#and the fact there's rival thieves.

[bassboosted-moon-chao]

The aftermath: the jump went decently, at least until the landing. then gravity and momentum got Layton and ripped him out of Lupin's grasp. he got knocked out, so now Lupin's kind of awkwardly trying to tend to him. He'll be fine in a bit, totally so!

[venusjeon]

angel in the marble

after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.

♔ PAIRING: michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader

♔ GENRE: high renaissance au, angst, smut, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 8k

♔ WARNINGS: homelessness, stealing, mild swearing/violence/drinking, 90% of this is bickering lmao, mentions of minor characters' death, jealousy and kinda possessiveness?, referenced unconsensual groping (not by jk), a bit of blasphemy, making out, groping, fingering, rough angry sexxx, choking, slapping

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: fun fact this is mostly historically accurate! jk's characterisation, the grocery list doodles, the sack of rome, the beef with his brother, the encounter with his rival (raphael)... are all taken from michelangelo's actual life, even some stuff is quoted from his letters lol. man was fanfic material.

1529, Rome

“How much for that one?”

“No, that one’s sold already.”

It was a lively morning. After days of heavy rainfall, those of high social class were eager to get out and meet under the gentle sun of spring, whose glare reflected on the precious stones of their jewellery; while those of low, out of necessity, couldn’t wait to reopen their businesses or set up their stalls and get back to work. You liked to eye them all as you strolled the streets of Rome.

“To whom?”

“Your friend Taehyung.”

“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”

The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.

“Three ducats.”

“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”

You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.

Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.

“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”

“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”

As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.

No, no, no…

The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.

Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.

That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–

Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.

“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”

By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”

“And that exempts her of crime?”

“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.

“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.

“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”

“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”

It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”

“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.

“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”

“Only from cunts.”

His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”

You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?

At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”

“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”

“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”

“So?”

Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”

“I would rather have a hand cut off.”

“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”

Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N…”

“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”

Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.

But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?

“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”

Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.

It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…

Why he chose to take little care of himself was a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.

Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?

“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…

“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”

“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.

“You missed a wrinkle there.”

Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”

“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.

Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.

One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.

Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.

“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”

A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…

You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.

“Yes, master.”

“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”

Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?

You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…

“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”

“You’d do that?” For me?

Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”

That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.

Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.

“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.

He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro’s.”

“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”

Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.

Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”

“It truly is!”

As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.

“Good night, maes–”

“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?�� Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”

“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”

“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”

“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”

Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”

“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.

“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”

What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.

In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.

“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.

You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”

Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.

“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.

A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.

“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”

“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”

The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.

“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”

Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?

“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”

“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”

“Do I not?”

“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”

You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.

Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”

Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”

Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.

A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.

It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.

Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.

That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”

With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.

Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.

Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.

Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.

“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!

Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.

“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”

She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”

“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.

The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.

Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.

Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”

“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.

“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”

Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”

“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.

Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–

“What took you so long?”

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.

“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.

“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”

“Yes, master.”

You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.

Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.

Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…

Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.

“I’m sorry you got hurt…”

Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”

“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”

“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.

“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”

“Looks like he taught one to you.”

“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”

Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?

Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.

You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.

Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.

Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.

Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.

The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.

The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”

A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.

“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”

Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”

Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”

"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.

“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.

The incident happened once inside the Vatican.

Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?

At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.

“Do I have to go in?”

“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”

“Damn you…” you muttered.

“What did you just say to me?”

“After you, master.”

Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.

The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.

“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…

With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”

“None of your business, Your Holiness.”

The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”

You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.

By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”

“So?”

Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution– mine too!”

“Well, nothing happened!”

“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”

“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”

Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”

Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.

“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.

So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.

“Let’s… Let us just go home.”

Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.

After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.

Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.

“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”

He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.

“Evening, Y/N.”

“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”

“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.

Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.

“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”

“N-No, of course not.”

“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?

“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”

Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.

“I’ll think about it. You may go.”

A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?

“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.

An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.

“You won’t agree to this, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”

“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”

Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”

Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?

Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.

Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.

“Will that be all, master?”

The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”

“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.

“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”

Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”

He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”

A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.

Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”

There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?

Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.

By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.

Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.

Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.

“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.

He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”

Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.

With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.

Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”

You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”

It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.

He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.

As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”

Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

[y-rhywbeth2]

Gods and Clergy: Bhaal (OBSOLETE)

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Religion | Gods | Shar | Selûne | X | Mystra | Jergal | Bane #1 | Bane #2 | Bane #3 | Myrkul | Lathander | Kelemvor | Tyr | Helm | Ilmater | Mielikki | Oghma | Gond | Tempus | Silvanus | Talos | Umberlee | Corellon | Moradin | Yondalla | Garl Glittergold | Eilistraee | Lolth | Laduguer | Gruumsh | Bahamut | Tiamat | Amodeus | The rest of the Faerûnian Pantheon --WIP

I did an updated and much longer version here; this one is significantly less detailed and lacking.

I'm in a Durge and Orin mood, so we're getting the full details on Bhaal and his priesthood now. Fun fact, did you know the Dark Urge couldn't even die without Daddy's permission?

Featuring:

Intro: Do you realise this cult is basically a crime syndicate supported by the rich and powerful?

Priests: Hierarchy. Responsibilities. Murder. I rather like the ceremonial regalia, personally.

Deathstalkers: Teleporting! Killing people with your mind! Unlimited ressurections courtesy of Bhaal!! And yet more crazy shit!

Bhaal: Kitten thinks of nothing but murder all day. Also mortal backstory and the Slayer is absolutely nothing like the games depict it

Right then, "Bhaal awaits thee," and blah.

"Make all folk fear Bhaal. Let your killings be especially elegant, or grisly, or seem easy so that those observing them are awed or terrified. Tell folk that gold proffered to the church can make the Lord of Murder overlook them for today." - Bhaal's Dogma

Unsurprisingly for an ex-assassin, Bhaal is the patron god of assassins. Assassins, mercenaries, bounty hunters who aren't bringing their quarry in alive and, presumably, executioners all tend to send a prayer to Bhaal for success. Faithful were called Bhaalyn in the East and Bhaalists in the West. As BG3 takes place in Western Faerûn we'll use the latter.

Amongst these assassin worshippers we find the oh-so healthy individuals for whom killing is more than a job. These killers who regard their murders as a "pastime and a duty" join the clergy.

That said, Bhaalists do not murder indiscriminately. The taking of another life is a holy act, a lot of thought and planning goes into both the kill itself as well as what impact the death may have upon the world. Once the target is slain, they are to smear the victim's blood over their hands and draw Bhaal's symbol by the body with it. If Bhaal is pleased then the blood will vanish.

Bhaal supports and encourages his followers attaining wealth and comfort (it's a good hook to draw them in, and it makes him look good if his followers are successful, and more importantly: money is power, provides a shield against repercussions when caught, and opens doors), and in exchange for their worship his priest-assassins receive the priest spells and administer to the lay worshippers, who benefit second-hand. The assassins have an easier time killing people and getting rich and Bhaal profits from more prayer and death. A win for everyone (who didn't die in the process).

Bhaalist temples historically have spent their time founding and sponsoring guilds of assassins and thieves, including infamous organisations such as the Shadow Thieves of Amn. These guilds survived their patron's death, and while they were mostly businesses throughout the years of Bhaal's death many still paid homage (although there was some confusion involving his replacement, Cyric) and have presumably resumed worship. There's a massive old temple still functioning over in Thay; the Tower of Swift Death, and the assassins work closely with the Red Wizards who rule the country.

Bhaalists have no tolerance for rival guilds and organisations not following Bhaal (which would make them independent of their control) and will eliminate them. They will also root out anybody in the area that will attempt to oppose or otherwise interfere in their business and ensure they have freedom to go about their jobs/worship.

Their other job is to ensure the church has a steady income. They terrorise the commoners into paying tithes in exchange for safety from being sacrificed this tenday (a protection racket, basically) while leaving "economically and socially important individuals live unharmed." I mean, the peasantry have far less enemies to assassinate and gold to spend, so. Plus the rich and powerful are brilliant at turning a blind eye to crime when it benefits them, as well as making sure the evidence never sees the light of day - know which side your bread is buttered on, and all. Baldur's Gate has no law against the worship of Bhaal. Why do you think the original temple exists, after all? Bhaalists actively seek out and sway such potential patrons who would be... amenable to sponsoring and protecting their technically-legal church and its not so-legal activities in exchange for their services.

Urban temples of Bhaal are usually dark, subterranean affairs built under the city streets, containing countless branching tombs that are home to the bodies of the clergy's victims - said victims are usually wandering around down there as restless undead.

-

Bhaal's clergy can be recognised as Bhaalists by their ceremonial robes - full body robes of black or deep purple with a deep cowl. The robes will be randomly and violently streaked with flashes of violet. Their entire face is fully obscured by a black veil, to both hide their identity and make it appear as though the hood is empty for the intimidation factor.

The leader of the church - and thus all of the temples - in a region is the High Primate/Primistress, who can be identified by a red belt/sash they wear over their robes and the fancy curved ceremonial dagger that marks them as a high ranking priest and a specialty priest known as a Deathstalker - more about them in a moment.

High Primates spent much of their time planning the proper strategies of manipulating nearby rulers, inhabitants, and organizations into the deeds and behaviour that the Bhaalyn desired.

The head of a single temple is a Primate or Primistress. The Primate is directly served by the First Deaths, who in turn can call upon a council of the nine most senior clergy; the Cowled Deaths. Below them were the regular priests, who were known collectively as the Deathdealers and are referred to by the title Slaying Hand. A Bhaalist rises in the ranks by hunting and ritually killing a target with nothing but their bare hands, which they will then report to a higher ranking priest who will confirm that they are being truthful. If they are then there's a party, and a ritual sacrifice is held to celebrate.

When on a job they dress in black - in the form that suits whatever their preferred method of killing in. Leather armour, mage robes, whatever.

Bhaalists pray to their god before sleep. In the temple the entire congregation comes together to pray in a formal ceremony called "Day's Farewell"). Bhaalists are also to pray before setting out on a murder.

