#heretical inspo

[cornley-amateur-drama-society]

In case anyone was wondering, my latest angst idea involves Chris being called "Little Bird" by some kind of demon or higher being while it's taunting him

[twilightfairie]

HUGH GRANT in HERETIC ♱𓈒 ۫ ·꩜

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Requiem for the Damned ଓ♱˚⋆

*holds head in hands* Idk why Dottore keeps haunting me with writing inspo. And for this idea to manifest just before Holy Week….fuck it, I hope you all enjoy the blasphemous tale of Priest! Dottore x Demon! Darling _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Tw:: yandere, violence, death, religious abuse, dubcon, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 2.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Despite your status as a wandering demon, you have no place in human cognizance. Rather, you conceal yourself from mortal eyes in favor of close observations and whispered temptations. Humans, from your perspective, are interesting creatures—they are ambitious, easily influenced by spiritual beings, capable of both good and evil.

♡ And what better example than the one who summoned you on a starry night? Such rituals are not uncommon amongst heretics, but most only succeed in invoking the contempt of their fellow humans. And few would invoke your name, much less commit sacrilege within the walls of the Church.

♡ You sense danger immediately upon your appearance. Within the summoning circle, you take note of your sigil perfectly illustrated in blood against marble. Beyond it, what alarms you is not your sacred surroundings nor the fresh corpse mixed with your offerings of books and fruit. It is the figure standing over you, cloaked in moonlight, gazing at you with eyes the color of hellfire.

“My ritual is a success. Welcome to my humble church, o noble demon…or would you rather be addressed by your epithet? ______, Fallen Seraph, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge.”

♡ A glimpse into his soul is all it takes to strike fear into your heart. Within Hell, there are rumors of a small village in Sumeru. Its people are nothing of note, a congregation of simpletons whose lives revolve around the beliefs of their Church. The lone exception is the main priest, Father Zandik, better known as Il Dottore.

♡ The stories, passed through human voices, speak of a child ostracized for his unconventional beliefs and his interest in the macabre. Branded a madman, he was placed in the care of the Church elders who corrected his ways of thinking. Once he became of age, Zandik was given the choice to move out of the rectory or to remain as a priest; he chose the latter of his own volition.

♡ Since his ordination, Zandik has proved himself to be an exceptional priest. He educates the masses, reviews theological texts, performs exorcisms, and provides religious counsel for the doubtful. He even serves as the town’s doctor, fully gaining the acceptance of his community.

♡ The rumors don’t stop there. For Il Dottore earned his title by performing miracles. It is he who guides the people into religious ecstasy, he who cures the sick from mysterious curses, he who blesses the weak into “enhanced humans.” There are already whispers that once Dottore’s mortality catches up with him, he will surely be canonized as the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles.

♡ But spiritual beings such as yourself know the truth. That Dottore is neither a kind priest nor a devout believer, that his days in the Church only magnified his heretical inclinations. Disillusioned with God, Zandik decided to turn His religious sanctuary into his own laboratory, one where he could fulfill his lust for knowledge through a mask of holiness.

♡ He manipulates the people with false teachings. He triggers religious ecstasy with drugged incense. He singles out devotees to “test their faith” during the quiet hours of the Church. And what the town perceives as curses and miracles are actually scientific experiments in which Dottore plays god.

♡ It’s too late to escape. No matter your divine powers, nothing prepares you for Dottore’s traps. The incantations, the barrier of the summoning circle, an aura so holy yet sinister that it couldn’t possibly come from ordinary religious objects—all you can do is fall to your knees and beg for his mercy, all the while he watches you with a confident smile.

♡ His intentions are like that of any human: He summoned you to form a contract. In exchange for his soul, he demands your knowledge, your resources, your full servitude for so long as he roams the mortal plane. Your hesitation only triggers another wave of scorching pain, followed by panic as Dottore grips your horn and forces you to face him.

“Make no mistake, ______. The mere fact of your divinity does not make you indestructible. In exchange for your cooperation, you will bear witness to experiments of the same magnitude as God’s creations. What say you?”

♡ You have no other choice. And that is how, in the sanctity of the Church, you make a deal with the human named Zandik. Once the pact has been forged, Dottore admires the bright sigil on his chest, plucks a few feathers from your wings, and disables the summoning circle so you can leave. Thus begins your personal hell.

♡ It is easy for you to answer Dottore’s questions about the divine. The horror lies in assisting him in experiments, responding to his summons no matter the inconvenience, allowing him to extract your blood, tears, and feathers. No, what’s most humiliating is when he uses your body for his “research,” bending you over the altar and bringing you to physical ecstasy against your will.

♡ At this point, you don’t know who to pray to. One night, Dottore shows you a secret room in his laboratory. As soon as he lights the lamps, your eyes take in numerous bodies and skeletons of a different classification from his usual victims. The extra bones jutting from the scapulas, the amputated wings, the halos pinned to the walls, the holy aura you’d felt from his religious objects…instantly, Dottore’s powers make sense.

“This is my first specimen. She was my guardian angel…no, I jest. She was a mere messenger who implored me to repent for my sins. From her words, I deduced it had been within Heaven’s capacity to save me during my youth—and yet God only sent an angel to me after my first act of blasphemy.”

The angels…how many has he killed? Not even during your fall from Heaven did you feel such primal fear for your life. But you cannot scream—you have long been trained to resist fight and flight. All you can do is listen to Dottore’s explanation, watch as he approaches a pure white skeleton and wraps his hands around its fractured hyoid bone.

He gives you a calm smile. “Luckily, her body provided me with indispensable resources for my experiments and my procurement of her brethren. I believe her name was Sohreh.”

♡ Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Dottore points at the far corner of the room to reveal a space dedicated to demons. Four dead bodies, their causes of death vividly described. Horns, wings, and other body parts amputated in exchange for lives spared after exorcisms. And when Dottore returns to your side, tracing the wound from where he broke off your horn, you can only tremble and acquiesce to a checkup. It grows back fully by the end of the year.

♡ He has his moments of vulnerability, however. Perhaps it is due to your nature as a demon, a creature which represents evil, that Dottore does not hide his heart from you. Once, after his usual confessions—he always makes up trivial sins—he remains in the confessional until his fellow priest has left. Then he goes to the altar and summons you.

♡ What catches you off-guard is not his lack of greetings. Rather, it’s the way he pulls you close to his body, lips ghosting the curve of your ear. There, in the heart of the Church, he whispers to you every sin he has ever committed. Despite his normal tone of voice, his words have never betrayed a language so guiltless, so sincere, so human.

♡ He asks how much of his madness is to blame on the influence of demons, or if he had been born wicked. He asks if humans were truly given the mental faculties to withstand temptation regardless of their circumstances. He asks if the same can be said for spiritual beings, questioning why former angels like you were also created with the capacity to sin. He even asks if praying for a demon can offer them any hope of salvation.

♡ It takes you a while to answer his questions. It’s just like him to put your emotions in disarray, to make you feel pity for the very cause of your current suffering. Against your nature, you wonder if there is still a chance for Zandik, if he can somehow repent or find a way to save himself from your contract and all of his sins. Even if it is too late, He has always been more forgiving to humans than angels.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“Do you know why I became a demon, Zandik?”

Your question is what prompts Zandik to pull away from you, though his touch lingers. His gaze, as always, is unfathomable; you can never discern what hides within those pools of crimson.

“No, I do not. Few demonological texts allude to your existence, and only the Lesser Key of Deshret cites your previous status as an angel of the highest ranking. I have made theories in relation to your epithets but I respect all possibilities. Now what would you, as the primary source, reveal to me?”

Now it is your turn to confess.

“Seraphim are the closest to God but for that reason, we are the most distant from His creations. Everything we know of the world is derived only from what He tells us, not our own insights. And so I defied His Word and ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, committing the same sin which condemned all of humanity.”

The tip of your upper wing brushes against Zandik’s face, while your middle wings encircle his body in a loose hug. As for your lower wings…they are nothing but twin scars covered in short feathers. After your descent, it seemed like a rational decision to chop them off, broken as they were. It helped that your wings had just outgrown their original purpose.

