day little girl but do not think I will ever forget this, nor forgive it. With that said, you will remain here until Harker arrives to answer for this!!

Harker's men are angry as Finn is dragging me off. I am happy to have escaped death but I do not know what will happen to me now. I feel so desperate."

Jocelyn stopped and Haldir thought for a moment as her eyes remained a prisoner of his. Her story only darkened with the more she revealed and he knew she would remember all of this when he freed her of his mind manipulation and may be traumatized from it, but still...there was so much more he must extract from her memories, for even the simplest of information could be highly useful at some point and...she had all the answers to your questions of the past regarding Sarah and now even Lola and Narcisse were involved. They both were too close to you and Leeanduil, so it had to be done. He had come this far. There was no turning back now.

Haldir's dilated pupils pulsed as the thin ring of blue around them glowed like an eclipse.

He then spoke one word.

"Continue."

More tears rushed upon her flushed cheeks from her immobilized eyes as she obeyed his command.

"I am being locked in a dungeon, only it is not underground. It is in a tower. The door is grated iron. There is only one small window with no glass. It is so hot. There is no bed. I'm so tired. I fall instantly asleep on the filthy floor. My face is burning. I open my eyes and the sun is shining on me. It is morning. I am searching the room for something, anything to help me escape but there is nothing. I feel like I am suffocating. I need air.

I am climbing up to the window. If I could fit through, it would not matter. It has two iron bars in it and there is nowhere to go but hundreds of feet down to my death. It is all a rubble of rocks on the ocean's edge. I see something. What is...that?? It is a large loose iron nail. I...I think I can reach it. I am stretching my arm through the window. I...I've got it! But it's hard to pull and it's hot from the sun I assume. I'm pulling and pulling. It finally comes out. I am looking it over, thinking of what I can do with it. Maybe I can pick the l...oh god! Someone is coming!

I see Finn approaching with food. I'm hiding the nail behind my back as he comes in. Now I realize what I can do with it, but am I brave enough to try?? If I am caught, what will happen to me? I don't care. I have to get away. I don't like how he is looking at my breasts. It is now or never.

He is walking up to me. He touches my bare chest and licks his lips. I am shaking and becoming very angry. The nail is still hot. I cannot hold it anymore. I am clenching it tight and I...I swing the pointed edge at his face. It slices his cheek from his eye to his jaw. He is screaming and I am running out the door he left open. I don't know where I am going. I just keep running. I see an opening with light but when I get there, it is only a drop off to the ground.

I turn and run the other way. I hear Finn's voice and other guards nearby. Corner after corner. I keep going, looking for stairs. I find some and rush down them but now I...I am lost and even more desperate. I see a courtyard and more light coming from a small opening with water on the ground outside of it, but there are guards everywhere. They see me and begin shouting and chasing me and now I have no choice but to run to the hole. One of them almost catches me. I dive into the opening and I am now sliding right into a flooded drainage tunnel. I'm soaked and wading my way through it to the light. I crawl over the edge and I am now on the side of the cliff with nothing but the raging ocean below. They're coming through the water. I have no choice but to jump. I close my eyes tightly shut and force my feet forward. I'm falling. I plunge into the black sea of death. I think my heart has stopped beating.

I'm fighting the current, trying to swim up for air. It's pulling me in the opposite direction. I am going to drown. I can see the light above me. Is it the light we see when we die?

A strong surge pushes me up and I surface, gasping for breath. There are rocks. I cling to them while my lungs fill back up with air. I look up and see a pathway around the cliff.

I'm running again. There are horses tied to a post. I see guards in the distance relieving themselves. I sneak up and untie one of the horses. I have never ridden a horse. I am climbing on and horns begin blowing. The guards see me and begin racing towards me. The horse is startled and he gallops off. I don't know how to control him. He is heading towards the forest that I see in the far distance so I just hold on tight and pray.

I am nearing the forest and the horse stops so fast that I fall off. I see the guards coming. Lots of them. I try to climb back up but the horse moves to the side and shakes his head. He won't let me. Something is frightening him. I pull his reigns to get him to follow me into the forest but he lunges up on his back legs and neighs loudly, then runs off. I turn and run into the forest. I soon find out what the horse was scared of. I am in Ravenna's dark forest.