Bhaalists only observe one holy day. It's the Feast of the Moon, a continent-wide holiday for honouring the dead and honouring one's ancestors. Bhaalists have their own spin on it where they remember dead Bhaalists and celebrate with stories of murder to honour them.

All Bhaalists are to commit a murder every tenday at midnight, should they be unable to fulfil this duty then they are to kill two people in place of the one who should've died that day. Before the victim dies, the murderer is to ensure that they know their killer and that they died as a sacrifice to the God of Death; "Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."

-

The specialty priests of Bhaal, those who dedicate their devotion and worship no god other than him, are the Deathstalkers.

One does not have to be a cleric to join the ranks, though the majority are. Rogues, rangers, barbarians and fighters are the most common, but all classes make an appearance (and most are multiclassed clerics)

To become a Deathstalker one must have murdered sixteen sapient creatures in sixteen different methods with sixteen different weapons. This presumably is also the rite of passage to becoming a member of the Brethren of the Keen Strike - an order of Bhaalist assassins to which all Deathstalkers belong.

Distressingly for people who aren't Bhaalist, Bhaal's Deathstalkers regained their Bhaalist abilities around 1372 DR, following the end of the Bhaalspawn Crisis, and resumed their duties, spreading death and terror in his name as they worked to bring him back to full power. The most popular argument for how the priests of a dead deity were getting their spells is that another god - likely Cyric, was granting them spells disguised as Bhaal. However, in the wake of the Bhaalspawn Crisis and the wave of fear felt towards Bhaal that resulted (which counts as prayer), the rumour mill became very fond of the idea that, despite how the crisis ended, Bhaal had still managed to resurrect at least some scrap of himself through that fear and the God of Murder was haunting the Realms once more.

The various abilities Bhaal gifts to his Deathstalkers include the following:

[From 3.5e] The ability to identify key weaknesses in a target by studying them for only a few moments, killing them in a single strike. They are also supernaturally good at stabbing people with their ceremonial daggers.

[3.5e] The ability to tap into the hatred of a person, stoking it into homicidal rage and direct it at another person who they will kill in a mindless bloody rage (also called the Urge to Slay, an ability Bhaal himself has)

[3.5e] Bhaal's own inability to just fucking stay dead - a Deathstalker Bhaal doesn't want dead will come back to life an hour after it is killed, with a single hit point left. During the time prior to resurrection they are an actual corpse.

[2e] They can point at a person, sending necrotic energy coursing through them and causing them significant damage, agony and possibly death.

[2e] They can inflict severe wounds on a person just by thinking it.

[2e] They can teleport! A Deathstalker can teleport themselves (and other people, if they're powerful enough) to the Throne of Blood and from there they can teleport to anywhere on Toril that isn't protected by warding magic. Bhaal won't do anything to protect Deathstalkers while they're in the Lower Planes - if you're strong enough to get yourself here, you're strong enough to get yourself out.

[2e] They can affect the emotions of those around them, reversing whatever emotions an individual is feeling towards them into its polar opposite.

[2e] They can accelerate the entropic aging process of objects.

-

Bhaal himself is "violent, cruel and hateful at all times." Being in the presence of the living fills him with an overwhelming urge to kill and destroy. He presents himself as either on the verge of a violent rampage or cold and ruthlessly calculating depending on which suits the occasion best. A Lawful Evil deity, his domain is the Throne of Blood in the first layer of the Lower Plane of Gehenna (Khalas), part of Bane's domain (Banehold). Hilariously, not a single Baldurs Gate game has got this right. BG2:SoA claimed it was the Hells, BG2:ToB changed to the Abyss and, for some reason, BG3 has put it in the Grey Wastes.

Bhaal served Bane, and was in turn served by Loviatar (goddess of pain) and Talona (goddess of disease).

His holy symbol is the Circle of Tears; clue in the name, it's a skull surrounded by teardrops of blood forming a circle.

Bhaal rarely manifested in avatar form. When he did, his main avatar in urban areas was the Slayer, which was not a four armed scaly monster:

"The Slayer look[s] like a corpse with a feral face, [bloodless] skin, and deep lacerations that endlessly [weep] black ichor that vanish[es] before it strikes anything."

It makes no noise at all when it moves. it can talk (its softly spoken and sounds creepy). It can levitate at will and summon floating daggers made of bone, that appeared and disappeared at will. They would cause any living flesh they hit to wither and die. Creatures slain this way would rise again as zombies under its control - or have its skeleton shattered into more bone daggers. Enough of these daggers form an area-of-effect; a wall made of a flurry of sharp shards of bone that would trap the soul of anyone they killed. Oh, yeah, and the Slayer can also inflict the overwhelming urge to murder everyone around you on the people around it.

Bhaal's other avatar was the Ravager, which was mostly an angry 30-foot tall giant with horns.

While in either avatar form, Bhaal also had the ability to create any form of undead loyal to him by touching a corpse (greater undead like vampires would be free once they'd completed whatever task he'd assigned them). He could also immediately destroy any undead, turning them to dust at a touch. Bhaal cannot be harmed by the undead.

Rather than using his avatars, Bhaal usually just manifested as a pair of flying undead hands that can shoot bone daggers at people. Or a laughing human skull trailing teardrops. Both these manifestations are capable of speech, casting darkness and driving everybody into a mindless bloodthirsty rampage - you might have noticed he really loves this trick.

He also invented his own undead monsters, the Harrla of Hate. Harrla are invisible creatures, which if you use magic to see them appear like human shaped wavering impressions. Guess what they do?? If you guessed "fill people with a sense of overpowering hatred and drive people into committing homicide" get yourself a fucking cookie!! (This isn't said anywhere in canon, but Bhaal has less imagination than a chunk of rock, I swear to god...)

According to one version of the story; in life Bhaal was a Netherese mortal wizard named Tharlagaunt Bale. He was one of a few hand picked by Jergal to bear a fragment of the god's divinity and raised from a young age to serve him (a Chosen, basically). Hilariously, one of the others was Karsus. These Chosen were promised godhood for their service as they set about performing a ritual to increase Jergal's waning power and make him one of the most powerful deities. Karsus chose to try and make himself a god instead and blew up the Weave, destroying Netheril and the plan and killing all of his coworkers except Bale.

Bale got a job as an assassin, changed the spelling to Bhaal and dropped his first name, teamed up with a bitter ex-slave with no name except the title "Bane of the Ancients" and a necromancer prince called Myrkul Bey al-Kursi.

His other backstory features him as Arabhal; the spymaster and chief assassin of the Netherese City of Rdiuz, and an ally of Bane. The two became unwitting paws of Jergal, who directed them through nightmares to do his bidding and slay various primordial divinities who threatened his plans.

Regardless of backstory, they all grabbed more divinity by killing an ancient god (also Bane's ex-master) and then he went knocking on his old boss' door for that godhood he was promised (Jergal at this point had embraced depression and just went "yeah, whatever, have it. Idgaf, I'm retiring." Or was manipulating them into becoming his divine pawns. There's more than one take on this story.) and Bhaal walked off the god of murder.

He learned of a prophecy predicting he would die when his stupid ex-travelling companions would decide to piss of Ao who would then kick all the gods out and make them mortal, and Bhaal then decided to sleep with what seems to be at least 25% of Faerûn to produce kids who would hold fragments of himself so that they could all fight to the death and he could resurrect himself afterwards. He was killed by the soon-to-be-god Cyric not far from Baldur's Gate during the Time of Troubles. Cyric proceeded to take his job, and there was a huge fight between Bhaalists who converted and those who didn't and the converts killed all the holdouts.

The rest of the backstory is basically just the original Baldur's Gate games.

[senblades]

Just realized that Crow and Violet enter the Phantom thieves group with the same condition, though not the same circumstances.

They both first Joined as a fake of themselves, fooling everyone. Then they were a 2-phase boss fight, where the true self gets revealed. Then they join the team, for good and for real.

Hmmmmmmmmm

ANON YOU'RE SO RIGHT I'M

I'll always be a little sad that Atlus never went all-in on the SumiGoro friendship/parallels potential... o7 another fallen dynamic for the pit

in all seriousness, though: many people have talked about the Akechi and Sumire parallels far better than I ever could, but I'll talk some more anyway!

I think the most obvious parallel is in who they admire/resent. Sumire, obviously, admires Kasumi in every way- undercut with resentment that she's scared to ackowledge. Akechi, meanwhile, resents Joker to hell and back, undercut with layers of admiration that he refuses to admit to (+ uh. shauke angst HAHA)

Both are lying to themselves about their other halves, but even more interestingly: Both Kasumi and Joker see Sumire and Akechi respectively as their equals/rivals, despite everything, and even though it may seem that one half is clearly better than the other at first glance.

Sumire's coach, during the Faith confidant, tells Sumire how Kasumi had worked so hard because she knew if she didn't, Sumire would catch up to her- that Kasumi was jealous of Sumire's grace (Ironic, as meanwhile Sumire was desperate to emulate Kasumi's boldness)

Joker's a bit different -silent protag, and all- but, even still: "I'll hold onto you're glove", "I won't lose"- so much of Joker's dialogue about Akechi makes it clear that he takes the other seriously. Plus, the consistent reminders that the promise for a rematch hasn't been fulfilled: clearly, Joker doesn't consider the interrogation room nor the engine room 'fair fights', or true indicators of either's skill (stop me before I go on a tangent)

It's not just Joker=Kasumi and Sumire=Akechi, though. The fact that both sides of each equation are equals means that some lines get crossed. I'm thinking Kasumi's "Because that's my right, as the elder sister!" vs. Akechi's "Going all out against a junior seems a bit gauche, don't you think?"- both Kasumi and Akechi seem to have this idea that they have to be better (a bit of speculation on my part, for Kasumi)- they have no excuse to lose; it's only natural if they win, and incredibly dissapointing otherwise.

back to crow/violet parallels, they also act as excellent foils for each other in the royal trio dynamic: Sumire, when faced with low self-esteem and terrible circumstances, latches onto people that she considers "better"- imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, after all! And Sumire has imitation in spades.