For once, you barely flinch at the sensation of his touch against your scars. Many times, Zandik has inquired about the loss of your lower wings and even asked if he could have them. They still remain in Hell, tucked away in a corner of your home, eyes forever closed.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond. “Do you ever regret your decision?”

You shrug. “It was difficult at first, naturally. Many of my eyes were blinded—yes, that is why I rarely open the ones on my wings—but those which still function have seen so many wonderful sights up-close. Neither must I cover my face with my remaining wings. And despite being what your kind and my former brethren would dub a monster…I’m happier now.”

“I see, I see.” His curiosity appears far from sated, however, a sentiment you can empathize with. “As I thought, God is incomprehensible. For Him to deny even His greatest creation of salvation…it confirms that there are limits to the forgiveness of that which humans call a ‘loving god.’ Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me.”

And just as quickly as he initiated his confession, Zandik steps out of your grasp and dismisses you. But you make no haste, silently watching him after you “leave.”

His expression is thoughtful. A gloved hand touches his chest, right above your sigil.

Such an interesting creature.

Honestly, you don’t know what to make of your feelings for this human. Much as you despise his cruel treatment towards you, he never fails to capture your interest with his experiments and philosophies. Whenever he speaks of God, you wonder if a small part of him still desires to be saved. But that will never be.

Zandik preaches salvation with the knowledge that he will never receive it. For the Church never taught him how to love.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

♡ Il Dottore never became the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles. Neither did he have a funeral mass befitting of a priest, nor a peaceful death from natural causes. Instead, he died young, laicized, once again denounced as a heretic by his community.

♡ You don’t know how his crimes were exposed, and why now. Perhaps it is God’s punishment for him, a blessing for his victims, or both. Either way, Dottore paid for his sins on a sunny day, burned at the stake before a disdainful crowd. Not long after his heart stopped beating, his belongings were thrown into the fire—research, tools, anything which carried his memory.

♡ You never left his side. After his last rites, led by an elderly bishop who condemned Zandik as he did in the past, you sat next to him and offered a final conversation. He didn’t express any fear nor sadness in regards to his imminent death, merely stating it a pity that his achievements could never be appreciated in his town.

♡ …He did ask if there is any chance of meeting again in Hell, but you reminded him that the punishment of sinners is out of your jurisdiction. Plus, it’s better that way—you have no desire to avenge yourself, and you’d rather not witness Zandik’s suffering for all eternity. You can only imagine the severity of his punishment, what more if he is assigned to one of the demons he exorcized.

♡ During his execution, you stood at the front of the crowd. You kept your eyes trained on him, for so long as his scarlet orbs remained open, whispering the prayers for the dead on his behalf. While a part of you felt liberated, another was mournful. You hope your last words to Zandik gave him solace in his final moments.

“Rest now, Zandik. God may never forgive your sins, but I shall.”

♡ And thus ends the life of Il Dottore. In the following days, the Church is purged of its holy, sinister aura, mainly because they discarded the religious objects tainted with angel remains. You continue your usual obligations as a wandering demon, but the humans you observe pale in comparison to your companion of many years.

♡ Not long after, you return to Hell for your other divine duties. As soon as you appear in your abode, however, something feels off. The sinister aura, the offering of books and fruit, your lower wings gone from their original place… The answer comes in the form of a hand grabbing you by the horn, pulling you backwards, twisting your body to meet a familiar gaze the color of hearth-fire. Only, this time, those eyes are brimming with pure joy, paired with a genuine smile.

♡ Apparently, Dottore’s soul did end up in Hell but not in the way you expected. In a proud voice, he explains that the Devil gave him a special fate. Whether it was due to vacant positions or everyone’s fear of the infamous “Demon-Killer,” you’ll never know. What Dottore does confirm is that as the demon bound to him via contract, you have to take responsibility and act as his companion in Hell.

“Rather than subject me to eternal suffering, the Devil believed that my talents would prove useful for the punishments of my fellow sinners. How wonderful is it for my achievements to be recognized in Hell? …Oh? I didn’t predict such a physical reaction from you. All of your eyes are wide open, and you seem to be on the verge of fainting.”

♡ You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. To think your personal hell has been extended to eternity—are your sins enough to warrant such a fate?! But after confirming your misfortune, all you can do is sigh and tend to Zandik. He looks exactly the same, with the exception of a few burn scars on his body. And judging by the familiar black feathers on his person, he seems eager to discard his former religious attire along with his mask of faith.

♡ And when Zandik unfastens his scorched cassock, he takes your hand and places it on his unburned chest, right above your sigil. It glows vibrantly, brighter than any light you laid eyes on in Heaven. And beneath the flesh, you can feel his heart beating in sync with yours.

“Tell me, ______, do I still appear human to you?”

“You already know my answer to that question. But fine, I’ll admit it: Yes, you always have.”

♡ 

More Church AU here!! Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

At long last, I am free from Priesttore…thank you to everyone. To my readers, to my fellow Dottore simps, to my mutuals who indulged my tortured DMs after midnight, to the artist whose fan art inspired this idea to begin with. May you all have a lovely day╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Tag a Dottore enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @mochinon-yah @diodellet @lcveaesop @oofasleep @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @boundinparchment @harmonysanreads @teabutmakeitazure @yandere-wishes @yanmaresu @nicebonescomrades @nimandu @lesanyanyas @moarar

[the-artist-grimm]

Crimson Angel AU - The Three Remaining Crown Bearers

(Text updated as of Nov 8th, 2024)

More Crimson Angel Lore! This time thinking about some of the previous/current vessels.

(credit to @/waokevale for the inspo! Its from their posts head-cannoning Forneus as a former crown bearer where I got the idea to have her in the lineup!)

Over the course of 1000 years Narinder had in total 13 vessels who bore the red crown, and each were chosen upon their deaths for displaying potential upon arrival into the Gateway. Though the prophecy stated that a lamb would be the final bearer, Narinder did not want to sit idle, and had hoped that others could clear a quicker path for the chosen liberator while he waited. 

Currently named bearers (featuring my SYMBOLISM obsession, deaths/numbers are somewhat related to the character as closely as I manage) 

Forneus - #7 (Lady Luck)

The 7th bearer of the Red Crown, and bared it approximately 300 years ago. Captured by heretics after drawing their attention away from a family in trouble whilst on the road, Forneus caught Narinder’s attention for both her fighting prowess and fierce sense of justice, and proved to be one of his more efficient vessels. Quick-witted and clever, she was a seemingly kind leader to her cult, but a ruthless warrior to all others, with her mission being to decimate the Bishops’ higher-ranking witnesses as opposed to taking them on personally. She also appeared to possess a remarkable amount of luck, hardly ever dying whilst on crusades. Yet despite that her term as vessel only lasted approximately 80 years, whereupon finding herself pregnant via one of her lovers, she willingly relinquished the crown so that she could raise her children in peace, not wanting to put them at risk.

Narinder, though somewhat irked, accepted her choice, as she’d managed to kill enough witnesses to set the Bishops internal hierarchies back by several decades of experience. Unbeknownst to him, however, the very children Forneus relinquished the crown for would join him not long after, with the cat herself being bestowed a golden skull and an open promise of reunion with her children in the distant future by the God of Wisdom and War. 

Forneus died of her heart-in saving those sheep, her heart was cut out during her sacrifice 

7 is considered a lucky number

The Chariot is the 7th Tarot Card, representing triumph through determination, self-control, and overcoming obstacles.

Became vessel at approximately age 20, is now over 400 years old

Ratau- #12 (The Shepherd)

The 12th bearer of the Red Crown, and bared it approximately over 40 years ago. Killed by heretics after refusing to acknowledge the threat they posed to all within the Lands of the Old Faith. Hailing from a village that willfully ignored the lambs and their warnings of slaughter, it was not until heretics arrived to razed the place to the ground that Ratau realized their threat, yet by then it was too late to act as he was slain. Upon his arrival in the gateway Narinder initially had no plans to make him a vessel, yet the rat’s anger towards both himself and the Bishops appeared to make him an easily manipulated enough target to try. And with the dwindling lamb’s population heralding the final liberator’s rise, the death god was desperate to have a vessel prepared to take on the role of mentor. 

