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dakota-writes · 9 months ago

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When The Day Turns To Night

Hello hello!! This is my first fic to this blog and came to be bc of the recent eclipse! It's heavily angsty bc I love to torture my audience LOL

Fandom: Cult of The Lamb

CW; major character death, violence, possession, plans of betrayal/betrayal

The Lamb frowned, adjusting the crown on their head in an unnerved fashion. The thing had always had a mind of its own, but for the past few days, it had become increasingly and unnervingly autonomous, going so far as to shift into weapons on its own without reason. Thankfully, it had yet to happen in front of any of the followers, but Lamb had no doubt that it was an inevitability. With every passing day, the crown grew more difficult to control.

"Something the matter, Lamb?" A familiar voice called. Lamb turned to find Narinder approaching them, his usual scowl laced with a hint of curiosity.

"No, why do you ask?" Lamb responded, giving a cheery smile in greeting.

"You've been more... distant, the past few days." Narinder looked the Lamb over briefly, an ear flicking. "The followers are beginning to notice."

"Oh! That." Lamb rubbed the back of their neck, "It's nothing-"

"It's the crown, isn't it?" Narinder interjected, voice lowered to keep anyone else from overhearing. Lamb blinked, shocked, but before they could ask how he knew, the former death god continued. "There's an eclipse coming. It's been trying to tell you."

"How do you know?" Lamb asked.

"I kept track of these things. It's an opportunity to gain more power." He responded with a shrug, "There wasn't much else to do after being locked away."

The Lamb hummed, though the crown didn't seem to settle. They thought nothing of it, chalking it up to it's anticipation for the event.

"Then I suppose a ritual is in order." They said, sowing the last berry seed they'd been planting before straightening and wiping off their hooves from the dirt. Narinder glanced at the crown before facing Lamb.

"How do you wish to go about it?" He asked, earning a smile from the Lamb.

"Not going to tell me how I should?" They teased.

"You've never listened to me before."

"That's a lie, and you know it." Lamb snorted, moving past the former death god and out of the field, "Lying to your god, what a heathen. Maybe I should sit you in the prison for a day or two." The words were laced with too much amusement to be anything close to serious, and the sly grin that Lamb tossed over their shoulder at Narinder only cemented the fact that it was simple teasing.

Narinder rolled his eyes.

"Then you'd be the one to keep Aym and Baal in check." He quipped, giving a knowing look to the smaller Lamb. They only hummed as the two crossed into the main portion of the small village, where most of the buzz happened.

"What makes you think I couldn't?"

"I'm not saying you couldn't. You just wouldn't enjoy it." Narinder responded easily.

Lamb snorted but didn't respond otherwise, leading the taller sphynx cat into the church. It was an unspoken game they played, going back and forth like this, and almost always ended in one of them refusing to admit something the other would call them out for. Now was no different.

They fell into a comfortable silence as Lamb approached the alter and flipped through the book upon it.

"What are you doing?" Narinder asked.

"Well, I figure if I'm to do a ritual, I may as well find some inspiration on how to go about it - unless you're willing to give up your secrets." They responded, not looking up.

He was silent for a moment before humming and looking away.

"I don't think you could stomach it."

That raised Lamb's gaze, and they tilted their head.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're-..." Narinder seemed at a loss for words, for a moment. "... soft."

"And?"

Narinder's tail flicked.

"You know exactly where this conversation will lead."

"Kindness isn't weakness, Narinder. I would have thought you'd have figured that out by now." Lamb said, stepping down from the alter and bringing the book with them.

A week or so passed before the eclipse came. Narinder still refused to reveal the ritual he would use during his days as a death god, and the other former bishops were useless in the matter, as they had never performed such arcane matters. Lamb didn't bother going to Aym or Baal, as the twins were more likely to accidentally talk them in circles than reveal anything useful in a reasonable amount of time. Which left them preparing and arranging the ritual from scratch with bits from the book and small pieces of advice from Ratau.