All the trees are dead. The air is murky and stinks. There's barely any light. I begin to run again when I hear the sound of something screeching. I fall and a mist of sparkles spray into my eyes. It's poison. I'm hallucinating. I keep going, stumbling, trying not to pass out. I fall into a stream and crawl through the mud to get out and now I'm laying on dead birds. There are figures in black cloaks, all watching me. Black beetles are crawling everywhere. Tar is seeping from the trees and dead plants. I am swarmed by bats. Is...is that a dragon or a...a gargoyle in the tree?? It flies down and strikes me with it's wings. Everything goes black.

I'm waking up. I don't know how long I have been here. I realize it has not been long because I hear the voices of guards. I run off to hide under a pile of brush. One of them walks by. I can see through the branches. It is one of Harker's men. I don't know which is worse, him or Ravenna's men.

I stay silent until I cannot see him anymore but he already knew I was there. He drags me out. I cannot free myself from his firm grip on my arm. Finn and three of his armed men come. The gash on his face is gone. I try to run but Harker's man pulls me close to him. Finn extends his hand to me and tells me to come.

I beg the warlock. No. NO! Please don't give me to him!

He holds his weapon out at Finn. Back away. The girl comes with me.

The Queen says otherwise. She has given you your orders warlock.

I do not answer to her. I have my orders. Any rejections go back to Harker. She still belongs to him. You said so yourself.

And she will. After the Queen speaks with him.

4 more of Harker's men show up. One speaks for all.

That is not how the arrangement goes. Your sister knows it. She has no authority to alter the rules. The girl survived. She will rightfully come with us. The Queen cannot be trusted not to harm her. Do you wish to jeopardize your sister's means of receiving what she needs? I know YOU are certainly not going to provide for her on a daily basis. You're merely a man, unlike Harker, and can only travel so far with limited time and resources, that being of the slim to no children in the area. Choose as you will, but we are taking her, with or without a fight.

Finn scowls at us and leaves with his men. I feel better with the outcome but I still fear for my life.

The warlock guards take me straight back to Harker. It is late in the day and they are on edge. I sense they fear his reaction for returning me. They are right to fear him. A wolf like growl escapes through his clenched teeth. His fingertips grow claws of bloody daggers.

I fearfully fall to my knees at his feet as the men push me towards him. They explain all that happened and he orders them to bring him my mother. They drag her down the hall of his trailer and force her to her knees beside me. We cling to each other, shaking and crying. He demands answers from my mother. He is pacing and snarling like a dog between his sentences.

You have been here one year. You know the routine, yet you fail to inform me of your spawn's age!

I...I...did not know it mattered my Master. I swear it!

If it did not matter, then I would give YOU to her!! You see ALL of the children here! Not a one, or so I believed, is over 13 years of age. It is forbidden! My brother is her King and he, along with the Queen will now believe I attempted to kill her! My camps could be raided by his armies of orcs, goblins and wendigos and if that happens, I will feed you and your offspring to them! You better say your little prayers that I can make Ravenna understand and that she was not harmed, for she is far more unforgiving than myself and my brother combined.

He is grabbing her by her hair and pulling her to her feet. Something is happening inside of me. A rage that I have never felt. My eyes uncontrollably dart to a shiny object on his desk as if I knew it was there and knew what it would do. It is a small silver dagger. I run to it. I take it and I spin around, slicing his hand that clenches her hair. He releases her and backs away. An indescribable scream, almost deafening, spews from his mouth with a visible steam like a piping hot tea kettle.

I am reprimanded by his men and the blade is taken. I'm ordered to be locked up in iron chains. I don't see Harker for 2 days. I am in a small cave chained by my ankle to a rock wall. My skin is burning under the shackle and I feel weak. I'm having horrifying dreams of Ravenna. I feel myself changing, internally and physically. I am remembering Finn's words, that I consumed some of her magic."

@redeemer46

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fëanorian Week - Ambarussa

It's twin time :) Less sad this time (I hope)

Words: 510

Characters: Amras & Amrod

Prompts: Childhood, Lordship, Regrets, Twin, Hunting

Warnings: Death of an animal, loss of identity, existential fear

Like two shadows cast by a slanted sunbeam hitting a gnarly tree, the twins slid noiselessly closer, arrows notched and eyes narrowed.

They had always delighted in hunting, but their puerile pleasure had since been marred lastingly by the understanding of the true cost of death.