Though a remarkably fast learner, Ratau proved inadequate in regards to his ruthlessness, unwilling to push his followers or himself to their limits. And upon being forced to sacrifice a follower following an incident with a mysterious fox, the resulting guilt led to Ratau relinquishing the crown within only a decade, much to Narinder’s frustration. He left the grounds with his disciples and isolated himself to a self-imposed solitude within the woods, only ever visiting his friends from time to time and trying to put his previous cult-life behind him. 

Yet as fate would have it, twenty years later Ratau would chance across a young, newly orphaned lamb within the woods, and though aware of the prophesied fate ahead of them, decided to take the little one in. Fourteen years later, that little lamb would rise as the final vessel.

Ratau died for turning a blind eye to the world around him, and thus, lost his left eye in turn. It was a slash and a stab through which killed him 

12 is considered a number of stability and order, fitting for a mentor

The Hanged Man is the 12th Tarot Card, representing ultimate surrender, sacrifice, and patience.

Became a vessel at age 25, is currently in his mid 60s.

Anthea- #13 (The Lamb/Unlucky Thirteen)

The 13th and final bearer of the Red Crown. Anthea was killed by heretics upon sacrificing herself to save the life of her guardian, Ratau, and had been a willing sacrifice due to a belief that she already lived on borrowed time. Of all prior vessels Anthea was the only one to have worshiped The One Who Waits prior to resurrection and vesselship, and proved to not only be highly devoted, but also far more empathetic and aware of his situation beyond those who came before them. When it came to their interactions with the god, Anthea often expressed a kindness to not just him but his typically overlooked disciples as well, bring them gifts and befriending the three to try and ease their imprisonments. Though coming from a genuine place of care, it was also born from Anthea’s own lack of self, with the lamb preferring to put everyone but themself first. 

It was through aiding The One Who Waits that Anthea’s perspective of self began to change, as Narinder slowly began to challenge their self-sacrificial tendencies the more he got to know them, with the two growing closer and eventually falling in love. Yet it was right before Anthea planned to confess her feelings that The One Who Waits seemingly betrayed them, ordering them to sacrifice themself just as they finally started wanting to live. 

Anthea died for being unable to express their own will beyond giving themself up for others, sticking their neck out so long as it mean someone else benefited from it. Their death was via beheading. 

13 is considered a number of bad luck, yet also of the ending of one cycle and the beginning of another, a transformation 

Death is the 13th Tarot Card, and represents the ending of one phase of a life and the start of another, change, and new beginnings.

Became vessel at age 26, and finished slaying all the bishops in 3 years, making them 29

Trying to go through and whip the game’s admittedly open-ended-ish/slightly vague lore into something more fleshed-out is really fun lol. Might make more vessels but thus far the only three who remain are 7, 12, and 13-which Narinder doesn't even realize that Forneus is till kicking about.

Also Weapons notes!

Forneus gets a hammer because it in a way represents justice (see a court gavel) and though it hits slow it hits HARD. In an RPG its the tank who usually gets it within the party.

Ratau I gave a staff since he's implied to be somewhat cowardly, or at least appears to not like killing to an extent with how he gave up the crown after sacrificing a follower, and since he gives us the curses in-game (yeah they're on Nari's orders but Ratau's the one handing them out), essentially making him a mage seemed fitting-plus in fantasy the mage is usually a mentor. He also has a staff in-game so it maintains that silhouette, albeit I made this one look more like a shepherd's hook considering it's meant to be his weapon as a cult leader.

Anthea, the Lamb, I gave a sword since it's the weapon of a knight in shinning armor, since their personality is that of someone always saving others after all.

And lastly a little doodle of everyone's death scars!

(Also if anyone wants to send asks about the AU or to the characters go ahead hehehe, this AU is taking over my life :3 )

Boarders are by @lambouillet

[skyartworkzzz]

The Followers (pt 1)

HEY YALL!! Finally got around to designing some of my COTL OCs which will be taking part in some future stories

Down below is some info about each of them from left to right! Some of it may be subject to changes futurely...

Enjoy <3

Astrid (she/her)

Rescued from Darkwood

Nurse apprentice

Was rescued by the Lamb while running away from heretics that chased her down the woods

A little clumsy, but tries her best and has an overall bubbly personality

Fun fact: Astrid was based off the pink-bow bunny from the official COTL animations!

Beau (he/him)

Rescued from Darkwood

The yellow cat! <3

Head-farmer and gardener of the cult, he is the one who decides which crops will be planted

Was a single child of a farmer family, they used to donate their crops to those who needed food

Managed to escape the heretics a few times, until eventually getting caught to be sacrificed to the Bishop of Chaos, thats when Lambert found and saved him

Felix (he/they/it)

Our little freaky lemur 😌 most of the followers think hes weird, but he does not mind and even finds such aversions quite amusing

Felix is a Witness. He was born in the cult a few years after Narinder became a follower, and turned into a Disciple somewhere before Lambert set off to free the Bishops from their Purgatory

One of the closests to the Lamb, he's seen as their little guy

Was raised by a lesbian couple that is still alive and love him very much <3

Tetris (she/her)

Rescued from Anura

Head-nurse of the Healing Bay, she mentors new nurses and defines their tasks

She used to have a family of her own, until they were taken away by illnesses and heretics

Very sweet and patient, sometimes quiet even, it takes a lot to get on this woman's nerves

Nanaty (she/her)

Rescued from Anchordeep

Widower; also used to have a family of her own, until they were slain by the heretics. Ever since then, Nanaty has resented the Old Faith and sought revenge

Was converted after fighting the Lamb during one of their crusades, with them promising to find the ones responsible for her tragedy. Once it was done, she swore her loyalty to the Lamb and became their guard

Loves children and is a natural mother, putting her guard down for the little ones whenever needed

Morris (he/him)

Rescued from Anura

Despite being a loyalty enforcer now, Morris was the first to dissent and very skeptical on his first days at the cult

Challenged the Lamb to a fight pit once, where he was brutally beaten up but spared at the end, taking the experience to learn from his stubborness

Nowadays he is the friendliest one to welcome new members of the cult and help them get used to their new home

Fun fact: altho Morris was based off on 2 bison followers I had in my gameplays, I also took inspo on the bison we see in the official COTL animations!

[druidwolf21]

I've never made an ask (in this case a request) before on Tumblr, I'm pretty new. But I've been with Corax brainrot for the last couple of weeks and Idk if you could write something on the goth primarch + f!reader? In serious need of some inspo to start writing my own fics that come from those mind worms I've been having around Goth Big Bird. Smut, fluff, whatever is easier for you, I'm not here to inconvenience. If he isn't your forte either, feel free to ignore my curious ass and move on <3

@janothertrash

Firstly yes yes yes please write if you're comfortable! And if/when you do please tag me!

Secondly of course I would love to write for you! No inconvenience at all, always feel free to ask!

Here ya go, I hope you like it!

Corvus corax/ F reader

Content warning for sexy times

Pretty thing

"my lord, I have completed the weapons acquisition form 32d as you requested, it's being processed now"

Corvus looked from his work towards the voice.

You stood just before his desk, soft swathes of raven guard black fitted your figure a little too well, showing every curve. He drank in your figure, from your boots, eyes following the slender outline of your waist, your breasts, slowly rising and falling asleep you breathed, his gaze lingered for a moment, before finally rising to your face.

Such a delicate little thing. He thought

"good, that saves me a job" he waved a large hand towards a data slate "there is a further request for a munitions drop"

"Of course, my lord" you walked around to the slate and reached out to take it. Your fingers brushed across the back of his hand as you gathered up the information.

Corvus felt his breath hitch in his throat at the touch and he felt his pulse quicken, you'd been here a matter of days and since then his focus has been lost to the wind.

Every time you entered his office, every step down the corridor, your voice as you directed serfs and servitors, all of it echoes deep inside him, waking something primal.