Narinder, however, did help in his own way, subtly fixing certain bits whenever the Lamb was away and the followers weren't looking. Aym and Baal assisted, of course, loyal to him as they were. Both Lamb and Ratau didn't notice the subtle shift in the sigils and runes placed upon the ground in preparation - but how could they, when the three were so very careful in making sure the followers kept them busy? And when the followers weren't an option, the crown certainly helped. Narinder's warning hadn't satisfied it, and still it acted out of turn, much to Lamb's dismay.

By the time the day of the eclipse came, the site had transformed from an empty spot before the Lamb's shrine to a heavily decorated and runed ritual site. The followers gathered before it, pulling their hoods onto their heads as they took their designated spots. Narinder watched with Lamb, glancing briefly to the sky to catch the moon slowly beginning its journey across the sun. He hummed.

"We'll be starting proper, soon."

"The peak of the ritual will match with the peak of the eclipse." Lamb responded, earning a pleased hum from the former death god beside them.

"A wise decision, leader."

Lamb couldn't help but snort at Narinder's unprompted formality, and moved to take their place at the head of the group, stepping atop a small platform to raise themselves above the followers. Narinder followed, though stepped off to the side of the platform... ever the perfect image of support to the great leader. The ritual began with chanting and praise to the Lamb, as most of them did, but as the moon drew closer to its peak position, the chanting grew more rapid - and the physical manifestation of the followers' faith began to appear in the center of the group. Lamb prepared themselves to accept it and the power that would come with it... and oddly enough, so did Narinder, though Lamb couldn't see it. However, neither did. Instead, when the moon finally blocked out the sun, the crown absorbed the faith and power. And Lamb's eyes promptly turned blood red. By the time Narinder caught it, it was too late, and Lamb whirled onto the former death god.

There was a moment of hesitation. Just long enough for Narinder to see Lamb fighting off the control of the crown. A moment where the Lamb's eyes returned to their natural hue before the red overtook them again.

And then Lamb lunged.

Narinder tried to dodge, but there were too many others in his way, crowding him in, and he tumbled as Lamb crashed into him. The crown transformed into the dagger Lamb so preferred, and Narinder had just enough time to knock it away before Lamb could get a grip on it.

"Lamb! Lamb, fight it!" Narinder shouted, gripping the cult leader's cloak to throw them off and get back to his feet. The crowd was thinning now, the followers terrified and unwilling to try to stop their leader. But it gave him room to move.

"Aym! Baal! Get the followers out of here!" Narinder shouted again, rolling out of the way as Lamb lunged again. They laughed as the twins began rounding up followers to bring to safety, picking up the dagger. But the sound was distorted from the usual cheerful noise that it would have been. It sounded older and bitter, and bit like a rusty axe.

"Too afraid to fight, The One Who Waits?" Lamb - or, rather, the Crown - asked. It was a taunt and Narinder knew it. He didn't bite, watching Lamb's movements like a hawk, waiting for the next attack as they circled each other. "You boast so often about your supremacy, and yet you won't lay a hand on this vessel. Why is that, Narinder?"

The former god gritted his teeth against the words, refusing to respond - to give the Crown anything to work with. The result was Lamb lunging again, catching the blade along Narinder's ribs despite the cat dodging. The wound was shallow but burned like a fire had been set, and it was in that moment that Narinder realized the Crown had transformed into the Bane Dagger. ... well, at least it could be said the Crown had a sense of irony.

Another lunge and another dodge sent Narinder crashing over the platform Lamb had been standing on just moments prior. The position left him vulnerable for a few seconds too long, and Lamb lunged once more, dagger poised to kill, but the former god caught their wrists to stop them.

"Lamb, you know you don't want to do this. Fight back." He grunted, and Lamb let out that distorted laugh once more.

"Still trying to reach them? I'm afraid they aren't available at this moment." They said, pushing their weight against Narinder to inch closer to his heart. "You were a great vessel, though. It's a shame that this one is better. How lowly of you, to fall to a mortal."

Narinder grunted again as the Crown pushed further and hissed as the dagger finally cut through his cloak. The poison from the scratch on his ribs was already weakening him, the pain creeping across the rest of his body like ivy, invading, and ruthless.