Without having to exchange a single look, let alone a spoken word, they moved in perfect synchronicity as they prepared to bring down their family’s dinner.

It was vital to their pride and identity to contribute to the survival of their rapidly dwindling brotherhood as best they could—too long had they been coddled and excluded on the grounds of their respective youth and irrefutable position on the bottom rung of the familial hierarchy.

Giving a piercing cry of agony, the deer—once a proud guardian of the dark forest—fell to the mossy ground before laying still, its eyes as sightless and dull as discarded gems.

They had triumphed, but their victory tasted bitter, befouled by necessity and dire need as it was.

Already, they could feel the impatience of their elders thrumming in their own veins—they had to move on, ever driven by the siren call of their father’s accursed stones, and there was neither time nor room for leisure or rest.

As they bent over the cadaver to cut away what they wouldn’t need or couldn’t transport, their hands moved with ruthless efficiency while their hearts, beating as one, mourned the unceremonious demise of so proud a beast.

In a world of waxy greens and muddy browns, the narrow bands fastened around their wrists flashed like exotic blossoms, a single dash of muted colour amidst the monochrome of the woods.

Once, the woven bracelets had been positively gleaming, but they had bled out most of their dye over the years, thus becoming a horribly apt representation of the change the twins’ very souls had undergone.

Carnistir, in a slightly insulting jest, had bestowed this simple but invaluable gift upon them to keep them apart.

Back in the days of wild frolicking and courtly appearances, it had been important to keep track of Fëanor’s children, and the two youngest sons had played their part with as much dutiful gravitas as they could muster in between hunts and escapades.

How heedless and callous they’d been, disregarding their caring mother’s pleas and their father’s remonstrances cavalierly to follow their wayward brother into the forest instead of humouring their grandfather or listening to his wise council.

Now, they were no longer sure whether anyone cared which one of them had been born first as long as nobody had to learn which one was to die before the other.

Slinging their packs, dripping with blood and heavy with their gruesome prize, across their broad backs, they padded off as silently as they’d come.

To their brothers and the world, they were one, and they couldn’t even regret having lost their own separate identities if this conflation meant that they’d never truly be alone.

Pityo and Telvo were no more—only Ambarussa, burned and bitter, remained.

-> Masterlist

@feanorianweek, here is the second to last submission!

[curiousb]

The Darcy Family Album: Volume VII

It's Lucas and Eliza's big day!

The guests gamely brave the cold in their finery. (It was supposed to be a spring wedding, but I goofed up my timing and it's actually the last day of winter.)

It's a lovely ceremony nonetheless, amidst falling petals (where did those come from?), snowflakes and a photobombing Fitzwilliam.

Mmm, good cake!

Lucas's sister and Eliza's childhood friend, Georgiana, reflects on how grown up they all are now - getting married, having children!

Sims just love toasting, don't they?

Oops, what a dreadful faux pas - choosing the same outfit for your brother's wedding as his friend! Just look the other way and pretend you haven't noticed...

The ambitious pair only have time for a brief honeymoon, before getting on with the business of life.

A touching moment, out in the softly falling snow (her feet must be like ice!)...

before Eliza experiences a bathroom emergency.

And gets berated by her new father-in-law for befouling his spotless lavatory.

Oh well, better out than in, I suppose.

At least everyone's favourite kitty, Sushi, is there to offer some consolation.

[nerendus]

📌 Marika and Godwyn grief and mourning

Thank you! Fic can also be read here.

Black ichor flows from the corner of his pale eyelids and saturates the embroidered nightgown barely clinging to the frame of his mother. A foreign fragrance emits from the body—not the hasty decay of flesh found on the battlefield, but a pleasant scent. The scent that often lingers on the clothes of her youngest set of children after they have spent the day collecting altus blooms and river water to create ‘potions’ for their attendants whenever they do not receive an acceptable answer. The scent of funeral processions before the Erdtree. 

Hurried footsteps reach the threshold of Godwyn’s bedchamber and abruptly stop right before they could walk in. A man coughs, “Your…Your Majesty, by funerary standards, the divine must not interfere with the deceased. Death sullies even the holiest of the blessed. Please, allow your handmaiden to tend to…to his corpse. There is nothing within her to be befouled.”