"my lord?". You asked softly

His dark eye met yours as a look of soft concern creased your face.

"Are you well? Forgive me, but you have seemed distracted, can I get you anything?"

You tentatively reached out, touching his hand deliberately this time, delicate, as if scared to break him.

Corvus felt his heart hammer in his chest.

This is ridiculous, I have faced soldiers, monster, heretics, so why...why is my heart pounding?

"my lord corax?" You had lent closer to him, you were so so close. He could smell your perfume, smell the drying ink and parchment on your hands, feel your breath on his skin

The world spun and you squeaked in surprise, suddenly finding yourself set on the desk, paperwork and slates pushed to the floor with a loud clatter. Your thighs spread across the cool wood, a large hand placed either side of your legs as you stared up at the dark eyes of your Primark. Eyes like obsidian started into yours, unblinking as his black hair tumbled around his shoulders.

A moment of silence settled between you, punctuated only by heavy breathing.

"Lord cor.."

Your words were silenced as he lurched forward and pressed his lips to yours, his hand grasping the back of your head, pulling you to him.

You sat stunned as he finally pulled back. He blinked at you, as if suddenly realising what he'd done.

"my apologies, I don't know what came over me" he muttered, moving to step away from the desk.

You clutched at his arm and pulled him back to you, a hand wrapping into his raven hair as you kissed him, he stiffened, before relaxing into the touch, returning your gentle touch with a firm grip on your thigh. You felt his tongue trace across your lip and you moaned softly as he deepened the kiss.

"I am distracted" he muttered as he moved his lips to your neck, peppering soft kisses and bites along your exposed skin. "You have been nothing but a distraction" his hand kneaded your thigh before moving upwards.

He looked at you, and you stared back, eyes heavy and you sucked in air. You nodded slightly, chest heaving and you moaned as his fingers found their mark.

"so wet already" he muttered , gently circling his fingers "you wanted this all along didn't you"

He pressed a finger inside you, slowly moving in and out, as you arched into him, begging for more.

He felt his own arousal growing as he fingered in and out of you, you were so warm, so wet. Desperate for his attention.

You moaned as he sped up slightly, head throw back you feel warmth rising in your stomach, before you finally peak, legs shaking slightly and blood flushing your cheeks.

Corvus hummed low, pulling his fingers back and bringing them to his lips, gazing down at you hungrily. You lay flat against the desk, your face a gentle pink and body trembling slightly.

He ran his tongue over his fingers as you watched, before reaching for you and pulling your dress off roughly over your head.

He stepped away and reached for his own trousers and shirt pulling them off and throwing them to the side and standing before the desk.

You hungrily eyes his figure, eyes trailing down his broad scared chest, down his stomach, finally resting on his dick, twitch slightly as he prowled back towards you.

"I'm going to take you, make you mine, every single thing I've wanted to do to you.." he trailed off, pulling you to the edge of the desk

He rubbed the tip of his cock against your wet core, slowing dragging it back and forth and smiled as you groaned.

He leant over you, Arms either side of your head and he stared you down hungrily.

"say you want it"

"wh..what?"

"tell me you want me to fuck you, tell me you want me to ruin you"

'my lord, please, I need you inside me" you whispered, breathless as you feel him rubbing up against you.

"say my name"

"corvus"

You gasped as he finally entered you, stretching you to your limit as he slid in, inch by inch. You clawed at his arms and shoulders as he finally bottomed out.

Corvus gently stroked your face, checking you were ok, before he began thrusting in and out of you.

You thought you were going mad, his dick filled you up as he fucked you, over and over. His calused hands holding your thighs up as he pounded into you to stop you from sliding across the desk.

Your cried out his name as you came, corvus fucking you through it and moaning as he felt you tighten around him.

"throne, you were made for me" he growls, his hips slapping into your thighs as he fucks you silly. He grasps a breast and squeezes, toying with your nipple and you cry out again.

"c..corvus!" You grapple onto him like your drowning, nails dragging furrows across his shoulders.

He picks you up, hands gripping your ass as he bounces you in his cock, grunting as he feels you shuddering and twitching, his thrusts becoming erratic as he edges closer.

You press your head into his chest, panting "please" you beg 'i want it... Inside"

Corvus couldn't take it

He growled as he came inside you, pumping into you as he finished, breath shuddering in his chest and he clutched you to him, his dick still twitching inside you as you gulped for air.

He held you for a moment, before pulling out and setting you back on his desk, he struggled to hide a proud smile as he looked at you, flushed and panting, his cum dripping from you as you struggled to sit up.

You smiled up at him sweetly and his heart skipped a beat again, he stepped around the desk and picked up his black cloak, draping it around your shoulders it almost swallowed you.

He ran a hand through his black silken hair and sighed, taking seat in front of you. A million thoughts ran through his head.

Was this a mistake? Was this fair, did you even want this?

He looked away and spoke softly

"you do not need to stay, if this is not something you desire, I do not wish to"

You reached out from under the midnight cloth and gently cupped his face, bringing his gaze to yours

"my lord" you said, the voice as sweet as honey "if it pleases you, I would like to stay by your side"

Corvus smiled gently and pulled into into a gentle embrace, pressing his lips to the crown of your head

"it would please me... But maybe we should clothe you, before going anywhere else"

@cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @lemon-russ @beckyninja

[spookieloverslittlemind]

Their favourite movie…

includes: Michael Myers, Pinhead, Brahms Heelshire, Art the Clown, Sun and Moon (fnaf), Marta (Outlast 2)

spoilers: mentions of Saw and LOTR endings but tried to keep it vague just in case

Michael

I wouldn’t say he’s “happy” to watch anything, because Michael doesn’t really express “happiness” in any context, but he is content to sit completely still for hours on end, watching whatever you choose. He doesn’t form opinions on films so doesn’t have a favourite, but when you watch a gory horror film together, the SECOND the end credits are rolling he is up and grabbing his knife, heading for the door; Mike loves some inspo x

Pinhead

Fascinated by human media, having long forgotten that aspect of humanity. Pinhead enjoys films that he finds mentally stimulating, thrillers and mysteries mostly (gory films have him scoffing because he could easily make a far more gory scene in the blink of an eye). That said, Pinhead doesn’t like rewatching films because if they have a mystery and he’s solved it, he has no interest in seeing it again because “It is done; an experience that cannot be repeated”. His favourite film is Saw because he was completely blindsided by the plot twist at the end - obviously, a body on the floor of the entire film is nothing more than furniture to Pinhead, so when bro GOT UP?? Pinhead was losing it. Had to pause the film to pace for a few minutes. Couldn’t comprehend how he didn’t see it coming.

Brahms

Every Barbie movie from the early 2000’s, classic animated Disney princess films, and Peter Pan; Brahms thinks the princesses are very pretty (often comparing them to you regardless of your gender because he romanticises every fibre of your being) and believes himself to be the boy who never quite grew up, ironically. Doesn’t mind gory films, but doesn’t like complicated ones because he gets very frustrated; prefers to cuddle up with you and watch something wholesome. Will get pouty and is not above begging to start a movie over the second it’s finished.

Art

He’s pretty casual about the films he likes, he prefers classics that have decent remakes and his favourite is Carrie - a revenge plot with magical powers that cause a gory rampage? Count Art in. What he is passionate about, though, is the film he hates more than any other that fits the same criteria of a classic with a decent remake: It. And it’s literally because Art thinks he himself is the best scary clown. Sometimes you put it on (either the classic or new, the reaction is the same) just to piss him off and Art will come storming in, signing angry gibberish with flailing hands until he’s sulking on the couch beside you because he will insist on watching the entire thing again so that he can complain throughout.

Sun and Moon

Sun likes exciting films with happy endings, a very big fan of action movies. Contrary to this, his favourite movie isn’t just one, but the full Lord Of The Rings trilogy - Sun loved reading the books in between watching the films to digest every scrap of lore, but after watching the end of Return Of The King? Couldn’t bring himself to read the last book, because it was too sad. Sun is adamant he will never rewatch the trilogy because it upset him but objectively, that’s his favourite. He’s overjoyed to watch anything with you, because he loves spending time with you, but you have to tell him in advance it has a happy ending or he wont watch it, and if you lie? Moon pending.