Akechi, meanwhile, distances himself from pretty much everyone. He seems to value shallow praise of people that don't really see, rather than experience the mortifying ordeal of being known, and whatnot.

but even then, Akechi does have some similar tendencies to Sumire- he just hides it under layers of deflection and lying to himself. He claims to absolutely hate Shido and Joker, and while I don't doubt that, necessarily, it's clearly far more complicated than that. Akechi, no matter how he feels about them, lives and dies by the will of his obsessions- and by the time of the third semster, he's had enough. (while, conversely, Sumire hasn't quite learned to stand on her own)

Actually, speaking of the third semester; Maruki's reality also highlights some similarities between the two, as the two people most egregiously edited by the false reality: Sumire, back to believing she's Kasumi, and Akechi as "I've never had a violent thought in my life!" pleasant boy. Those two are the only members of the PT where Maruki goes straight for the personality.

whoops. long post HAHA

[bogcreacher]

bunch of them 👍👍 info dump under the cut

Fir is Wolf’s dad (his name is a reference to the fact that Wolf’s name was Pine in 2018). He is a well-meaning guy but very much a product of the environment he was raised in (extremely uptight and competitive IceWing family). He raised Wolf as best he could but the toll of his wife’s death and infidelity (Wolf was born of an extramarital affair) lead to him becoming closed-off and prone to lying for convenience - a trait he accidentally taught to Wolf.

Flash is Wolf’s half-brother, (his name was Shard in 2018, a name that has since been adopted by the current IceWing king). Although they were known to fight, as kids Flash and Wolf had each other’s backs, being each other’s only sibling and confidant. They often bonded over their shared dislike of chores and conspired to prank the adults at fancy dinners. As a dragonet, Flash despised the stifling and cut-throat culture they were raised in, something Wolf was less privy to as the family’s black sheep. As adults their relationship soured a little as Flash’s intense ambition started bleeding into his relationships with his loved-ones.

Stygian is Haunted’s brother from the same clutch. He is almost her complete opposite - a powerful seer and mind-reader, but physically small and unable to fly. Stygian struggled socially for most of his youth, with peers and mentors alike finding him “confusing” and “difficult”. His one real friend was Haunted, who was the only dragon who afforded him the understanding and patience he deserved, despite being the only dragon in their community who couldn’t literally read his mind. He was abducted at the start of the story, and it’s Haunted’s sole quest to find him.

Hover (mentioned briefly in Leap of Faith) was Red Kite’s childhood best-friend/rival, and the dragon that took a chunk out of her ear. He was a deeply insecure kid and took it out on those around him; Red was the only dragon in their class that was unable to ignore his name-calling and as such they frequently got into whatever the dragon equivalent of fist-fights is. Their rivalry eventually mellowed into a (still fiercely competitive) friendship and the pair became thick as thieves throughout their later education. They lost touch as adults, Red still thinks of him from time to time.

Tenrec is a RainWing spy. They have physically altered themselves in order to blend in amongst other tribes, including removing their frill and parts of their ears. He rarely changes colour based on emotion due to being trained to maintain a “poker-face” when undercover. Current employer and deployment status is classified.

[slytherizz]

Petulant - Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

Tags: Rivals to Lovers, Fluff, Slice of Life, First Kiss

A/N I'm trying to be kinder to myself when it comes to my writing. I usually share longer pieces but I have so many little bits of fluffy drabble and I'm trying to remember writing is meant to be fun and not every one-shot needs to be perfect.

Palms flat on the jetty Sebastian hoisted himself out of the water. Cursing violent profanities as he shook his hair out like a wet dog as he scrambled onto the dock. Shaking whether with rage or because the frigid water of the black lake had chilled him to the bone. She wasn’t sure. 

Not that she cared. 

Sebastian deserved it for being such a petulant pain in her arse. And little water never killed anyone; no matter how many unsavoury creatures lurked in its murky depths.

He’d practically goaded her into shoving him off the jetty. It had only been a matter of time before one of them retaliated against this little bonding exercise of Hecat’s. If he'd seen the opening first she'd be the one drenched and spluttering - she was sure of it. 

Having to endure sharing a potions station where they could use Gareth as a buffer was one thing. But being forced to spend her precious and most sacred Sallow-free hours, in the freezing cold catching Grindalow's as punishment was beyond the pale. All because they caused a teensy fire that was entirely Sebasitan’s fault when a duel had gotten out of hand. 

Really what had Hecate expected to achieve with this cruel and unusual detention? That they’d return to the castle thick as thieves? Strike up a newfound camaraderie that would want to make her do anything besides hex the smarmy git?

Impossible. Their professor was far too optimistic and this exercise had been doomed from the start.

“Enjoy your swim?” she sneered. Perhaps it hadn’t been an entire waste of time. At least now she could savour this mental image of him sopping wet and looking utterly ridiculous. 

Regaining his balance and rising to his full height, Sebastian stalked towards her. Face like thunder stopping mere inches away from her to glare down his nose. Droplets of water falling from his hair onto her cheeks. She swatted them away wrinkling her nose in disgust which only seemed to enrage him further. 

"You. Are the most immature. Insufferable. Petulant witch, I've ever had the displeasure to meet. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t hex you on the spot! Why exactly did you feel the need to throw me in the bastard lake?”

He was standing so close to her she should really step away but her feet were practically glued to the spot. Standing so close his hot breath ghosted across her cheeks. So close in fact, she could see his freckled skin through the shirt which clung to every inch of him. Sheer white leaving absolutely nothing to her imagination. 

How she'd never noticed quite how large Sebastian had gotten until he was impressing down on her was a mystery. A realisation that came too little too late as she’d turned their altercations physical. 

No matter where she looked there seemed to be more of him. Broad shoulders heaving with every laboured breath. Water beading in sparse hairs on his chest which peaked out from over his open-top buttons. Muscles in his jaw and neck twitching in agitation. 

Her eyes of their own volition had begun to meander down his stomach following the trail of hair wondering exactly how far they went before she caught herself. Wrenching them up again to his face, before she saw if the cling of his soaking tartan trousers exposed just as much of him as his shirt. Half terrified of what she'd find; the other half disgusted with her own desire to look. She didn't know what kind of feelings it would invoke but by the heat pooling low in her abdomen - she could hazard a guess.

“Have you got nothing to say for yourself?” 

She blushed wildly. Mouth flapping open and closing like a fish out of water. Trying to stamp down the unwelcome feeling that made her want to press her thighs together. 

He blinked at her. Dark eyebrows lowering sceptically. "You're staring."

"I am not!” she spluttered. Trying to recapture the feeling of overwhelming irritation she’d felt the precise moment she’d thrown him overboard. “An obnoxious idiot just happens to be shouting his head off in my eyeline."

"You're blushing." He smirked, voice giddy with amusement as if he'd finally cracked some impossible puzzle. Her hands snapped up to clasp her burning face to hide the evidence. His tongue darted across his bottom lip licking off water. Which only made her cheeks burn hotter.

"Is that why you pushed me in? Wanted to get a good look?"

"I wanted you to shut your mouth and stop whinging for five minutes so I could have some bloody peace. But it seems to have had the opposite effect - you're chatting even more bollocks than before."

"So this why you’re so insufferable all the time. This-” He gestured down to his dishevelled albeit to her utter dismay, not unappealing state of undress. “Is your idea of flirting?”

“Flir- Flirting? You must have knocked your head on your way down.”

“Merlin. This is rich - You’d be pulling on my pigtails if I had them."

"No. I. Wouldn't!"

Foot stomping hard on the rickety planks in frustration. Rather childish and definitely not her proudest display. It did little to prove her argument and instead to her dismay only seemed to make Sebastian grin wider.

"You fancy me." Not a question. He declared it like he’d won some imaginary battle. 

"I absolutely do not."

He leaned further towards her she could see the glint of triumph in his brown eyes. She swallowed hard eyes flicking towards his lips and back again. 

"Liar.”

Strong hands seized her face and knowing he’d won - Sebastian crashed his lips into hers. They were wet and cool against hers from his tumble into the lake as he kissed her. But so soft and inviting in a way she didn’t think anyone's flesh could be it made her head spin. His fingers tangled in her hair, mouth moving demanding against hers. 

Her knee jerked instinctively towards his most precious area but faltered, along with the last of her pride. She could not seem to find the will to pry herself away. Sebastian’s teeth grazed her bottom lip requesting access. She gasped in surprise and he slid his tongue past her parted lips. A shudder ran through her as his tongue flicked against hers.  

He groaned into her mouth, as her tongue matched his motions in maddening strokes. A sound under normal circumstances she would have mocked him mercilessly for only made her kiss him back more feverishly. Regrettably, her hands were just as traitorous as her tongue. Following the curve of broad shoulders, she felt the muscles underneath firm from years of duelling. Admitting defeat she dared to go further tangling in his wet hair. Pulling gently hoping it would elicit more sinful sounds from Sebastian. 

A deep well of desire now pooled in her gut all rational thoughts drowned in. She failed miserably to stifle her own strained moan as large hands encircled her waist pulling her flush against him. Skin practically burning despite the frigid temperatures.

A truly pathetic whimper of protest escaped her lips as Sebastian pulled away from their kiss. Leaving her breathless and dizzy even as the cold rushed in. No longer able to leech his warmth she shamefully realised how close their bodies had been pressed together from the chill of her damp clothes. 

He stepped back and if she was capable of forming a coherent thought she would have hexed the smug look off his ridiculous, handsome, infuriating face. 

"Now. I'm going to go and get out of these wet clothes before I catch a death," Sebastian said. As casually as if he was observing the weather and had not just spent the last five minutes snogging the supposed most insufferable witch he’d ever met. Turning quickly on his heels he began striding towards the boat house. Leaving her open-mouthed cheeks burning from the frigid wind lapping at the wet hand print on her cheek or with shameful unwanted desire she wasn't sure. Calling back over his shoulder. A roughish smile pulled on freckled cheeks. A devilish glint in his eye. "If you're ready to stop being such a brat - I'll let you help."