Atop the golden rotundas, stewards frantically ring the bells to awaken the people of Leyndell. Her son’s chamber is silent, but within hours, she will be amongst the crowd of noblemen and beggars alike sobbing as one large group of mourners—to reassure their faith, calm them down, return her city to the peace and quiet they’ve had for years. Her son lays dead in her arms, and she is the one to pass comfort to the people like a street vendor that sells his wares for next to nothing.

With a black-stained hand, Marika brushes the golden strands of hair out of her son’s face as she speaks, “I have stood upon fields of death where the snow is thick with blood. I have walked through those swamps of mould to carry back the remains of young soldiers to their grieving compatriots that will not accept their passing. Have I not returned to our Holy City unharmed? Am I less pure for holding the body of a demigod when I have remained unsullied by those of lesser blood?”

The man stammers, “Your Majesty, what is it that you…?”

She waves a hand in the air. “Send the high priest if you feel inclined to separate a mother from her son. Otherwise, tell him to pray with our subjects.” Her hand collapses to Godwyn’s chest when the shadow in the threshold disappears. His body still holds warmth—the last stretch of divinity burning his blood with being faced with the impossible.

Treachery hangs heavy in the air  like the suffocating swamp below Liurnia, but she will not speak of the hatred that remains—of the women who once shared her own blood, of the cruel marking they left scorched into his flesh. The Greater Will taught her that death for a queen is a tool. As she carried the burned body of a young soldier to his friends, she did it for them to finally accept his death and return to the battlefield with a clear mind.

But she holds not the body of a young farmer that dreamed of becoming a fighter, she’s holding her son. The boy who spent his youth creating crude weapons out of sticks and stones and holding mock battles with his parents that always let him win. There is no fight in her left. The Carians can cannibalise themselves with the discourse of their alliances to both the Sellian and Leyndellian settlements for all she cares. Her other half is guaranteed to ruin all progress they’ve made in settling disagreements. All that she has fought for no longer matters.

Even as he grew to bear an imposing figure like his father, his mother was never unable to carry his weight. As she takes his head into her arms, all the weight and years of training disappears. She rocks the body of an infant back and forth with the hum of a song she never knew the lyrics to. He does not take up a strand of her hair and bite down like he used to, for he is deep in slumber. The sounds of crying in the corridor are of maidens overjoyed with the news of the firstborn’s birth.

Marika kisses the brow of her son as she cradles him one last time.

Accepting requests, here.

[minti-tales]

16) accidental i love you’s during sex

This is not sprout safe! Contains Endwalker spoilers.

CW: Language, intercourse.

"I don't like 'I love you.' It's not real when people say it, you know? It's not truthful. It's just something to say.

People don't love each other. They have urges, and other people to have those urges filled. It's a fault of being as advanced as we are, as a species.

Don't say you love me."

For the life of me, I cannot remember what you looked like, or sounded. I know your name, Petra. I also remember the way your body felt, when we were together. 'Twas that lonely summer before the walls fell, wasn't it, when the savages were threatening to pour into our perfect paradise and befoul everything we'd worked towards.

This was before the Emperor's words filled our comrades' ears on the radios, before they turned upon us, his loyal servants and soldiers. Yes, when cars ran up and down the streets of our beloved Garlemald, when the refinery belched smoke into the cold air.

When the trains ran on time.

When you could buy a coffee, and watch your neighbor's children swing on the swing-sets, laugh at their silly games and dream of the day they'd stand at the Emperor's side.

When people with urges, as you said so stiffly, coupled together to bear the next generation of our nation.

We were guards outside of the train station, the one near the encampment now called Broken Glass. I kept my blonde hair clean and washed, my uniform polished, my boots shining. You liked the young man's cologne I wore whenever you were on duty with me. You said it made you feel as but a maiden, even though you were as old as me, if not older.

I fancied that feeling.

I shouldn't have pushed you the way I did, asking about your father, stationed off in Thanalan, wondering when I'd be sitting by his side, talking about our future together. But you didn't seem to mind. An old wolf is still a wolf, Gregor, you reminded me one freezing cold evening. It's more than capable of siring.

Did you enjoy undressing me in the storage room, by the electrics that'd been turned off to save power?

Did you like the way my cock fit inside your behind, your soft, delicious, accommodating ass?

Why did you let me say those words you hated so much? "I love you"?