Moon prefers quieter, calmer and darker films, with a particular love for gothic horrors based on the supernatural rather than slashers/gorefests. His favourite is An American Werewolf In London, the negative aspects of the transformation being very relatable to Moon.

Marta

Say hello to the biggest film critic of all time. Marta will insist that watching movies is a waste of good time that could be spent praising God or eradicating heretics, so will turn her nose up at almost every suggestion you make, but when you show her John Wick? Oh, Marta’s sense of justice is PREENING. She’s all about that. By the end, her internal monologue is begging God not to let her joy show on her face. As long as you tell her a film is like John Wick, she’ll give it a chance, but John Wick remains her favourite.

[lilacquintet-stims-and-moods]

WELL!!! You got me in here asking. Hello chat

I would like to humbly request one of my pookies…

Mr reed from heretic (2024…) AND UHH SHOOT… didn’t think this far… for inspo…

Let’s go forrreuuuhhhh…. Horror, religion/crosses, board games, and blueberries or blueberry pies (IF I CAN ADD ONE MORE OR IF THEYRE DIFFICULT TO FIND THEM CANDLES ARE AWESOMESAUCE TOO)

🎥 yaaay

All gifs found on tumblr

[newrhys]

nigel doodle, and hes trans like god intended

shout out not a heretic for the inspo i think

[nuclearnumbskull]

My Loyalist Death Guard Kill Team is complete! I'm really happy with how they turned out, and I feel like I've leveled up my basing game just a bit as well. Next I think I'll be working on converting the Chaos Legionary Kill Team into Heretic Salamanders with heavy inspo from the Slaves to Darkness' evil knight aesthetics.

[cornley-amateur-drama-society]

Happy New Year's from my home to yours 💛💛💛

[darkfalcone]

RIP to an era (heretic)

😭 I’ll still talk about them! (And if inspo strikes I’ll write something!)

[freedomcrows]

hello, traveler of the interwebs. you have stumbled upon my dragon age sideblog. this is NOT a spoiler free space! follows from @i-mybrunettelady

i'm nero (she/her)! early 20s, slav (🇷🇸) i write and i game, and i also study french language and lit in uni.

this is the home of all things dragon age, but especially the inquisitor, dai in general, free marches, and as of recently, antivan crows.

if you like IFs + some ffxiv you can follow me on @redwayfarers. if gw2 is your thing, follow me on main! and if you like reading, well, i'm over on @eugenederastignac ✨️

tag list:

nero.txt -> yappery

nero.ask -> ask meme stuff

nero's artsy corner -> screenshots

inspo birb has come to town -> writing tag

nsfw -> as it says on the tin

blorbos

inquisitor valeria hamdell trevelyan (she/her), ice & rift mage.

blessed herald of andraste, mage liberationist. former junior enchanter of ostwick Circle. chaotic evil. ardent andrastian with heretical leanings. heteroflexible. ♡ iron bull

tag: #valeria trevelyan + #kadan-bas (ship tag)

rook immaculata (inmaculada) de riva (she/her), duelist & spellblade.

antivan crow. half-antivan, half-rivaini. bastard daughter of fulgeno ii & viago's half-sister. lawful neutral. crow traditionalist. heterosexual. ♡ lucanis dellamorte

tag: #immaculata de riva & #rookanis (ship tag)

warden livia cousland (she/her), chaotic evil. bisexual. ♡ zevran arainai

champion thomas hawke (he/him), chaotic good. gay. ♡ anders

[firstcurse]

The Mindflayer / Blog canon.

The  Mindflayer,  in  this  canon,  literally  represents  "god."  Its  not  necessarily  suppose  to  reflect  an  "evil  counterpart"  in  universe  like  satan,  for  example,  its  suppose  to  represent  the  real  actual  deal  of  "god",  specifically  drawing  from  depictions  of  "god"  in  Christian,  Catholic  and  other  similar  belief  systems.  Because  I'm  maybe  a  little  too  comfortable  being  an  insane  heretic  and  blasphemer.  

I  mentioned  before  I'm  going  pretty  heavy  and  hard  on  the  horror  aspects  of  the  show  and  merging  my  three  favorite  horror  sub  genres:  Religious  horror,  Cosmic  horror  and  Sci-fi  horror  and  while  I  do  believe  this  is  very  true  to  the  aesthetic  the  D*ffers  are  actually  going  for  with  the  show  and  a  lot  of  my  ideas  here  are  heavily  based  on  my  observations  and  analysis  of  canon, I  cannot  say  for  sure  exactly  how  true  any  of  this  is  or  how  much  it  will  actually  be  reflected  or  touched  upon  in  canon.

 Regardless,  whatever  the  D*ffers  do  in  canon  will  actually  not  disturb  my  own  ideas  here  and  I  will  be  keeping  my  own  takes  and  interpretations  intact  on  this  blog.  I've  also  written  about  all  of  these  things  before  in  a  pretty  in-depth  manner:  Things  regarding  the  sources  of  inspo  from  the  D*ffers  and  the  various  religious  and  mythological  parallels  in  both  Henry  and  the  Mindflayer. 

The  main  sources  of  inspiration  for  my  take  on  the  Mindflayer  are:  the  Leviathan,  both  the  biblical  depiction  and  the  depiction  of  it  found  in  the  Hellraiser  universe,  the  Greek  Goddess  "Khaos"  or  "Chaos",  Azathoth  of  H.P  Lovecraft's  works  and  the  concept  of  "The  black/rot"  from  DC  /  the  Swamp  thing  universe  and  OF  COURSE  the  depiction  of  "the  Serpent"  found  in  the  DnD  universe,  specifically  the  Vecna  trilogy  from  the  2nd  Edition  of  DnD.  Other  points  of  inspo  are  the  "Kandarian  Demon"  from  the  Evil  Dead  universe  and  the  "Elder  God"  of  the  Legacy  of  Kain  universe.  

Copy  pasting  from  my  summary  of  it  and  my  more  in  depth  description  of  it  on  my  CARRD:

THE  SHADOW:  As  ancient  as  it  is  mysterious,  a  being  reigning  throughout  the  heavens  and  hidden  in  the  crevasses  of  a  world  in-between.  The  source  of  incredible  power,  creation  and  destruction.  Growth  and  rot.  The  centuries  have  since  forgotten  its  name  and  face  but  never  its  wrath  or  design.  Humanity  has  been  bound  to  its  shadow,  and  it  thrives  within  theirs.  We  too  often  speak  of  God's  light  and  grace,  but  God  has  never  been  light  nor  grace.  God  has  always  been  dark  and  savage;  a  crawling  chaos.  A  supremely  powerful  entity,  in  my  lore  this  is  the  "creator"  ━  the  progenitor  the  chaos  from  which  all  else  comes  and  which  all  else  will  return.  The  axis,  an  eater  or  souls  and  flesh,  a  great  incomprehensible  beast  older  than  the  universe  we  know.   "The  Shadow"  is  typically  without  alignment,  however,  due  to  its  role  in  the  story  and  its  indifference  toward,  if  not  contempt  for  humanity,  it  could  easily  be  seen  as  a  highly  malevolent  force.  Throughout  all  of  human  existence,  the  Shadow  has  prowled  and  its  influence  has  been  felt  in  various  ways.  Its  insatiable  hunger  drives  it  to  "meddle"  with  the  affairs  of  man,  causing  destruction  and  death  on  which  it  feeds  in  every  corner  of  the  world.  Mislabeled  as  "The  Mindflayer"  by  the  children  of  Hawkins,  the  creature  of  DnD's  lore  that  most  represents  the  Shadow  is  rather  known  as  the  Serpent,  considered  the  source  of  all  magic  in  the  DnD  universe.  Indeed,  it  is  the  Shadow  who  is  responsible  for  the  'magic'  of  our  world  and  whatever  we  have  known  as  such  throughout  human  existence.  It  has  been  represented  by  history,  myth  and  religion  in  various  ways,  but  always  as  a  shadow  of  its  true  self  and  desires.  