She groaned inwardly, legs following him across the jetty seemingly of their own accord. Powerless to stop herself and praying no one would see her shameless pursuit. 

She knew he'd never let her live this one down.

Not that she cared.

[rikashmoonsword]

what makes me like Jonathan and Alanna's relationship/friendship so much is just the fact that they're peers.

There's a lot to be said about our beloved Tammy and her penchant for deeply questionable age gaps, but I won't say them because despite everything my ideal of love remains daine/numair and thus I can't criticise them to save my life. but to Alanna, all of her loves are older than her. George is 17 to Alanna'a 10, Liam is 34 to Alanna's 19/20, Jon is 18 when Alanna is 14.

George is a teacher as much as a friend, he teaches her to pick locks, wrestle, use a knife, pick pockets, how to walk among thieves and keep her purse on her and how to know who to trust and who not to. He shows her unselfish love, he shows her how gentlemen treat their ladies, he treats her like a friend and like the most beautiful woman alive. George is a Teacher.

Liam teaches her how to hold her own without a weapon in her hands, shows her how nice it is to flirt and flit without sneaking about. He also teaches her to never sever a part of herself to suit a man, and that love is important but if the love isn't for all of you it isn't love at all.

and then she's home with Jon. Jon who she couldn't look into the eyes of as a page but who she would chase him to the realm of the black god if she had to, Jon who fought Gary to get her as a squire, Jon who held her when she was afraid and who was the first one to show her love.

Jon who acts like a child when things don't go his way, who would flirt with a crazy girl to get on her bad side, who has a temper that can rival her own.

When Alanna is with Jon, she isn't with a teacher, he isn't older and smarter, he's as young and foolish as her. he rages and throws fits and apologises sloppily and he loves her just as much as she loves him.

Jon is never truly something bigger than himself with Alanna, because she was the one who saved his life from his cousin, because he is the one who dragged her into a death trap of old gods and survived, because she is the one he disregarded direct orders to save from tusaine, because they're best friends more than anything else in this world and not even screaming matches and world ending spats can break them.

That's why i love them so much, because they're peers, and that friendship makes them stronger than any other champion and king in history.

[blueiscoool]

Discover the Hidden History of Tomb Robbing in Ancient Egypt

Criminals plundered the riches of Egyptian pyramids and underground burials, often within a few years or, in some cases, within a few hours of occupants’ interment.

On November 4, 1922, workers led by British archaeologist Howard Carter noticed a single stair peeking out from beneath the shifting Egyptian sand. Within three weeks, Carter and his team had excavated enough limestone debris and soil to reveal a stairwell that led to the antechamber of an ancient tomb.

After five long years of searching, Carter had found the tomb of Tutankhamun, deep beneath the Valley of the Kings, a site west of the Nile River. Boring a tiny hole in the second door to the antechamber, the archaeologist peered through, using the light of a single candle to survey a small room crammed with a motley mix of furniture, gilded animal heads and dismantled chariots, as well as other priceless treasures last seen more than 3,000 years prior.

The 18th Dynasty ruler’s tomb was the single most consequential discovery of Egyptian antiquities to date; its importance lay not just in the treasures hidden inside, but in the fact that the burial had somehow survived the robbers who had emptied out nearly every other ancient Egyptian tomb. Only a few royal graves rival Tutankhamun’s in splendor. Chief among them is the intact tomb of Psusennes I, known as the Silver Pharaoh because of the silver coffin that housed his mummy.

The silver coffin of Psusennes I.

In an ancient society with a stark separation between the rich and the poor, tomb robbing was ubiquitous. Nobles literally buried their wealth while living alongside people who often didn’t have enough food to feed their families. Plundering burials was a shadow economy driven by criminals who often had inside knowledge of the tombs. It’s likely that many looters either helped build the structures themselves or paid off someone involved in the tombs’ construction, says Betsy M. Bryan, an emeritus Egyptologist at Johns Hopkins University.

Some grave robbers were stonecutters and craftsmen who left gaps in tombs’ walls or knew which bedrock was soft enough to tunnel through to reach the treasures housed within. Others schemed to evade or pay off security left to guard the tombs. These thieves were well connected, calculating and decidedly precise in their criminal endeavors, Bryan says.

“Evidence from the Old, Middle and New Kingdom[s] shows that tomb robbers could be remarkably patient and work over lengthy time periods to create tunnels into tombs that they thought would be rich [with treasures],” she says.

Aboveground structures like the Step Pyramid of Djoser were natural targets for tomb robbers.

Looting happened consistently throughout the history of ancient Egypt, but it was most prevalent during the First and Second Intermediate Periods, which followed the Old and Middle Kingdoms, respectively. Without a strong ruler in place, power became decentralized, and the state had less money to protect its graves. The end of the New Kingdom also ushered in a period of corruption and uncertainty that resulted in widespread tomb robbing.

Officials took a range of steps to prevent tomb robbing, like carving curses on doors to scare would-be looters away. Some tombs, like the pyramid complex of Djoser, were filled with debris to block passage to the burial chambers. During the New Kingdom (circa 1550 to 1070 B.C.E.), sovereigns were buried underground instead of in aboveground pyramids. Workers tasked with building these hidden tombs lived in Deir el-Medina, a village near the Valley of the Kings. Though the isolated, close-knit nature of the community was intended to lower the likelihood of theft, it ultimately had the opposite effect, encouraging looting by the very people assigned to protect the dead.

Workers tasked with sealing tombs had the best access to the treasures hidden within. They were often the last ones out, so no one was the wiser if they ransacked the tombs they’d been hired to protect, says Aidan Dodson, an Egyptologist at the University of Bristol in England. Sometimes, the burials would appear untouched, but once the coffin was opened, the golden mask that once adorned the pharaoh’s face would be missing.

Ruins of Deir el-Medina, a village occupied by the workers who built the tombs in the Valley of the Kings.

In other cases, when a mummy was unwrapped, the jewelry that had been placed inside was gone, stolen by the undertakers who’d prepared the dead for burial, Dodson says. He adds, “Resin was used in embalming, and there would be places on the body where there was an impression of a piece of jewelry that was no longer there.”

When the tomb of Nefermaat, an ancient Egyptian prince, was uncovered in 1871 at Meidum, archaeologists at first thought it was intact, sealed up tight for 4,000 years. But once inside the burial chamber, the scene was chaotic. “Everything was smashed to pieces,” Dodson says. “It had been robbed [and] the mummy broken.”

After a heist, ancient tomb robbers moved on to the next phase of the crime: trafficking their stolen goods in exchange for payment. This, too, required forethought. Getting caught bartering the mask of a pharaoh, for example, would have been cause for execution by impalement on a stake. To avoid this fate, criminals went after treasures that couldn’t be traced, like gold and other precious metals that could be melted down without buyers knowing their origin. In some cases, robbers would steal highly valuable perfumed oils to sell on the international market. Thieves also burned gilded furniture and statues to remove the gold that once adorned them, Dodson says.

Papyrus Mayer B, a legal document detailing the trials of tomb robbers during Egypt's 20th Dynasty.

Historical evidence of tomb robbing comes primarily from a set of papyri detailing trials that took place in Thebes during the New Kingdom, specifically the 20th Dynasty, which spanned 1189 to 1077 B.C.E. The legal documents provide a window into the individuals who carried out the robberies directly, who knowingly fenced looted treasures or who ferried thieves across the Nile to sell their sacred finds, Bryan says.

“We took our copper tools and forced a way into the pyramid of this king through its innermost part,” said a mason named Amenpanufer in a confession dated to around 1110 B.C.E. After stripping the royal mummies of their gold, amulets and jewels, Amenpanufer and his fellow thieves “set fire to their coffins [and] stole their furniture.” The robbers then divided the tomb’s spoils among themselves.

The papyri point to a time when the state was in turmoil, says Salima Ikram, an Egyptologist at the American University in Cairo. Rampant tomb looting coincided with a period of unrest, famine, outside attacks and constant transitions in power.

“In the 20th Dynasty when we have a lot of royal tomb robbery, the state couldn’t provide, and that’s why people were taking matters into their own hands,” says Ikram.

Tutankhamun's tomb was one of the few royal Egyptian burials left largely untouched by ancient looters.

Still, tomb robbing wasn’t confined to times of unrest. Even Tutankhamun, who ruled during the 18th Dynasty (approximately 1550 to 1292 B.C.E.), when Egyptian civilization was at its peak, was the victim of theft. Inside the antechamber of the king’s tomb, Carter’s team found bags of abandoned loot. According to Dodson, the thieves appeared to have been caught in the act and forced to leave their ill-gotten goods behind.

Tomb robbing was one of the worst crimes an ancient Egyptian could commit, as tombs were considered sacred vehicles that provided passage to the afterlife. “Elite society was geared toward eternal life,” says Maria Golia, author of A Short History of Tomb-Raiding: The Epic Hunt for Egypt’s Treasures. Nobles were mummified and packed in a tomb with their belongings, all of them necessities, because “the afterlife was viewed as an extension of their current life,” Golia explains.

The white limestone sarcophagus of Nefermaat, whose tomb was looted by robbers.

Destruction of a tomb was, in a sense, a form of murder—a fact reflected in the brutality of documented punishments, Ikram says. Some accused criminals had their hands cut off, while others were impaled, a form of execution where a stake was inserted into the anus, perforating the body all the way up to the torso.

No matter the punishment, noble tombs remained ripe for theft throughout ancient Egypt’s 3,000-year history—and beyond. After the civilization fell into decline, thievery gave way to treasure hunting, with residents of the region no longer revering Egyptian religion or fearing the curses of the dead, says Dodson. Stealing from tombs was hardly considered a crime anymore. By the late 19th century, seizing such riches was a government-sanctioned practice, with archaeologists excavating tombs in the name of science.

In an ancient world marked by haves and have-nots, loot tucked inside pyramids and buried underground presented an opportunity for an irresistible crime, especially as the once-great Egyptian empire lost power. What was formerly sacred was now a means for feeding a family, Golia says.