"I will relish your agony and that of this vessel's until I find a truly worthy one." The Crown snarled before, with one final shove, plunging the dagger into Narinder's chest. Fiery pain exploded throughout the cat's body, pulling a ragged gasp from him. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see the twins return, take note of the situation, and ready their weapons. The Crown did, too, and gave a chilling smile before standing, ripping the dagger out of Narinder's chest with the movement.

"No!" Narinder gasped, forcing himself to sit up, even as it made his vision swim with the pain. "Aym, don't! Baal!"

But they were already engaging, and Narinder could only watch in horror as the Crown shifted to the Merciless Sword and puppeteered the Lamb effortlessly through the twins' attacks... both fell dead within moments, their blood seeping through the crevices in the cobblestone to Narinder's feet.

The Crown didn't look back, didn't wipe the blood from itself or from the Lamb. It only turned and stalked out of the village.

Lamb felt nauseous. So absolutely sick and violated. This felt like a fever dream. Or one of the nightmares they sometimes had of the slaughter of the other lambs, where they could do nothing but sit and watch in horror until it was finally their turn to die. Only this was real, so horribly real. The metallic tang of blood in the air and the warm wet of it on their hooves and wool kept them grounded in this horrible reality.

They tried with everything they had to fight back, slamming against the metaphoric walls that kept them trapped within their own body. Especially as they recognized the path to Ratau's home. No. No, they couldn't allow this to continue. They couldn't allow this damned Crown to continue this senseless slaughter.

"Hush, little Lamb. It'll be over before you know it." The Crown cooed, wrapping itself around the Lamb's hooves in the Tempest's Gauntlets.

"Let me out, you damned traitor!" Lamb roared, slamming themselves against the wall. The Crown only laughed and gave no further response as it passed the brush dividing Ratau's home from the forest. It didn't bother with taunts or niceties, only ripping the door from its hinges and stepping inside. Lamb sobbed inside themselves as they were forced to watch their friend torn asunder as the Crown laughed wretchedly.

They almost gave up. They almost let the Crown have its way. They were so close to breaking, after losing everything and building back up just to have it ripped from them again. But as the eclipse began to pass, and with one final, desperate push, Lamb broke past the wall. The Crown hissed and tried to turn the gauntlets against them, but they forced it instead to shift back to its original crown form before ripping off their cloak and wrapping it tightly around the artifact, sobbing.

Everyone. Everyone that Lamb had come to care for. Everyone but-

Lamb gasped and shoved the Crown into the chest that Ratau stored his game of Knucklebones inside before sprinting out. By the time they reached the village, the sun was completely uncovered, and their wool was crusted with blood and dirt. They didn't care, rushing to the shrine where Narinder now sat against, cradling his wound.

"Narinder!" Lamb cried, rushing to his side, breathless. They couldn't stop the tears from bubbling back up, choking back a hiccuping sob as they saw the cat's blackened veins from the poison in his system.

"... knew you could do it." Narinder rasped, giving a rare smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Narinder." Lamb babbled, tears falling as they pushed his hands away from his wound. "I can fix this. I'm going to fix this. Everything's going to be fine." They continued, pouring their power into trying to heal the former god.

Narinder gave a wry huff of a laugh, grabbing Lamb's hooves and holding onto them.

"You know better than to try and use power you don't have." He chastised softly. The words pulled a proper sob out of the Lamb.

"Please, Narinder, I can fix this, just let me-"

"Listen, Lamb." Narinder interrupted, "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I messed with your ritual. Adjusted the runes to give myself the power to take the Crown back. Aym and Baal helped."

Lamb shook their head.

"I don't care-"

Narinder only pushed on, taking a ragged breath.

"The fact is, you've always been a better wielder of it. A better leader, too. That you managed to break from its control is a testament to that. No one else could have managed it, not even I." He said, reaching to place a hand against Lamb's cheek. "I don't know how, as soft as you are."

Lamb laughed through another sob, leaning into Narinder's touch.

"Kindness isn't weakness."

It was Narinder's turn to laugh.

"I suppose not." He responded, smiling again bittersweet. "I just wish this was not how I learned that lesson. A shame. I would have liked to find whatever peace you have."

Lamb shook their head.

"Don't talk like that. Don't say that."