You couldn't look me in the eyes, the first time we finished. At least you had the decency to do so in the times afterwards. Oh yes, there were other times. You liked tugging on my grey beard, and using your fingers to guide me into the places you wanted to be fucked most. I fucked you like the savages would, just the way you enjoyed.

I did my part. Why you didn't do yours?

But there's little reason to have such mind games, in the days when our friends have gone mad, and the savages use our broken streets for hunts and "sport."

You are gone, and I am still here.

I hope, I pray, that the savages made your death swift and painless.

I love you.

[artemisia-black]

What do you think Walburga would think of Veela? If they married into a pureblood family, would she consider the offspring to be pureblood or no? I’m thinking of purebloods with Veela blood the same level of Fleur or Victoire.

I think she's prejudiced against anyone who isn't a pureblood wizard/witch. Although I think of her portrait as a caricature of her, I do believe it shouts the views that she perhaps wouldn't have screamed in real life:

“Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half- breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers — ”

The half-breed line makes me think she wouldn't look kindly on part Veelas.

[devil-doll13]

Graves of The Father

Tw: Angst, Horror, Death, Blood/Slight Gore, Implied Neglect/Abuse kinda?, Descriptions Of Corpses/Body Horrorish, like it gets a wee bit disgusting, Mentions of Birth, Religious Themes

Proceed With Caution!

I’m rather proud of this one, actually. It’s the most horror oriented fic i’ve made for Abigail yet. Some backstory/lore in here. A bit Lovecraftian but only a little. I’m still experimenting here lol.

Horror/Slasher Oc Writing For Abigail Williams

Basically a songfic, lyrics are in italics

Summary: Abigail & Her Father.

Dividers by firefly-dividers

Art by Takato Yamamoto

Sextons of the churchyard

Have seen unblessed things;

Ground no longer hallowed

Has sprouted new graves

Lucina Williams was found dead at 6:27, on a frosty November morning, in Salem, Massachusetts, in an old, weathered cemetery. She lay in the befouled hollow of an aged grave, her glassy eyes rolled back, convulsing in agony. And yet her face was twisted in an unnerving smile, disturbingly serene. She had died in a state of euphoric bliss. Happiness so unnatural, so completely grotesque, that her face had to be covered up in pictures; for the elderly gravekeeper’s state of mind. He had seen many awful things in his lifetime, but none so horrifying as this.

Lucy was buried in that very same churchyard. Her lonely grave untended to, unloved. No mourners or flowers were ever present, for she was disowned for some despicable deed the family would not speak of. Only that they were certain, absolutely so, that she had been taken in by the Devil; Lucy was pure evil.

The child she had given birth to, a pale, frightful specimen, was later christened Abigail. Her conception profane, her birth unnatural, her existence forbidden. A daughter of the grave, a creature born outside of God’s holy light. The wretched girl began her unfortunate life in shame. In the ever looming shadow of her mother’s sins, unable to redeem herself. A blight unto all; the final curse of a dying witch.

(The art of veneficium, Lucy learned from Him.)

Blasphemy made flesh. Ungodly freak, dark defiler. She poisons the family tree. The cuckoo in the nest. The snake in the grass. The fatal tumour.

The holy Father, not her Father, condemns her to eternal damnation, for rotten children do not deserve heaven. To plead for salvation is hopeless; there is no God who could give her purity back.

She simply should not exist.

(All of this, she has been told.)

Her family are repulsed by her, instinctively, but compelled by unknown forces to shelter her. They die one by one, at her unwilling command.

… But as a young girl she lives in merciful innocence. She knows not what she does, lost in her world of make believe. Strange yet wondrous creatures speak to her in the darkened night, as she dreams of flying amongst the glittering stars. Waving silver wands, casting magic spells. Dancing with dryads under the pale moonlight, enchanted by faeries; elven beings only she can see.

For if anyone were to turn their uncursed eye upon such abominations, madness would destroy them.

(Her older cousins, aged seven and eight, refused to speak of the incident. They refused to speak at all. Until death.)

Descendants of a clan

That usurped maternity

Hear whispers in their blood;

This summons of their fathers.

In a loveless home, she yearns for love, as all God’s children do. But cold hearts yield only emptiness, and hateful whispers spur her on to look elsewhere.