Plunderers' loot found in King Tut's tomb.

“This was a system built on burying money, even entire households, underground,” she says, “and while the architects only had one shot at building an impenetrable tomb, the robbers had all the time in the world to figure out how to get in.”

By Sarah Novak.

[crazyyluvr]

Gotta put Some Color in the Miserable Place — Much to Dirtyhands' Liking

pairing: kaz x gn!reader

summary: A famous graffiti artist has been roaming around Ketterdam for a while now. It was about time you set your sights on the Slat, bare and just waiting to be painted on. A certain gloved man didn't exactly like that.

genre: idk how to label it but it's the beginning of something

wc: 2.3k

content: art-inclined reader, they/them pronouns, kaz getting annoyed, ooc kaz? not sure how to write him properly yet, spraypaint exists because I need it to, fighting

note: just a little something to get me out of my slump — it sucks, i'm sorry

oneshot under the cut :: not edited :: part 1/?

Ketterdam wasn't known to be the most luxurious of cities in Kerch. Yes, it did have places where people with money could settle down and quality napkins for them to wipe their buttcheeks on, but the "slums" part of the city overpowered that luxury. There were numerous criminals, thieves, pickpockets, and people of other illegal occupations roaming around the streets, especially the streets of the West Stave. At every alley, there would be at least some signs of a beating that occurred not too long ago. Even when people inhaled the air, it didn't feel clean.

One of your biggest concerns about the city, however, wasn't about how cleanly it was. What worried you the most was about how damn plain it seemed to be.

Where was the color? The flare? Come on, if people around the lands travel to Kerch for business, they might as well have some pretty things to look at as they cautiously walked on the streets.

You took it upon yourself to rectify that. Which was why, for the past two years, you have been one of the most sought-after criminals of Ketterdam that everyone called the “Painter”. Not because you murdered people or stole kruge, no. It wasn't even because of the fact that you decided to spray your art without permission.

It wasn't really the art that concerned other people (most of the time), but rather where you decided to put it up.

Plain old alley walls weren't the only victims of your spray bottles. Your style ended up on the main doorways of well-known brothels like the Menagerie, or the ground leading to the secret bases of different gangs. It made you a target not only of officers, but of other criminals as well. You may or may not have been the cause of the Dime Lions losing one of their main strongholds to a rival gang because you put skipping stones of Pekka Rollins' name leading to it.

You were flattered by the attention people were putting on you, but you felt unsatisfied. You had tried to put at least a little bit of your art on every visible wall of the West Stave and some of the East Stave as well, but there was something missing. Like there was one part of the Ketterdam map that hasn't been colored by you.

You got the answer to your problem one mundane day, while you were coming back from the market with a bag of groceries.

The Slat.

You had no idea why it hadn't hit you sooner. Sure, the Slat was the home of the Crows besides their bar "The Crow Club." Sure, the gang had been gaining a dangerous reputation this past year. Sure, the man calling the shots was scary as hell.

But it was just perfect.

You had long admired the Crows and their leader Kaz Brekker. You had spotted him going about business during late nights when you decided to test your skills by evading the Wraith that always pursued him (you hadn't been attacked by her, so you assumed that you were really good at sneaking around).

He was a man of business, a boss that liked getting his hands dirty — maybe that was how he got his nickname Dirtyhands. You don't see much of that in Ketterdam, and that interested you quite a bit.

Not to mention he was attractive in his own, ghostly way.

The Slate was also one of the very few canvases that you had left blank in this wretched city due to some unknown and unconscious reason, but now you had just the perfect artwork in mind for it.

—————

Kaz was in a bad mood today.

He woke up to his leg in pain. Well, it was always in pain, but it felt particularly worse that day. He almost face-planted while hobbling down the stairs in the Slat.

He had a small heist, with just him, Jesper, and Inej, but it was still messed up due to the unexpected appearance of a drunk group in the house they were robbing.

He got jumped on by some stupid pickpockets, idiots who were unaware of his identity and his reputation. He didn’t obtain any injury, but the blood that still stained his black gloves and his long black coat made him feel disgusting.

Just when he thought that he would find peace in the Slat, peace in just holing up in his office with no one to bother him, he limps down the streets of West Stave to the home of the Dregs to find a small crowd gathered on the side, murmuring to each other.

They were all members of the Crows, and they were all looking at something that was on the wall of the Slat.

His already creased brows creased further at the sight of the gathering. What were these idiots looking at this time?

Jesper was the first one who first saw him, eyes drifting over his blood-splattered clothes in slight concern.

“What’s going on?” Kaz asked, not giving Jesper the opportunity to worry over him.

“It seems that the Painter finally set their eyes on the Slat,” Jesper replied, his voice containing its usual mischief and mirth.

Kaz forged onwards, making the sharpshooter step aside to make way for Dirtyhands.

The small crowd parted for him as well, conversations dying down to small murmurs as Kaz got a better look at what they were ogling at.

He had to blink to make sure he was actually seeing what he was seeing.

When “the Painter” left Jesper’s mouth, Kaz wanted to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. The days when infamous the Painter set sights on establishments or gang bases were the days when gangs or businessmen would get publicly humiliated by the art on their walls. Normally, it would ridicule the head of the place (The Menagerie spent a significant amount of money to wash off and paint over the caricature of Tante Heleen in a horrid neon green outfit) or reveal some interesting gang secrets (two gangs were exposed to be stealing from each other and there was a little war between them).

Which was why Kaz had to blink twice to make sure he was seeing it right.

The artwork on the side of the Slat was a large mural of the Dregs’ signature crow perched on the lip of a cup, but a trail of black roses swirled around it in a spiral. Surrounding it was the Crows’ motto “no mourners, no funerals” in black and white. The irregular red and white shape behind it all emphasized everything, making it look like a banner rather than something someone actually took the time to spray on a wall.

It was unlike any artwork that was spotted anywhere in the city.

And even Kaz, who’s never had any particular interest in art, had to admit that it was nice. Flattering.

Beautiful, even.

"The Painter has their favorites, huh?" A Crow chuckled, making his mates laugh and shake their heads.

"If everyone's done having a staring contest with the wall," Kaz called, making everyone turn to their boss, "get back to work."

And just like that, they lost their interest in the artwork and dispersed. Some drifted away to different alleys to visit some gambling house, most passed by Kaz to finish some unfinished business of theirs, and others went back inside the Slat.

Kaz felt a familiar presence beside him. "Can you find this Painter, Inej?"

The Wraith that appeared out of nowhere replied, "I can try, but they're slippery."

Kaz rose an eyebrow, curiosity piquing. Someone who can evade his best spider? Now that caught his attention.

"Do it. Bring them to me," Kaz said, dismissing her with a wave. He didn't have to look to know that Inej had dissolved into the shadows.

He examined the mural once more, the barest ghost of a smirk on his face. Maybe you can come around to work for me, "Painter".

—————

You were having a good time.

If running away from some angry traders was something people would consider a good time.

"I'll kill you!" One of the men chasing you bellowed, hurling a stone that hit a wooden pillar dangerously close to your head.

You laughed, a manic cackle that only came from someone facing a certain death.

You leaped over crates, weaved through people with barely any gracefulness that would have made dancers feel second-hand embarrassment, but you didn’t care. Being chased around West Stave was one of the best things to do in Ketterdam, and you were enjoying every single bit of it.

You turned left into a random alley, only to find that it was a dead end. You looked upwards, but found only ladders that led to heavily-barred windows. You were trapped.

"Nowhere left to run, scum," A man laughed, his companion grinning as well.

You turned to flash them a charming smile. "Actually there is one way, but you're blocking it, so if you'd kindly move aside so I can peacefully make my leave."

They both looked at each other before turning back to you. "Not until we've got our money."

You pretended to think for a moment, not knowing what they mean, until you widened your eyes. "Oh! The money! That's what you were after? Why didn't you just say so?"

You rummaged through your deep pockets. "Here it is!"

You took a few quick steps forward and took out a spray can, squeezing it and drifting it over the closest man's eyes, creating a thick yellow line across his face.

The man yelled and stepped back in surprise, prompting you to catch his heel in yours and pull, making him fall.

You bent down to punch him twice before rummaging in his pockets, taking out a few loose coins and pocketing them.

You turned to face the other guy, who you found already on the ground with a figure standing above him.

The Wraith.

"Oh." Your gaze alternated between the sudden assistance and the man on the ground, before you decided to focus on the one standing and smiling at them. "Thanks for your help, Miss Wraith. Now, if you don't mind, I'll take my leave —"

You turned, only for Inej to block your exit, making you sigh. "What is it that you want from me this time?"

"For you to come with me to the Slat," Inej responded, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the alley.

You sighed again. This was going to be a long day.

—————

"Look, if this about money, I don't have any. I'm very broke." You stared at the man sitting in front of you, a desk separating him from your standing figure.

The Bastard of the Barrel didn't respond to your statement, opting to just look at you, his eyes examining your movements.

You let the silence drain on for a few more seconds before you lost patience. "What do you want?" You asked, frustrated.

"You're the Painter," He responded, putting his elbows on his table and lacing his gloved fingers together.

You waited for a moment, waiting for him to say more. When he didn't continue, you replied. "Yes."

"Everyone in Ketterdam is aware of your reputation to leaking powerful people's information," Kaz finally continued. "But that's not what's interesting. What intrigues me, is how you acquire the information in the first place, when the Wraith has never spotted you out in the open other than spraying on some random wall."

You shrugged. You had your ways, and if the Dirtyhands didn't know your methods, then there was no way you could reveal them. "I have my ways."

Kaz rose an eyebrow. "I can have you killed right here and now, did you know that?"

"And I’ve gotten out of these chains three minutes ago, did you know that?" You mocked him, shrugging the cuffs off and tossing them on his table. Inej moved, pulling out a dagger. Kaz put up his hand, and Inej paused, waiting.

You approached the desk, putting your hands on it and leaning forward, leaving half a feet of space in between your face and Kaz's.