Narinder pulled Lamb forward with what little strength he had left, placing a kiss against their forehead.

"Rule with a gentle hand, Lamb. As only you know how." He said with his last breath before finally falling limp in the Lamb's arms. The followers that were brave enough to finally return to the village could hear the wail of sorrow that followed shortly after.

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mad-hunts · 2 months ago

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if barton tried hard enough, he thought, imagining himself being literally anywhere else but the warehouse right then was easy. this place was never meant to be lived in for an extended period of time after all; despite the fact that it had appliances that you might see in an every day home like a fridge.

it put him on edge instead of at ease, and it certainly didn't better barton's mood when he stayed in it either, after all. but so long as he was allowed to dream within it to some degree... it was tolerable. plus, he had company here, courtesy of nico, jack, and barton also supposed jervis counted. nico had complicated feelings towards the doctor, though, and spending time around jack whilst in it thus far gave barton an unfortunate impression; which was that his own son was made nervous by him.

and the irony of it all was, barton only gathered that because he could feel cognitive empathy towards him. something that didn't include feeling but reasoning. therefore, the hopes of him somehow patching that up with jack someday were drastically decreased. barton vaguely listened to jervis respond to what he'd said about him being in the warehouse solely because of them; all of the words but one not quite having any actual impact on him, this being 'nightmares.'

the smell of the yuja tea that jack prepared for jervis, as fragrant in the air that it was, seemed to be the one thing keeping him from being sucked down a unpleasant train of thought. for someone who didn't feel human half the time, barton sure as hell experienced his own fair share of seeing 'ghosts' from the past and mourning the way some things had gone in his life. and regret, as well as sorrow, were practically intertwined in every single 'normal' person's life that he'd known.

speaking of regret, once he'd closed the curtains, something from the small cabinet hanging on the wall next to them fell to the floor. barton picked it up and was immediately reminded of why he kept this photo here instead of at his home. hiding it away helped alleviate the pain of not only loving someone and losing them, but also knowing that at the time it was taken, everything seemed fine.

'my 19th birthday party - spent right, with my handsome fiancé!' was written on the back in marcy's handwriting. barton felt like screaming and smashing something simultaneously. the photo was instead placed in his pant pocket, whilst he dragged his hands down his face and thanked his lucky stars that jervis wasn't exactly expecting any big conversations from him. barton's hand flexed by his side before he was changing his shirt, wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do after seeing that again.

grief was a thing he'd never been able to pend down how to deal with 'appropriately,' unfortunately. from marcy, to the momentary blink of an eye that felt like his bittersweet friendship with yves, to his son julien's death - barton thought he'd be destroyed by all of those losses for the longest time. but he supposed he was still here, god willing, or laughing at him more like if such a being did exist. barton noticed the fabric that was splitting on the blanket and how jervis very much appeared to be in his own world.

it was at that moment that he reached for something in that same cabinet he'd opened to change his shirt, finding that sewing thread and needle he'd stored in there long ago. barton kept it there because the shirt he was wearing had actually torn at some point and he'd fixed it. though, he had no use for it now, so he decided to put it on the edge of edge of the cabinet if jervis wanted it. but he didn't really know what he wanted. that night seemed to be a series of gut punches now as the other touched upon how jack was a good person and barton should be proud of him.

he blinked several times as he felt this sensation like something ugly was swirling within him. jack had always kind of gotten the short-end of the stick, and for what? ❝ ahh. well, sometimes i've found myself practicing behaviors towards him that my father used to use on me... but i try to stop myself when that happens. jack has come a long way, as the first time i met him, he was a scared two year old who was on his own with his brother. but now jack's a young man and very brave, despite maybe still being scared sometimes. ❞ barton cleared his throat then, ❝ that's normal though. so yeah, i am proud of him. ❞

barton turned his attention back to jervis and tilted his head at the other's sluggishness. being vulnerable like that surprisingly didn't feel too nerve-wracking, as he added just a bit more to the equation. barton gave the iv bag jervis was hooked up to a good squeeze, ❝ hmm. are you still in pain, jervis? or are you just tired? ❞ he observed the other silently and looked down at the cards before the both of them. that is, before barton heard jervis approve of him reading his fortune.

he drifted a hand along the cards then. choosing one that felt 'right' came without much difficulty to barton, and when he did, the reversed 'wheel of fortune' card for jervis's past. the next card he chose was the reversed 'six of swords' for jervis's present. barton flipped the last one for his future and was greeted by 'the sun,' which made him let out a soft 'huh' and smile a bit. ❝ well... i hate to start off with the past when you got this card, but i guess we have to. ❞ he was about to start interpreting jervis's fortune when jack came back into the room with the breakfast he promised the other. well, talk about convenient timing.