The graveyard beckons, begs her to draw closer. An almost desperate compulsion. Homesickness. As she walks amongst decaying tombstones, she hears ghostly whispers call out, and feels wraithlike fingers comb through her hair. A spectral voice cries out for sweet nourishment; she offers it her milk to pacify.

There, in the dark recesses of the churchyard’s ancient yew tree, she begs for comfort. She lies coiled as foul, egg despoiling serpent.

(As in the garden of Eden, she is the great deceiver.)

Inside she feels the thrum of an old God’s heartbeat. It exactly mirrors her own; an inherited resonance.

So powerful is this connection, she sees in her mind’s eye the unearthly form of the Father. The yew tree His outstretched hand, their gnarled, malformed branches His fingers, toxic sap His blood, unending roots His veins from which His dark ichor pulsates.

Her fingers trace the ancient bark, recounting primordial treelore. Her blood stirs with eldritch knowledge. Visions echo from another world far back behind her eyelids and inside her mind, as the Father summons her from deep below.

(Far from God’s condemning eye.)

“Forgive me Father

For I know not what I do;

My grave beckons

As irresistible as drawing breath.”

In the old yew she sleeps and dreams of His majesty. The Underworld, home of the blessed dead. Outside of this mundane plane of existence, his shadowy domain. It is a labyrinth of catacombs, endless and unfathomable. It eternally devours itself, serpentine; the cycle of life and death unfolding. Forever.

She peers into the gaping maw of Hades, in which the Great Gravekeeper resides. He sits upon a throne of misshapen yew, a monstrosity of wood and decayed flesh, and He is wreathed in bloodsoaked thorns and cloaked in an abyssal shroud. Atop His massive head rests His magnificent Crown of Horns.

The spirits of the departed kneel before Him in worshipful devotion, their servile offerings reek foul miasma. They chant in feverish orations, invoking His accursed epithet:

(Father of The Graves. None So Vile.)

His true name is unspeakable in human tongue, yet it throbs deeply in her soul, as familiar as her own.

His countless reptilian eyes turn to watch her in curious amusement. Her body shivers, an instinctive fear. The Father observes His daughter, and in recognition, He reaches out an ashy, skeletal hand for her to grasp. It is kindly, almost gentle. Loving.

… But every time she awakes in tormented screams. Her mortal brain is seized by otherworldly forces. Inside her witchblood boils with poison. She feels unbearably empty. The hollowness is agonising; she does not belong here. But there, by her Father’s side.

(And yet, she serves a purpose here, for He would not create without reason. Between life and death, she acts as His median emissary.)

Nature abhors a vacuum

The same is true to a tomb…

A vacant grave must be filled,

For this the Father’s will.

On Hallowe’en, she prepares for the welcoming feast.

The chosen victim lies screaming on the altar, gutted in ritual sacrifice. Arterial blood fills the chalice, spilling onto her conjuring sigil. A sickly green cloud of smoke emanates from within; The Dark Ones are appeased. She murmurs incantations, praying in an eldritch language. Her Father’s tongue.

Another shrill shriek of pain fills the air as she continues the disembowelment. Unflinching, she rips through soft flesh; carving out her choicest cuts. They cry and beg her to stop, to please god stop and oh god please stop like a bleating, pathetic lamb.

(“Be quiet.” She hisses. She must have silence.)

Candles flicker, wavering in the late October wind. Thunder cracks the livid sky, wild forks of lightning split across a hellish landscape of her own design. Acid rain floods a barren wasteland, corrupting the once fertile soil and disintegrating crops to dust. There is no escape. Under His reign, all will wither.

A gaping chest wound as she extracts the heart, relishing in the final cry of a slaughtered pig. For a moment she holds it, admiring the coveted organ. Dark, warm rivulets of blood flow across her palms and through her fingers. Pure and untainted. So unlike her own.

The first time she has killed with her own hands.

(It felt good to be cruel. To eat her guilt and shame.)

She turns back to her altar, prepares the sacrament:

A black box, dripping vile fluids; her phylactery. Her shadowed grimoire, bound in dark, hard leather. Nightshade, hemlock, aconite. An hourglass of ash, pilfered from a funeral urn. An assortment of bones, human and animal. Her ritual sickle, seeped in gore and entwined in snakeskin. Objects of witchcraft.