"You want to know my methods so you can have the Wraith master them and use them," you said, leaning a bit more. "But then she can't. No one in this place can do what I can."

"I suppose there's an underlying deal somewhere in those words," Kaz hummed, seemingly unfazed by the distance.

You grinned. "Indeed there is. I can work for you, as long as I get paid. I'll do my thing, get your information, even infiltrate a few places if you like."

"Hmm," Kaz thought about it for a moment. "Two thousand kruge for each mission."

You paused. That would be enough to buy your food and pay your rent for a week or two, maybe even enough for some new clothes.

Yeah, you didn't have that good or luxurious of a lifestyle, but hey, money is money.

"Alright," You decided, sticking your hand out to seal the deal.

Kaz stared at your hand for a moment, before taking it. You pulled him up from his chair, face now barely away from yours. "If you think about double-crossing me and leaving me out in the cold, then you risk some of your own information being revealed... Rietveld." Your voice was barely louder than a breath, words only for Kaz’s ear.

His eyes widened, looking at you. Just the mere mention of his old last name, the one he shared with his brother, was enough for the water at his ankles to pool around his knees.

But you had already pulled away, brushing against the Wraith with a nod as you left the office without another word.

"What was that?" Inej asked — more like demanded.

Kaz didn't spare her a glance, his eyes glued to the door. It took him a long pause to reply.

"The start of another painful alliance," Kaz muttered, running his hand through his hair.

The start of something indeed.

[yugiohmangaoutofcontext]

i do admire the way that the villains in ygo became incredibly nuanced vs how the generic episodic villains of s0/beginning of the manga are (rambling below the cut)

by no means is yami bakura a good guy, but there's the conflict of the fact that he's using the body of a completely innocent person who is also yugi's friend, so you can't just kill him outright or anything. also yami bakura/tkb's motivations are sorta justified, given kul elna. kul elna was labeled "the village of thieves" but who's to say that they were all bad people inherently? i like to think they were just outcasted and/or marginalized and very poor/low class (hierarchy in ancient societies was very rigid, and can still be incredibly rigid today). i mean, the guys that forged the millennium items KNEW what they were doing was fucked up. also marik/yami marik, with yami marik not being a ghost or anything but a literal split in marik's being from his trauma. and the way rishid, despite not being accepted by his adoptive father, was such a devoted brother to their clan and to isis and marik, that he went out of his way to also get carvings to help marik to contain the hatred and evil within him. pegasus is also done wonderfully, he has his own motivations and wasn't a totally evil dude at first. and kaiba is sort of a villain? mainly a constant antagonist/rival, but he changes and grows thanks to yami yugi, and it's revealed that he was fucked up because of trauma also, and he's learning to overcome it and become better as a result of yami yugi helping him, making his relationship with his brother better. i fucking love yugioh man this shit rocks

[katsona-the-katsequel]

In-Universe Weapons

What kind of weapons would each Persona team realistically use? I'm ignoring what the game makes available to you and making in-universe assumptions for fun.

St. Hermelin Kids

Their adventure takes place in less than a week, so there would be no need to get a supplier. Idk how any weapon stores managed to exist during everything, but I'm removing them from the equation. They did rob a police station. Aside from that, I'm guessing they're picking things off the street as they go, apocalypse-style.

Their arsenal would consist of basic guns they barely know how to use, and make-shift weapons one can find or create. Like kitchen knives, school club equipment, baseball bats with nails, metal tubes, etc. I don't doubt that after defeating human enemies they proceeded to rob them as well. Anything is fair game in Maki's Mikage-cho.

Tatsuya's Squad

Thanks to rumors, there are suppliers willing to sell weapons to teens (+2 adults) with no questions asked. Unlike the St. Hermelin kids, Tatsuya's squad actually had the time to learn how to use them. The same will apply for the rest of the teams in this list. The thing about rumors is that the quality of their weapons can be anything they want them to be, an ability that will only be rivalled by the PTs. That and they were also given some legacy weapons by the former St. Hermelin kids.

Basically, any kind of weapon available in the game, from swords to flowers of death, to guitar cases that double as gun machines, to plush unicorns for all I know.

Maya's Squad

Same rumor advantage, only a bit more grounded due to the team being all adults. Except Baofu who decided that he would throw coins at enemies. Go off, king.

SEES

The team with the most formal and standardized equipment thanks to the Kirijo Group and their suppliers like the Officer Kurosawa. Anything that you can imagine can be gained by either of those two channels, SEES has. Nothing too crazy.

Aigis is a whole other can of worms.

Investigation Team

Less crazy than the first three teams but more unique than SEES. At first they relied on what they could find or make like golf clubs and fans (could it be? The return of the nailed bat!).

But at some point they got enough money to begin buying things from Master Daidara. Almost all their weaponry would come from here for the rest of their adventure. In fact, the IT's weapons would be the third most personalized of all the teams (it's hard to beat the rumor-based ones. Those are bullshit), a combination of Daidara's personal touch and whatever commissions the IT asked of him.

Phantom Thieves

Ever since the beginning, the PTs have gotten everything from Iwai. If he can make it, the PTs can use it. All models, of course, until they enter the Metaverse, which would be a huge disadvantage if they confronted the other teams in the physical world. Iwai seems to have his own suppliers, which would make his weapons more standardized than Daidara's but way more personalized compared to SEES. Their true strength comes from whatever the PTs made of them in the Metaverse.

I'm guessing that it wasn't until Akechi came barging in with a fucking lightsaber that the PTs got more creative and alternated between Iwai's weapons and Futaba's anime merch.

[deusvervewrites]

Because I know you want to. Please describe the Phantom Thieves Genre and how the P5 Phantom Thieves aren't.

Okay... they're not not phantom thieves, but a lot of the things they do with the genre are... more like nods to the larger genre at best. Obviously a genre is not a checklist of tropes but a conversation with previous works, but the general format of a phantom thief work involves:

The Phantom Thief: Obviously. The main character. A guile hero who uses their wits to perform impossible heists and plays with the antagonists trying to stop them, from the police to individual targets of their crimes, to...

The Inspector Rival: The sympathetic detective antagonist trying to catch the phantom thief in the act and bring them to justice for all that overdramatic criminal activity what they've done.

Phantom Thief stories are generally battles of wit between these two forces, clashing in a final gambit during each heist. The Calling Card is a genre staple for a reason: it shows how confident the PT is and gives the IR a chance to know about the crime in advance so they can arrive to interfere.

PTs also generally overlap with the Gentleman Thief archetype, which was largely defined (alongside many other related tropes) by Maurice Leblanc's character Aresene Lupin. These names should be extremely familiar to any P5 players.

The problem is that Persona 5 is a dungeon crawling JRPG. The dramatic heists take place entirely in a cognitive world against Shin Megami Tensei's rogues gallery. There's no dramatic escape from police pursuit or outmaneuvering of an equally brilliant detective.

Speaking of the detective, why exactly do you think Akechi is there? He's meant to be the Inspector Rival, but, uh. Hm. He doesn't really do much rivaling until very late in the game, because again, cognitive world.

As a result of the cognitive world dungeons, the Calling Cards, the heist planning, the trickery and clever planning... it all comes across like the theme park ride of a phantom thief story. It's almost surface level. There are interesting thoughts about the phantom thief genre-- like taking the commonly-applied supernatural elements and making that the focus of their thefts like D.N. Angel on steroids, and Akechi's narrative role--but overall, they're performing showmanship for an audience of no one and without much in the way of human opposition until like halfway through the game

It's pretty notable that Persona 5 Tactica basically changed nothing about how the Phantom Thieves operate despite the fact that they aren't stealing anything

Recommended reading: D.N. Angel, Magic Kaito/Kaitou Kid's Cameo Appearances in Case Closed, Aresene Lupin, Leverage, Sly Cooper.

[icespur]

DadGoro Navigator Quotes Help

5/2: update: replaced some paragraphs with the originals in my Google Doc, Including some example quotes I came up with

originally I had a concept I was going to post about "Teen Akeshu Daughter from the future gets sent to the past during P5R", but I got preoccupied.

She tries to play matchmaker to get Akiren and Akechi on the right path. But she also can't risk revealing who she is, Akechi and Akiren don't know what to think of her. To them, she comes across as an unhinged Akechi fan that ships him with the Phantom Thief Leader for some reason, and is from the future, and looks like a mix of both of them if they squint real hard.

Akechi especially finds her irritating, and finds her very selective sharing of who she is very suspicious, and isn't buying her surname being “Akagi”. His detective senses are ringing like sirens that “🚨 THIS FUTURISTIC BITCH IS SUSPICIOUS AS FUCK! SHE’S CLEARLY NOT BEING TRUTHFUL IN THE SLIGHTEST, DO NOT TRUST, ALSO HIGHLY ANNOYING AND EVASIVE, MUST KEEP WATCH OF SUSPICIOUS TEENAGER! 🚨

So when Komari joins the Phantom Thieves in battle, and the rare instance where Akechi briefly takes over as Navigator, he especially makes his irritation of her known and just how much he doesn't give a shit what happens to her in battle.

("Akagi" is her "undercover" surname)

“Akagi-san’s health is down. Heal her I guess~” 

“What a tragedy, Akagi-san has perished.” 

“Oh, Akagi-san is fully healed and ready to continue to grace us with her presence~”

“Akagi-san has been incapacitated. Can't say I'm surprised.” 

But once he finds out she's his future daughter—-

Granted,the fact that he’s destined to eventually have intercourse that leads to knocking up his rival is—-alot to take in—-. but this is his daughter. His future flesh and blood, he—oh he feels like such a piece of shit 🤦. Curse his trust issues and natural skepticism, he was a fucking dick, how is he going to fix this? 

The “Daughter Reveal” makes him take a 180 in his behavior towards her. Something just clicks and “Fuck this annoying suspicious little shit.” Turns into “I've only known Komari for a couple of months, but if anything were to happen to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.” With zero warning. 