Jervis merely rolled his eyes at Barton’s remark, fingers biting into the fabric of the blanket as he pulled it around his shoulders like an old shawl. The plush material was a little threadbare at the corner; a tear disrupting the otherwise seamless fabric.

Sea-green and white plaid. Utilitarian, impersonal.

It sufficed perfectly; his thin frame was almost terminally intolerant to the cold. 27 years in Gotham had failed to inoculate him against the frigid rains and bone-chilling air sweeping off the harbor.

“Trust me, I’m well aware where I would be, if it weren’t for you both. I see enough of the place in my nightmares… so I don’t require any reminders.” He flexed his fingers around the teacup, feeling the warmth seep into his hands as he cautiously tipped the liquid into his mouth. It had a strange, but not unpleasant consistency, like warm, thin honey that slid smoothly over his tongue in a tangy blend of sweet and sour. Tiny bits of softened citrus peel floated in the syrupy mixture.

Barton’s IV pole scraped slightly along the concrete floor, a sharp metallic sound that mingled with the sudden rasp of the curtains being jerked shut. The room was clean and sparse, a sterile space designed to be free of clutter, yet a faint, telltale mustiness clung to the air—a lingering scent of damp fabric and stale dust that disinfectant alone couldn’t quite mask. Beyond the makeshift partition, the rest of the warehouse stretched out in vast, dark emptiness. The floor was cold, unpolished concrete, marred with cracks that split like spider webs. Dim, flickering fluorescent lights cast a harsh, uneven glow, barely cutting through the haze of dust that swirled in the air.

But, of course, beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to hideaways—especially when you’ve learned to take shelter wherever you can find it. Or when you were part of the criminal element.

How far he’d come and how little had truly changed.

Jervis glanced across the room at where his coat, shirt, and gloves rested neatly on the desk, carefully folded with almost surgical precision. He flexed his hands again around the teacup, feeling the phantom prickle of sensation where the wool-lined leather should be—an exposed vulnerability that gnawed at him, made his skin itch with invisible grime.

He sank his teeth into a particularly broad piece of yuja peel, the bitter tang releasing as he bit down; meanwhile, Barton’s voice drifted in one ear, out the other like the static hum on a faulty wireless. He chewed slowly, savoring the rind as he turned his attention back to the small tear in the blanket. Nodded intermittently.

Jervis’ callused, scarred fingers found the frayed edge; the fabric was worn thin and splitting, and he traced it absentmindedly, feeling the uneven fibers beneath his touch. For a moment, his thoughts shifted to the sewing kit buried somewhere in his bag, imagining the small spool of thread and the thin, glinting needles; each one ready to pierce the fabric and pull it back together.

As if stitching this small wound would make any real difference, he thought bitterly; like it could somehow soothe the cold reality pressing in on them from all sides… It was a small, pointless task, a flicker of control in a situation that felt like it was slipping away, unraveling faster than he could sew it back together. He knew it wouldn’t ameliorate anything—wouldn’t solve the problems looming larger than this tiny, frayed corner. And yet, his fingers lingered there, desperate for something tangible to fix; something he could make whole again, if only for a moment.

Jervis gave no reply as Barton moved to change his shirt; blinking hard as he gazed down at the floor, but the darkness behind his eyelids refused to stay empty. Flecks of indigo light bloomed in the black, shifting like dust motes that twisted with each beat of his heart. The room swam as he opened his eyes again, the ceiling blurred and murky like the styrofoam cup Alice stored her wet paintbrushes in. He scratched absently at the IV in his arm, feeling the tug of the thin plastic embedded in his skin but barely registering the discomfort. The bright pinpricks danced at the edges of his vision, trailing like little comets whenever he turned his head.