Hopefully,  the  inspo's  are  kind  of  obvious  here  but  further  the  Upside  Down  is  representative  of  both  "Hell"  but  also  of  "the  Garden  of  Eden".  Not  just  that  going  a  little  bit  further  and  well  into  the  Lovecraftian  territory  and  as  mentioned  on  my  other  blog  recently,  the  Upside  Down  is  also  a  living  organism.  Here  its  heavily  suggested  to  somehow  be  the  inside  of  the  Mindflayer's  potential  "physcial  body"  with  the  "cloud"  being  representative  of  the  Mindflayer's  consciousness  /  spirit  that  it  is  able  to  psychically  project  wherever  it  chooses,  including  internally  and  extradimensionally.  Another  suggestion  here  is  that  the  Mindflayer  exists  across  multiple  dimensions,  not  just  the  Upside  Down  and  the  "reality"  we  know  and  live  in.  

The  Demogorgon  and  the  other  demo-creatures  are  spawned  by  the  Upside  Down  and  are  best  described  as  a  type  of  personified    immune  system  of  sorts.  Despite  their  various  different  shapes  and  sizes,  they  are  all  the  same  "type"  of  creature.  They  also  more  "plant"  or  even  fungus  and  bacteria-like  than  they  are  animalian.  *  This  is  something  that  I'm  really  not  sure  about  in  canon  as  there  are  things  that  seem  to  contradict  it  but  thats  what  I'm  going  with  for  my  canon  on  this  blog.  

Outside  of  the  abominable  "proxy  bodies"  the  Mindflayer  is  able  to  create  ━  or  force  others  ━   to  create  for  itself,  the  "vines"  of  the  Upside  Down  are  typically  the  Mindflayer's  vehicles  that  allow  it  to  interact  with  the  physical  world  both  internally  and  externally.  Otherwise,  it  is  able  to  outright  possess  or  simply  INFLUENCE  human  hosts  that  it's  essence  comes  in  contact  with.   Its  also  true  that  every  now  and  then  The  Shadow  will  choose  itself  a  human  intermediate  or  'avatar'  to  represent  itself  and  its  interests  in  a  covert  and  palatable  way.  This  is  currently  Henry.  Further,  another  suggestion  here  is  the  Mindflayer  is  somehow  behind  "mass  extinction  events"  which  have  been  taking  place  all  across  the  Earth  for  as  long  as  the  Earth  has  been  the  Earth.

It  should  also  be  noted  that  Henry  and  any  other  character  outside  of  the  party  doesn't  know  the  Mindflayer  and  the  Upside  Down  as  the  Mindflayer  and  the  Upside  Down.  In  the  AU  verse  Henry's  never  seen  the  true  scope  of  the  Upside  Down,  its  also  called  the  "Otherworld"  and  "The  Dry  Land"  here.  Meanwhile,    Henry  knows  the  Mindflayer  as  simply  the  "shadow"  or  "the  shape",  (  As  a  Halloween  tribute  from  me  )

   He's  also  "recognizes"  it  as  a  spider-like  creator  god.  This  takes  heavy  inspiration  from  various  myth  that  portray  spiders  as  creators  of  the  universe.   And  also,  on  the  same  note,  a  suggestion  here  is  that  the  Mindflayer  "chose"  its  spider-y  shape  due  to  some  of  the  first  life  on  Earth  it  bothered  to  observe  being  ancient  chelicerata,  and  this  is  also  why  spiders  serve  as  earthy  avatars  for  the  entity.  

( *  I  need  to  also  mention  the  fandom  kind  of  took  what  canon  showed  us  to  mean  that  HENRY  forced  the  spider-shape  on  the  mindflayer,  but  I  actually  don't  think  thats  what  canon  was  trying ��to  show  us  at  all  given  the  various  sources  of  the  D*ffers  inspo  AND  the  fact  we  were  shown  Henry  drawing  very  strangely  life-like  depictions  of  the  mindflayer  a  good  20  years  before  he  found  it.  I  have  spoke  about  this  before  too,  but  If  it  was  something  he  personally  came  up  with  without  any  outside  "influence"  it  doesn't  make  sense  why  he  took  the  time  to  make  his  rendition  of  it  appear  as  "true  to  life"  as  it  turned  out  to  be.  

That  is  to  say  young  Henry  uses  charcoal  to  depict  the  creatures  cloud-like,  ashy,  particle  texturized  body  as  accurately  as  he  could.  If  this  was  just  a  creature  from  his  imagination  it  seems  to  be  a  massive  coincidence  that  it  just  so  happened  the  creature  he  later  "discovered"  in  the  Upside  Down's  body  was  made  up  of  dust/cloud/particles,  matching  the  creature  he  envisioned  from  his  "imagination"  as  a  child.    And  I  just  don't  believe  that  WAS  a  coincidence  or  that  the  MF  was  suppose  to  be  Henry's  "imagination"  and  not  something  he  was  actually  seeing  /  communicating  with,  especially  with  other  canon  factors  in  mind,  particularly  his  parallels  to  Will. )

Another  thing  to  mention  here  is  that  IN  THE  AU  The  Upside  Down  does  NOT  look  like  Hawkins.  I'm  a  firm  believer  in  the  idea  that  Vecna  is  the  one  that  "reskinned"  the  UD  to  look  like  Hawkins  so  due  to  his  absence  from  the  UD  in  the  AU  this  isn't  a  thing.  

The  Upside  Down  very  much  remains  looking  like  frightening  supernatural,  alien  world.   The  Shadow  doesn't  really  make  contact  with  humans  though  "normal"  means.  For  example  with  Henry  is  contact  with  it  prior  to  becoming  Vecna  was  very  subconscious.  He  tended  to  see  it  and  subconsciously  commune  with  it  in  dreams  and  dream-like  visions.  In  this  way  its  more  a  "presence"  and  a  "feeling"  than  an  actual  "thing"  and  this  is  typically  true  of  how  it  interacts  with  humans  in  general  outside  of  outright  possession.

As  a  final  note,  the  Shadow  doesn't  seem  to  have  much  in  the  ways  of  a  "human  personality".  It  is  a  hungry  thing  and  perhaps  the  only  personality  trait  we  could  say  it  really  possesses  on  its  own  is  "spite".  Typically,  the  Shadow's  personality  is  displayed  as  a  very  dark,  twisted  reflection  of  whatever  human  is  encountering  it  or  that  it  is  literally  possessing  (  Which  is  when  things  get  downright  demonic  ).  That  being  said,  the  "negative"  aspects  of  the  Shadow's  presence  outside  of  possession  are  usually  obscured  or  conflated  with  the  "subjects"  own  personality  and  feelings  just  enough  that  the  underling  malice  either  goes  "unnoticed"  or  "justified"  by  the  subject, and  as  a  metaphor  to  "the  shadow  self    (   As  is  often  the  case  with  Henry   )  

[vacantgodling]

it's finally time for me to stop being lazy and add the translations to the words here:

Gingi'nga Nanmoso -> The Calling Pillar (lit. call’s pillar) ; it is a sacred space of neutral ground considered blessed by the Affinities. to shed blood there is a grave sin, and as such it is used as a neutral place to forge treaties, to arrange weddings between differing tribes, and to have great councils that affect all tribes in the south. the ground is made of basalt, as it is said that ages ago there was a great volcano that used to preside here that wrecked havoc on the land and the great affinities (those that are named; there is a difference between named and unnamed affinities) collapsed it into the earth to form fertile ground. once the lava settled and cooled, they molded great black marble obelisks that guard its borders, and a great black marble arch at the center.

Khoda & Khoda'nga -> leader & leader's partner respectively. can be thought of as 'chief' and 'chieftess' basically.

Kori & Dori -> higher feminine & higher masculine -- two of the 4 genders of the Khayen'ni people

kenan'nyo -> The Dying Season (aka the months of September-February). if you were born during these months, you are assigned feminine at birth. this is also when all clans in the southern tribes return to their Ancestral Cities to wait out the harsh winters, and also is denoted as the dying season bc (1) plants and animals die during this time/dying of the elements is common (2) all warfare is conducted during this time as it is allowed according to the Affinities.