I am thou,

thou art I, 

Protective Dad Akechi has awakened! 

Komari becomes number 1 priority in battle, and he’ll freak out if she gets injured or inflicted with an ailment. He demands Joker to immediately help her like the whole world will implode in on itself if he doesn't. Other teammates or enemy strengths and weaknesses be damned, Komari is important. 

and this shows especially in battle.

The first time Komari gets severely injured in battle, Akechi practically teleports to her side and catches her in his arms. “JOKER, YOU BETTER HAVE A FULL HEAL ITEM ON HAND, USE ONE OF THOSE WEIRD DRUGS FROM TAKEMI-SENSEI YOU BOUGHT, HURRY! YOU'RE NOT LOOKING FAST ENOUGH YOU ONLY HAVE TWO POCKETS IN THAT COAT, HOW COULD YOU MISPLACE IT?! THE LONGER YOU TAKE FAILING TO FIND IT THE CLOSER MARI-CHAN GETS TO THE AFTERLIFE, ARE YOU THIS UNPREPARED AND USELESS WHEN THE REST OF YOUR TEAM IS IN DANGER?!” 

“You stay with me, don't you dare close those eyes, you are not dying on us. You're strong, you can get through this—-JOKER, HURRY THE FUCK UP!” 

Tears streaming down face while still yelling “PAPA’S HERE, I’M NOT LEAVING YOU, once your IDIOTIC FATHER finally heals you you’ll be all better.” 

In the scenario where Komari and another party member is low on health, Akechi ignores them. 

Ryuji speaks up faintly “Uh, hey. Hate to interrupt your guys' very understandable panic–but any chance you could throw me a full heal too?” 

Akechi growls back “Walk it off, Sakamoto-kun, this isn’t about you!” 

Just----the complete 180 from:

"Oh, what an absolute tragedy, Akagi-San has died, tip your masks in respect everyone. She will be sorely missed, if only we had a revival on hand~"

To:

!

"MY BABY!

JOKER, GET THE REVIVAL ITEM, HEAL HER, HURRY HURRY, GET IT OUT FASTER, OUR PRINCESS IS FADING, ARE YOU THIS USELESS WHEN YOUR OTHER TEAMMATES ARE IN NEED OF HEALING?!

when infected with ailment, Akechi and Joker immediately tag team her with the feather fans to bitch slap the ailment away.

Akechi or Joker always perform a followup attack when she's having her turn in battle.

After a successful battle and if Komari's Persona levels up and gains a new ability, the in-game dialogue would be Proud Dad Akechi complimenting and drawing attention to it. Pretty much a more aggressive version of Prince attire Akechi leveling up. “Everyone, look! I gained a new ability. :) “ 

A couple example dialogues I came up with:

“Hey, everyone pay attention, what, were you all raised in a barn? Mari-chan gained a new ability.” 

“JOKER LOOK!---” Physically forces Joker's head to face Komari and her Persona (Even though he was already looking). “MARI GAINED A NEW ABILITY! HER STATS WENT UP AND EVERYTHING, SHE’S GETTING SO STRONG, MAYBE EVEN STRONGER THAN US, WE CREATED SUCH  AN UNSTOPPABLE BADASS YOUNG LADY AIIISTRHGHGJFGHSSGNSKJS.”

“I’m already looking.”

“THEN FUCKING SAY SOMETHING, NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE SELECTIVELY MUTE!”

.............

“My future princess is turning more and more into a powerful badass with every new ability 🥲🥹. Ahem I mean—-oh, Komari-chan earned a new skill, ooo, that’s a good one.” 

..............

“AHAHA! NOW YOU CAN MAKE YOUR ENEMIES QUIVER BEFORE YOU EVEN MORE! MAKE US PROUD.” 

................

Then, a friend mentioned dialogue for other battle actions like Baton Pass and Ailments that I didn't even think of!

So I'm going to have you fellow Akeshu fans participate because I'm having trouble coming up with more Proud Dad Akechi dialogue.

Write some dialogue reactions for Akechi if his and Akiren's daughter was a playable party member.

(you don't have to fill out all these sections. Just, if you come up with a line for one of the below actions, reply or reblog with it and once I get enough participants I'll make another post.

Akechi/Crow: passes Baton to Komari: 

Crow/Black Mask response to Komari Attack Quotes:

Komari Dodges Attack: 

Komari Downs an enemy: 

Double Enemy Down: 

Down all enemies: 

Defeats an enemy: 

Defeats two enemies:

Defeats last Enemy:

Attack miss or Skill miss:

HP at 25% at start of turn:

Affected by Tarunda/Attack Decrease:

Affected by Rakunda/Defense Decrease:

Affected by Sukunda/Speed Decrease: 

Suffering from Shock:

Suffering from Freeze:

Suffering from Brainwash:

Suffering from Despair:

Suffering from Forget:

Suffering from Confuse:

Suffering from Rage:

Downed:

Recovers from being downed:

Incapacitated:

[y-rhywbeth2]

To-do list for the inheritor of the newly re-established office of High Primate of Bhaal of the City of Baldur's gate, circa 1480-something: politics, re-establishing the faith and getting Bhaal more sorely needed worship. And because there's only so much entertainment you can get being a group of twitchy killers living under the sewers.

Negotiate terms with local government for freedom of religion (presumably a private audience with the Grand Dukes, maybe the Parliament of Peers, maybe both, idk) Negotiations will probably begin with a more diplomatic version of: "I apologise on behalf of my Father for that thing where he manifested an avatar and went on a murderous rampage through the streets just over a century after my siblings almost drowned the world - and this city specifically - in blood. But also, considering the power just illustrated I think it's fair to say that it's in the best interests of a quiet life and an easier clean up that you just give us our temple back and let us worship in exchange for assassination and spying work on your behalf." This being the usual arrangement with evil faiths, it is in fact a winning argument. You don't kill anybody who matters (so criminals, travellers nobody knows, the homeless, etc) and honestly nobody will consider it worth the time and resources to stop you anyway. -

Weaken the political hold of enemy faiths Ilmater, Lathander and Helm have an established presence in the city, and the Ilmatari have done well enough since 14th century to upgrade from a shrine to a temple. All three of those faiths are better established, more influential, and will oppose the growth and activity of a Bhaalist presence, for some strange reason, -

Re-establish ties with traditional allied faiths (such as they are) Bhaal's traditional allies were Loviatar, Talona, Bane, Myrkul, Mask and Hoar. While none of these faiths hold the same level of sway in the city their enemies do, they all have at least one shared enemy. -

Eliminate rival/dissenting thieves and assassin guilds and organisations. Maybe establish some. Don't expect to have the thieves guilds at your beck and call (Mask is their patron god, but Bhaal generally worked with him fine - and you'll be fighting the Sharrans for influence too) but do make a space for yourself in there and ensure they understand that patronage and cooperation is mutually beneficial. Assassins? They're Bhaal's and he and his worshippers are going to expect all killers for hire to be paying their dues to the Lord of Murder or expect a "cease and decease" regarding their attempts to profit off of his domain without paying him back. -

Acquire Temple holdings Most of a temple's wealth and influence is going to come from owning land and properties. All members of the clergy of pretty much all faiths are expected to go out and claim some. Unfortunately being out of the picture for a century+ means the temple has lost a lot of its original holdings, so you might need to start working on taking some from the other temples... -

Network, Infiltrate and Recruit Gods always need more worshippers, and that goes double for gods who've been dead for a long time. Serial killers need the law to play nice. It's time to remind the peasantry to pay their "don't murder me taxes" (known as "tithes" for legal purposes) and find the city's more murderous members - even many who'd proudly call themselves upstanding citizens may just desire the execution of certain criminals the law won't touch or can't catch - and seek sympathetic ears amongst the rich and powerful... and remove and replace those who aren't. There are plenty of people like unscrupulous younger children whose ear you might have if only you helped them remove the pesky barriers standing between them and control, known as their relatives. And then you have blackmail! Things like that. Remember to wash the blood off before attending any fancy wine tasting parties in estates and pavilions in the upper city. You want your faithful in the ranks of the city watch and the Fist sooner rather than later. -

Establish presence in the Undercellar As the local criminal underworld hub where the law dare not tread (unless they're off duty and here for some crime themselves) this is where a lot of your "public" work and contracting is going to be. Remember to buy one of the back rooms for the "private shows". -

Consider a Daytime Identity, if you don't already have one An important part of being a typical Bhaalist is maintaining a separate, normal life outside the temple that allows you your own income and solid alibies... or you could just live in your dad's house, cling to your divine status and refuse to do any of that mortal stuff, I guess. -

Start repairs on the Temple It's been a dusty, out of date ruin for 100+ years. Consider the structural damage. Maybe have the butler do a bit of dusting.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

It's the night of Gyftmas and skeleton is awoken by a loud noise. He finds Santa Claus in his living room, deposing gifts or coal next to the Gyftmas tree. Reaction?

Undertale Sans - He was about to ask Asgore if Papyrus wasn't a bit too old to have Santa to visit him but all words died in his throat when he realized it's not Asgore at all but some weird human in his house. Uh... Is it him or the atmosphere is a bit tense? Sans is kinda frozen, just staring, as the weird man is putting gifts under his Gyftmas tree. What kind of weird intruder does that? His mind is racing 200% and it gets even weirder when Santa Claus just winks at him and leaves??? Before he sees him climb Toriel's house across the street and jump in the chimney. Ok, maybe he drank too much alcohol during the party, he's going to sleep lol.

Undertale Papyrus - "WOWIE!" Papyrus has stars in the eyes and runs to Santa Claus to crush him in a hug. He screams he is so happy to meet him for real because his brother keeps trying to make him believe Asgore is him for some reason and he was so tired to play along every year to make him happy! He knew the day would come when he would meet the real Santa Claus! Now he's going to tie him in a chair and ask for two hours what happened to the pony he asked him when he was six years old!