“You ought to be proud of him, I imagine. Your son… he seems like a good lad.” Jervis’ voice was a wisp of silk, smooth and thin, like it might unravel into nothing if he spoke too loudly. He tilted his head slightly, almost resembling a marionette on a slack string, the hint of a smile touching his lips but never quite reaching his eyes. He ran a finger along the rim of his teacup, the motion delicate and deliberate as he pondered Barton’s final query.

“Hmm… can you?” Gray eyes blinked slowly, the lids heavy and sluggish, further dragged down by fatigue. The question lingered in the air, softly innocuous. He glanced over at the tarot cards Jack left behind on the desk—arranged in a rough, careless spread, but somehow feeling deliberate, as though the cards had fallen exactly where they were meant to. The edges were worn, curling slightly; the images esoteric, half-familiar symbols. Stars, sun, moon, cups and swords, animals and human figures rendered in faded colors.

He paused, gaze narrowing, subtly curious despite the exhaustion that weighed down his expression. For a moment, his hand tightened around his teacup; twitched like he might reach out and touch them, as if by brushing the surface he could glean some hidden answer buried beneath the painted ink.

‘Why, they're only a pack of cards, after all.’

His grip on the blanket slipped momentarily, fumbling at the worn edge before he reached for his collar instead. He dug beneath the charcoal fabric of his T-shirt, searching with a practiced motion until his fingers found the tarnished silver chain again. He drew it out slowly, the weight of it comforting against his skin as he absently ran his thumb over his and Sylvie’s rings, threaded side by side on the links.

The metal was dull, no longer shining with the luster it once had, but it carried a certain softness now, smoothed by years of worry. His eyes dropped for a second before he let the chain slip back beneath his shirt. “By all means, if it tickles your fancy…” Jervis gave a short, rough half-shrug, the motion stunted as though his shoulder couldn’t quite decide whether to follow through.

#divingdownthehole #tw: grief.#tw: mentions of death.#tw: mentions of child death.#tw: negative thoughts.#OOH you used a quote from alice in wonderland in here? that is epic NGL though i don't think i know which one you used ahahhh #and AWW well gosh... you're going to make me blush now <33 but thank you so SO much for saying so + i just want you to know #that i enjoy writing with you a lot myself! but yeahhh i feel as if barton is a lot more quote unquote 'subdued' here than usual #but it kind of makes sense because this man hates being in the warehouse probably just as much as jervis honestly (': and with #everything that went on regarding the picture he found. all i can say to that is GAHHH but you're good!! don't even worry about it #i totally understand as i know i took a bit to reply to this one though that's just 'cause i want to give you the best quality reply #possible + sometimes i don't have much time to sit down and write but i did today tehe!!! but really? oh my gosh thank you VERY much-#for all of your kind words! it really means a lot to me that you not just like the little things i've put into his character but love them #;; like i don't even know what to say besides that makes me feel so happy!! but geezzz you're making me turn bright red like a tomato over #here now and simultaneously going to make me hashtag cry in the club. just the fact that he's fascinating to you is like... everything a #writer like me could dream of y'know? and i return the same feelings ten-fold because jervis is just SO interesting that i feel #like i can't get enough of roleplaying with your version of him (': but JSJSJ well alrighttt i'll try not to worry about the muse versus mu #thing then since you're being so sweet. and i thank you once more for that BUT 😭 THIS IS ME RN because you're also my bestie and-#being called a ray of sunshine is? possibly one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me?? so i'm giving you a big hug right now-#and letting you know i think you are an incredible human being. but yeahhh there's a UHHH whole terrible story behind that-#unfortunately but i'm just going to boil it down to: yves died and barton sought to essentially make him be a 'part' of him because #he actually has no idea how to healthily move on from... most relationships 🫠 so he decided to do something TOTALLY normal-#and replace one of his arms with yves's (sarcasm) but TBH i have to say i wouldn't even blame you if you weren't joking about that-#because this man is seriously WILDING for that. like barton is absolutely 100 percent not okay no matter what he tries to tell other #muses 💀

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