Now joined by the heart, lungs, stomach, the entrails, the severed head and the tormented soul. All them are hers now. Her cabalistic hoard. Madness overtakes her then. It spikes in her brain like fever. She grasps the overflowing cup of blood with one pale, bony hand. And, with a decadent sigh, tips it into her open mouth. It trickles slowly into her throat. She swallows it. It tastes like copper, like iron, like death; a flavour gone sweetly rancid.

(She is without mercy. Without compassion. The Father’s will is absolute. She will sow the bitter seeds of His funeral empire and be rewarded in death.)

Sired in blasphemy

In nocturnal obeisance to rotted hearts

Filled with necrolatry

Reverse the life cycle, be reborn through death

Now the time has come. She must reap her harvest.

Autumn’s frost bites her face. A deathly chill pierces her bones, but she does not shiver. She is serene, so oddly calm in her unraveling mind. Twisted, maligned branches of the old yew tree find her again and guide her to the cobwebbed graveyard.

Under the midnight sky, the tombstones appear as a sea of desolate grey waves, blanketed in fog like a funeral shroud. In that misty gloom, she walks amidst weeping spirits. They reach out with icy phantom limbs, offering up sepulchral hymns to their unholy lich mistress, they plead for their salvation; to be granted life once again.

(For the first time she will answer their prayers.)

Tonight, she will pervert life’s sacred order. Tonight, she will defy the righteous fury of God. Tonight, the Father’s will is to be carried out, as the once dead shall be reborn from the womb of the earth and usurp the living. By His will. By her will.

A moment of silence as she contemplates the vastness of her actions now, the end result of a perfect tantrum. She remembers all the faces turned away, all that would sneer at her demise. All of the fear, disgust and hatred, eyes seething and spiteful. Their eyes. Her eyes.

Blackened slivers of ichor drip from her sickle. Her own blood, her venom. So impure, so violently cancerous. It taints the consecrated land below. Theirs. Hers.

(Its blade reflects the moonlight, pale and haunting.)

And so from her lips spills a forbidden spell. Her cursed blood is absorbed into putrid grass, where it slowly coagulates into an obsidian snake. It slithers downward, downward, downward, into the many awaiting, hungry mouths of a thousand corpses.

From below an eerie moan. Singular, then multiplied. A foul odour wafts through the air as the tombs unseal, dark fog swirling in a shadowy haze. The Underworld exhale, from the filth they emerge:

Undead victims of plague, riddled with disease, lift their filthy, maggot-infested bodies from the infected earth. A writhing mass of baleful poxflesh, leaking yellowed pus and choked with vomit. Frenzied, murderous abominations scream in rage and bloodlust, tearing apart coffin lid and shattering tombstone to dust. Withered and shambling corpses groan in despair, ravenous victims of starvation. Their mortal hunger torments them still. They salivate and froth desperately at the mouth, crying in their desire to consume flesh and suck marrow from bone; to devour utterly. The drowned are bloated, soaked in embalming fluids. Their skin is cold and their lips are blue. They are still. Lifeless, glassy eyes stare up at the evil moon. Frozen. Possessed.

(Pestilence. War. Famine. Death.)

Observing her resurrected horde, she is filled with an intense feeling of power. It is intoxicating, so alluring. She reaches up an outstretched hand, as the malevolent puppet master, and they are forced to dance for her on invisible strings. Her magic binds their souls in eternal undying servitude. Pawns of her twisted vision, ensnared in her web, bewitched by her black sorcery. They shall all be as one. Necromantic slaves. Forever in her chains.

The Witching Hour bell tolls, thirteen times, as it did on the eve of her birth. The dead surround her in undivine mass; their vile priestess. They lift her onto many decrepit, rotted shoulders, and upon her head they crown a wreath of thorns, a halo of briar and sin. Her face is white, vacant. She no longer feels pain.

Infernal legions rise. Under her command, they begin their dread march. Onward, towards the apocalypse.

(No regrets. No going back. The end has begun.)

Her tears flow freely now, her body numb with cold. She recites in hushed whispers a final invocation, one final goodbye:

“Forgive me Father,

For I know not what I do;

I leave a void to fill one,

Hear my prayers from far below…”

Once I finally get around to writing that backstory fic it’ll add more context to this one. Thanks for reading!

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @solmints-messyocdiary)