-ko & -do -> lower feminine & lower masculine -- two of the 4 genders of the Khayen'ni people. these also can be used to create nicknames of their longer names, such as Yanyado and Sonenko in this chapter. to be without gender is considered a grave sin and heresy <3

Sopiro -> while this is explained in the text, have a straight to the point explanation: scourge or a heretic; used to denote what we will come to know as witches or people who use 'magic'

yokhe'nyo -> The Growing Season (aka the months between March-August). if you were born during these months, you are assigned masculine at birth <3 this is the time when the southern tribes leave their ancestral cities and travel nomadically across the land for several months hunting and gathering and sending runners back to their cities to store a portion of their findings.

Sano’nyon Ki Manyenya -> The Rain Dance. a festival that thanks the Affinities, named and unnamed, for their blessed rain which waters both the crops and the land, but also rain can mean the form of blessings and guidance for the next year to come. the song perspective can both be considered a devout worshiper of the Rain Affinity, but also it is a love song from someone of a lower gender to a higher gender. :) (and as an aside, the inspo for the lyrics and what the song sounds like is Water by Beyonce ft. Pharell & Salatiel

HE WHO SMITES THE SUN : Dori-Tsokhizhemasonen

CHAPTER 1: SANO'NYON KI MANYENYA (The Rain Dance)

The light of the bonfire was so bright, that even standing atop of the outside wall of their ancestral city, far removed from the center of their encampment where it blazed, Tsokhizhe could still see it. The flecks of stray warmth and light traced its paws against his dark skin, still drawing him into its orbit. The flames rose higher than they would ever dare at a normal pyre, but tonight was a special night, and so special exceptions were made. Every clan and tribe south of the Gingi’nga Nanmoso would be celebrating tonight; there would be no need to worry about an attack, safe within their wall with guards like Tsokhizhe to keep it. There was a mysticism in the air tonight—one that made the flame’s reds closer to oranges, and oranges closer to white; and the colors danced, interlocked and interwoven against the backdrop of the pitch black sky. Music and laughter fueled the mirthful, heady flame, up to the very heavens above where the Affinities, named and unnamed, lie; surely enjoying the spectacle. It was a celebration worth the ages, and then some, better yet than any they had before.

Yet, unsurprisingly, Tsokhizhe was purposefully left out of the festivities. While other guards may have traded posts with one another to each take their turn at the pyre, the dances, or the feast; he was not permitted; despite being the Khoda’s own eldest child. However, he was used to this. His mother, Khoda’nga Kori-Yadeno, approached him with quiet steps at his lone hut—sequestered away from the rest of the clan’s residential huts, or the nobles grand estates; hidden in the overcast of their city’s walls—just before dawn had risen that morning. Her face was hardened, yet there was no other expression he was used to from his mother. When she spoke, her words burned, with quiet disgust barely hidden on her tongue:

“You are to be stationed at the Eastern Gate tonight.”

Tsokhizhe quickly got out of bed, still in his sleep-dress, and knelt at her feet, his head bowed respectfully to the earth. “Yes, Khoda’nga.” He said, devoid of all inflection. It was hard to be hurt by something he already knew was coming. When he was a child and first took watch-duty during this festivity, he hadn’t understood why he was not allowed to join. But now, he knew, even if no one said. He knew it in the way that his parents avoided him, the way other Kori and Dori avoided him, how even those of the diminutive gender would not meet his eye when he walked past. Every meal he took alone, hunted by his own hand. Every mission he braved alone, only speaking to his father for duty and his mother for instruction; never an affectionate word or hand given to him. These sins he bore, and wore, not with pride but obligation. 

“Kori-Tsokhizhemasonen, do not disobey me.” His mother scolded. Even his name: She Who Smites The Sun, spoke of this great transgression of his: his very birth, under the most evil of all nights, and that omen of misfortune would forever follow him, to the rest of his days.

“You are to be alone and you are to stay away from the festivities. Do you understand this?” 

“Yes, Khoda’nga.” If Tsokhizhe could bow his head lower, he would. He could feel his mother’s steely gaze lie upon his back for a moment too long, then she finally turned on her bare heel, whisking herself away towards the main grounds. Still, out of a long borne habit, Tsokhizhe stayed that way, waiting until he no longer heard the pad of her feet against the ground before he allowed himself rise. 

The Eastern Gate was the furthest away from the festivities of the night. It is why, whenever they were short on guards, he was stationed here. Even the guards did not meet his eyes, and instead kept their gazes turned away towards their mounts, or their sword hands that always rested just so on their scabbards when he passed. They were ready to strike him down at a moment’s notice, he knew. But he did not bow his head in defeat, nor shame. He only bowed to his Khoda, and father, Dori-Darada’ngomakhadzonki—Chief, He Who is Master of Mounts; his mother, Khoda’nga Kori-Yadenomanyozhango—Chieftess, She Who Guards The Store; to his younger sister if their parents bore witness to an interaction; Kori-Chazomakenan’nyopinyi—She Who Breaks the Dying Season’s Song; and most of all to the power of the Affinities named, and unnamed, who lorded above all. He may be cursed, and he was not proud, but Tsokhizhe knew better than to show weakness. If his mother taught him anything, it was to bear your sins for they define you and it is folly to expect another to bear that burden in your stead.

Still, watch duty was Tsokhizhe’s least favorite occupation. He would rather be hunting—out in the far off fields away from the reminders of his misdeed and the ire of his betters. But kenan’nyo had fully set in now—the nights were long, and the frost had begun to pepper the ground with its kisses of chill. The store was full and there was no need to go out—only perhaps, for water runs. But even that had been circumvented by the canal that as of last year had been finally completed. Now, freshwater flowed through their ancestral streets, confining Tsokhizhe more and more to these walls of clay and mortar.

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the shadowy figure coming to approach him until a friendly hand tapped his shoulder. Tsokhizhe was long practiced in never startling—and he was thankful he hadn’t—the moment he recognized Yanyado, the shorter man was immediately throwing his arms around Tsokhizhe in a hug, a joyous cry of  “Sonenko!” leaving his lips. The momentary discomfort at the ko at the end of the fond name, did not stop Tsokhizhe from putting his arms around Yanyado in turn.

Yanyado—or, Yanyanagape’nyodo, Moon Crier— was his closest friend—only friend. And despite their friendship spanning for nearly two decades, Tsokhizhe still had never become accustomed to the affection that his friend handed out in doles. Yanyado was the only one who never besmirched him. Why Tsokhizhe never knew. But even if they were from totally different worlds—with Tsokhizhe being a Kori, and Yanyado being of a lower gender, nevermind the omen that hung about Tsokhizhe like a frightful, impenetrable cloak; he never seemed to mind this. Like the sun, Sonen, and the moon, Yanya, the two of them were inseparable and complementary, and despite his mother’s warning from this dawn, Tsokhizhe still found some part of himself happy to see him.

“How did you find me here?” Tsokhizhe asked when they pulled apart. 

“Your mother always stations you here when she does not wish for anyone to find you.” Yanyado’s voice was coy. “She is not as subtle as she thinks.” He said so conspiratorially, as though it were a lighthearted and playful secret between friends but instead a lump of basalt lodged itself in Tsokhizhe’s throat; he nodded along. “I see.” 

“Don’t look so sullen!” Yanyado lightly punched his shoulder. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” Tsokhizhe nodded, but he could tell that his expression must still be far away since a frown pulled over his friend’s features. “I know what will cheer you.” From the folds of his brightly colored parka, he pulled out a wrapped cloth. “Take it, take it!” He urged, holding it out to him. Eventually, when Yanyado did not pull his hand back, Tsokhizhe took the proffered parcel. It was warm to the touch, and the sweet smell of freshly cut herbs and flowers, rolled in sweet dough hit his nose. He had not eaten anything since sunrise, after his mother visited him and informed him of his disinvite, he charred one of the rabbits he felled the day before, gnawing on its grisel, then armed himself for the day’s activities—namely, to make himself scarce. His stomach growled, but still he could not bring himself to unwrap the parcel.