Underswap Sans - Yeah, no, he's not buying it. He handcuffed Santa Claus and called his colleagues, saying there was an intruder in his house. You know how many thieves pretend to be Santa Claus for Gyftmas? You think he's an idiot maybe? It's not because you park your reindeer in front of his house that it means anything. He's getting the guy arrested.

Underswap Papyrus - He was just going downstairs to steal some chocolate he's not supposed to touch before Gyftmas. When he switches on the light, he screams in terror as he notices the random man standing in his living room and faints on the floor to protect himself. Santa is so confused but decides to let him here to not blow his cover.

Underfell Sans - He's in a corner, growling like a wild animal, two huge blasters pointing at the weirdo in his house. What the hell. He thought one of Edge's stupid rivals was attacking, but it's just some random human wearing some stupid costume??? You think anyone can trespass his home and gets out alive? Well he's not anyone! Santa Claus tries to calm him by saying he knows he's not a bad KID and that there was a time all he wanted was a nice red bike for his brother. Ok. The guy knows too much about him. That's too creepy. Red attacks him lol.

Underfell Papyrus - "COAL?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WILL ONLY HAVE COAL THIS YEAR? THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE I HAD BEEN A VERY GOOD BOY ALL YEAR AND THAT ONLY MEANS YOU ARE AN IMPOSTOR AND THAT YOU'RE GOING TO DIE." Yeah, Edge didn't take too well the fact that his childhood idol is only gifting him coal because he was bad this year. Well, it's true, but he's in denial. Santa Claus is supposed to be merciful so clearly, he's in the right. He accepts to let them go only if he can go on tour with him lol.

Horrortale Sans - He was in the woods and randomly found poor reindeers tied to a weird sleigh. He doesn't like people abusing animals for Gyftmas. He's freeing them and leading them to his farm so they can rest and have some hay. He's definitely not happy when some random human comes to him and says he stole his reindeers. Clearly, he can't take care properly of his animals, leaving them in the cold like that. He's calling a wild rescue association right in front of the guy so they can take the reindeers out of his hands.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow stares sternly at the man in the living room. He puts his hands on his hips, angry. "IT IS 3 IN THE MORNING. THIS IS NOT A TIME TO VISIT. I APPRECIATE THE GIFTS BUT PEOPLE ARE WORKING IN THE MORNING SIR SO WILL YOU PLEASE HURRY AND LEAVE ALREADY?" Santa Claus is so impressed he nods like a child and hurries to flee.

Swapfell Sans - He throws salt at Santa's face. "AWAY DEMON! I'M NO FOOL, I KNOW YOU DO NOT EXIST! YOU WON'T LAY EGGS IN MY STOMACH!" He's determined to make that thing leave his house even if he has to use archaic weapons like wood stakes or holy water! You're not going to take him for Gyftmas! He can defend himself!

Swapfell Papyrus - "aw, man, come on, that's not cool. can i have nuggets instead?" He only got coal. Quite deserved if he has to be honest. But still :( Either give nothing at all or a gift, but not coal. It's not the medieval ages anymore. He's not believing in Santa anymore. That's over.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Santa Claus hears the click of a gun behind his head. "I WANT ALL THE GYFTMAS GIFTS RIGHT THIS INSTANT OR I'M GOING TO RUIN GYFTMAS FOREVER." Santa Claus gulps and gives him his sack. Coffee is going to have the Gyftmas of his life this year. Though everyone else... But who cares.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He's hiding in the Gyftmas tree, terrified. He just wanted a drink when he saw a guy intrude his house by the chimney. Who does that? He's scared, and confused, and he wants to scream after Wine so badly. But then the man puts gifts in front of him and he's even more confused??? He doesn't know him? Is this a bomb? Once Santa is gone, he's opening one gift with a broom. He's so surprised when he realizes it's actually the last video game console he wanted. He can't hold his scream of excitement. Wine comes running downstairs, thinking he's getting murdered.

[evolutionsvoid]

If I was a poet, I could write up something real fancy here about deadly beauty, but I am not and thus I can't. I would ask Eucella about such a thing, but then it would be an all day thing with her explaining that boring stuff to me (Gosh, I wonder how THAT feels -E.R.). Regardless, things that are pretty can also be dangerous. It isn't the most eloquent way of saying it, but that's what I got. No matter how beautiful or cute something is, you need to be aware of the potential hazards it brings. Don't make the mistake of thinking that other species think and do like us. A beast reared up with arms open wide is not looking for a hug. A brightly colored amphibian isn't just touting such vivid coloration to look nice. Make such assumptions at your own peril.

With that in mind, I wonder how long it took for people to realize the danger in this species. I feel that its appearance is distracting while its methods are subtle, so one could easily miss the fact that this bird can be a killer. The zhenniao is certainly up there when it comes to beautiful birds. Such plumage! Such colors! Such grace! They stand tall on long slender legs, strutting about in the wild. Their feathers are long and colorful, flowing in the wind as they move. Their faces look as if they were wearing makeup, and some compare their draping head feathers to luscious hair. With such a look and an obvious aura of pride and elegance, the zhenniao certainly sticks out to many! It is no wonder that when royalty and nobles learned of such a species that they rushed to have it in their gardens and estates. Collectors and artists desired their wondrous feathers to use in decoration and pieces. To have such a specimen in your possession made all your rivals green with envy, but only until you were blue with dead (What? - E.R.).

It took some time to realize the culprit, when collectors and nobility started turning up dead in their homes. The problem was the fact that these were people with a lot influence and money, which meant there was a myriad of reasons why folks wanted them dead. It was easy to write these deaths as the work of assassins or thieves, as the world is filled with more blades than throats. But then smarter minds got to work, and they begin to notice that many of these strange deaths occurred not long after a zhenniao or one of its parts had been obtained. Folks started to look further into this species and realized oops! This bird is incredibly toxic!

Much to many people's surprise (at least the live ones), the zhenniao is absolutely dripping with poison. Now I don't mean that literally, as then it would have been obvious if your new pet bird is leaking toxins all over the place. No, what I mean is that its body secretes a potent poison from its preening gland that it then spreads to everything. It gets applied to its feathers, coated on its talons and beak, and is even infused into its meat. And as the years go by with constant preening and applications of the toxic oil, the whole bird is just a walking poison cloud. And people were keeping them as pets, or using their feathers for decorations, dusters, or quills! Those who had the whole bird on the premises would die the quickest, as they typical touched the animal and then didn't wash their hands before touching their face. Those with only feathers would suffer a slow decline, as the dander and dust that came off these objects would kill them bit by bit. And with that single discovery, the zhenniao collecting craze came to a real swift end!

So the zhenniao is a highly poisonous bird, which leads to the question of: How and why? Like I said, the toxin is found in the preening gland, but it turns out that that isn't the whole story. You see, like cockatrices, the zhenniao's weapon isn't entirely made by them. While they do possess a poison, its true legendary potency is unlocked with its diet. The bird loves to feed upon poisonous berries and toxic amphibians, but its real favorite treat is snakes. The zhenniao is the bane for all venomous serpents, as the bird has a taste of their deadly weapon. While other animals may shy away from the killing bite of a viper, the zhenniao rushes right in! The bird moves with incredible speed upon seeing a snake, attacking before the serpent even knows it is in danger! It sprints forth and then unleashes a flurry of kicks and stomps upon it prey, practically dancing upon its skull until it stops moving. Now you may think that a thin-legged bird like this can't really hit all that hard, but you would be surprised! Not only does their kick have real force to it, it is also the crazy speed it can throw these things out with! They can hit their prey in less than a second and they keep the blows coming! Snakes and other small animals have their bones reduced to dust beneath the endless onslaught, and the bird will eventually gobble up the mashed remains. They typically target the head to dispatch their prey as fast as possible, and since the snakes keep their venom there, that is the first part they eat.

All the venom and toxins they feed upon are worked into their oil, which makes it even stronger. The obvious reason for such a defense is so that nothing else dares try to eat them. No wonder they strut about with such confidence! In fact, zhenniao feathers can be so potent with poison that they will use molted feathers to line their nests and protect their eggs from parasites! It is incredible how deadly this beautiful bird can be, even when they don't try! Obviously, the zhenniao doesn't intentionally try to hurt or kill people, but they will fight if they feel threatened. Those same stompers that crush vipers will be used on you, and they can kick hard enough to bruise. However, that part really isn't the issue. The real problem comes from their talons scratching you, which means you just got poisoned and it is time to start running to a doctor.

Now that it is well known that the zhenniao is a deadly species to be around, surely their popularity and influence has vanished. Well, kind of not really. It more so shifted from being a regal creature of beauty and elegance, to the deadly allure of a graceful assassin. Their swift movements, deadly dance and aura of lethality has caused this species to be commonly called the "Assassin Bird." You may find many plays or stories who have assassin characters bearing the name or look of this bird! And such a name isn't just for show, as their poison and feathers have been used for the real deal! Assassins may dip these feathers into drink to poison it or spread its dander onto clothes or bed sheets. Tiny knives made from their talons and spurs are perfect for hiding in sleeves and jabbing into unwary targets. This reputation and use then makes this bird even more popular in art and fashion, as they symbolize deadly beauty. Makeup can be done up to resemble them, and gowns may be made in their image (but not using real feathers). I have also seen a fair share of tattoos bearing these birds, as they are practically walking pieces of symbolism and art!

Though they do have their popularity and reputation, it is interesting that such beauty can only be admired from a distance and never up close. Despite their wondrous looks, every inch of them is deadly, even their meat. Once again, I feel that something poetic may be said about such a thing. Like what good is the beauty that which cannot be touched? What shall thine heart feel beneath all the luster and sheen when only appreciated behind the cold distance of glass? To stand apart despite thine yearnings, a world away yet so close? (Chlora, if you are making fun of me with this garbage: stop it. If this is an actual attempt at poetry: stop it. - E.R.)

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

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"Zhenniao"

Yeah, I won't lie, I certainly used a lot of liberties with this one, as the descriptions and colors didn't really gel for me. So instead, just went more with a secretary bird!

Also a big thanks to @Delta-Hexagon for helping me figure out the colors for this one!