Yanyado noticed his hesitation. “I will be upset if you do not eat it. After all the work I put in to make it, I would hope you appreciate it, Sonenko.”

Something that could have been a smile tugged onto Tsokhizhe’s face, and he slowly unwrapped the cloth. “You made this?” Yanyado puffed his chest out, beaming. This made the traces of a smile that tried to bloom fully blossom on Tsokhizhe’s face. “My Yanyado does not know how to cook. Are you sure you aren’t a sopiro?”

Sopiros—fables told by parents to scare their children into behaving. People who denounced the order of things, such as the genders assigned to yokhe’nyo and kenan’nyo, who believed themselves mighty enough to hold even a speck of power that the Affinities wielded. Outsiders, hated by everyone, and shunned from all the Southern Tribes; forced to wander the wilderness unto the end of their days. Even if they warred amongst each other for resources, hunting routes, ancestral cities and land—they all agreed that sopiros were not to be trusted. 

Tsokhizhe himself, perhaps in another life, could’ve been a sopiro. He wondered it when he was small; and he heard snatches of stories around the campfire of those treated just as he. But try as he might, no otherworldly confidence came to him. No sparks of affinity flew from his fingertips or burned strong in his chest. And after the first time he was discovered and was beaten for it—he tried no more. It was then that Tsokhizhe learned that sopiros could not be feared; it was those who feared them who posed the real threat.

“Do you really think a sopiro could be so handsome as I?” Yanyado asked indignantly; but the jest was heard in his light tone. “But furthermore, I have the burns on my hands to prove my labor for you.” Yanyado held his hands out in the far off light of the bonfire, and even further light of yanya and the stars that attended it—there, on his forefinger and his thumb, Tsokhizhe saw the telltale angry welts from a few burns from a hot iron pan.

“Yanyado.” He tsked, but it was fond. “You ought to be more careful. For my sake.” He added when he noticed Yanyado’s mouth open to protest. He tucked the parcel of food underneath his arm to take Yanyado’s hand into his own. There wasn’t much he could do to heal the burns, but he did still rub them between his hands, the cooling of his skin hopefully a balm to heal it. Yanyado smiled—he was always smiling around Tsokhizhe. Tsokhizhe still hadn’t learned what fondness to his friend he held, but it did warm something broken in him. 

“For my sake, my burns will be for nothing if you don’t eat.” Yanyado reminded him. Tsokhizhe gently let go of his friend’s wrist, and finally took a bite from the doughy treat. It melted in his mouth and the taste of lemongrass and chamomile danced along his tongue. He hummed appreciatively, but before Yanyado could say more off in the distance, the songs began to grow louder, as though every voice in their clan were joining as one to cry out to the heavens their thunderous, joyous celebration. They both turned their heads. After a moment of listening, Yanyado’s eyes lit up, recognizing the melody.

“They must be doing the Sano’nyon Ki Manyenya.” Yanyado held out his hand invitingly, the beads of the colorful bracelet around his wrist jangling just as joyfully as the sound. Tsokhizhe… hesitated.

“I… do not know the steps.” He slowly admitted. 

“I know you do!” Yanyado replied. He didn’t wait for an answer and grabbed Tsokhizhe’s hand anyway. The wall was too narrow to do the dance properly, and Tsokhizhe really did mean it when he said he didn’t know it—at least, he didn’t know the ko part; the follow. They bounced together awkwardly trying to find the faint rhythm’s steps, and it was everything Tsokhizhe could do to try and keep with his do’s lead. Their hands were tangled awkwardly together; just as their feet marched arrhythmically in place. Tsokhizhe’s scimitar bounced at his hip and the jangle of the ties and beads of its scabbard just added to the confusion. At last Yanyado gave up and released him with a breathless laugh. 

“You have two left feet, Sonenko! I have not danced the steps that badly since my mother showed me how nearly a decade ago!” 

If his dark skin would allow him to blush, perhaps Tsokhizhe would’ve; but not of embarrassment but shame. The only part of the Rain Dance that he knew was the lead—the do. That is what he taught himself, observing from a closer wall station as a child; when he was yet too young to be fully left alone but still wholly excluded from the festival’s activities. He’d returned to his little far off hut at the end of the night and while all the tribe slept, whisper sang the words that had entranced him all evening until his voice went hoarse:

Ki yin nana ma’sen

I do not talk much

Ranmi renin ke petono’ni sikhona’nyo

But the rhythm knows my desires

Manyenya naro ke, ki’ngi da zhazhana

Watch me dance and I will show you

Nimon da soson da ki’ngi chon

If you leave I will follow

Nimon da kasachi pon ke, ki’ngi zhino dechi soson da

If you tell me to stay, I will never leave you alone

Nimon da sano’nyo ki’ngi yangipan

If you are water then I will drink it

Sano’nyon-ki’chi. Ki’ngi yangipan. Ki’ngi yangipan.

It’s raining. I will drink. I will drink.

“I’m sorry.” Tsokhizhe could hardly find it in himself to make his voice louder than a whisper. Even in his mirth, Yanyado was still attendant to his friend; a frown pulled down over his round, heart-shaped face, and he stepped into Tsokhizhe’s space, pushing his friend’s twisting blue locs away from his eyes.

“Old friend, you have nothing to apologize for!”

“You believed in me, and I failed.” It was childish, how much the thought of failing Yanyado hurt to admit—but Tsokhizhe admitted it anyway because he was not proud. He was honest. But Yanyado wouldn’t have it. He quickly reached for Tsokhizhe’s cheeks, squishing them together until Tsokhizhe tore his golden hazel eyes from the space between their shoes. 

“To not know is to partake in the joy of learning.” Yanyado was always wiser than his youthful face would suggest. He squished Tsokhizhe’s cheeks harder. “And anyway. If you wanted to dance the do part, why did you not tell me?” 

Tsokhizhe felt as naked as the day he was born. “Wh… Why would you assume that?”

“You didn’t deny it, no?” Yanyado smiled cheekily. “And anyway, we kept messing up because you stepped the same ways that I was. I hop right, and you hop right with me. You must know enough of the dance to know do hops right, unless you knew not at all, where perhaps you would only stare at me.” 

“I would not stare.” Tsokhizhe sputtered.

“You stare during every other festival that I have seen!” 

“And when have you seen me during other festivals?” Tsokhizhe countered—a fair question. Now it was Yanyado’s turn to look bashful, but it too seemed borne out of shame rather than embarrassment. 

“I have sought you out, on occasion.”

“Perhaps?” Tsokhizhe asked, and Yanyado nodded, confirming it. “Why have you not approached me until now?”

“Our Khoda—”

“I understand.” Tsokhizhe didn’t want to hear anymore. Tomorrow would still come, and he would face it as he had faced any other day.

“Would you like to try leading me?”

“I would not want you to disgrace yourself.” Tsokhizhe grunted. The music from the pyre had finally died down, and with it, the flames, as their stokers departed, perhaps to the awaiting feast. The warm glow that touched and glimmered on every far off rock and blade of grass outside of their ancestral walls, was now bathed in the serene light of yanya. It was too dark for Tsokhizhe to see Yanyado’s expression.

“You are above me, Kori-Tsokhizhemasonen.” Tsokhizhe winced when Yanyado used his full name—even if it were true. “That I should lead you at all is not fair to you. Ki’ngi chon da.” I follow you.

Tsokhizhe pulled away from his friend, turning his back to both him, and their city. He looked out into the night; willed it to swallow him. “The feast has begun, and I would not wish you to miss your meal.” “Just one verse.” Yanyado held out his hands again, palms flat and inviting. But Tsokhizhe did not turn back to his friend; he was not weak. He crossed his arms over his chest until Yanyado finally sighed and began his descent down the wall—back to the rest of the clan, where he belonged. Tsokhizhe belonged here. Guarding him. Them. From those like him, who would expect others to bear their burden.

[wizzard890]

before twitter goes, here's my favorite tweet of all time