#it has been a journey. and it is now complete.

[matrixfangs]

blood and elderberries

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: Remmick has been your friend since childhood, and he's been spending a lot of his time in the woods.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: slight smut, DUBCON AT THE END, pls pls skip if you’re uncomfy with that!!!, blood, murder, fire, spooky woods, probably inaccurate religious imagery, definite misuse or mistranslation of Irish Gaelic, 18+ please!

a/n: hi everyone! this is my first fic on this account so please be kind to me! it's also my first time writing anything related to smut and I'm very nervous about it so please bare with me if it's written a little awkwardly! my requests are open if you'd like to send me anything, though it may take me a few days to get back to you, as this took me a few days so I'm gonna take a break now lol <3 also feel free to shoot me something in my inbox if you just want to chat! enjoy! :3

In Ireland, it hardly snowed, but when it did, it didn’t disappoint. Fat snowflakes fell over your hair as you walked on the cobbled road, the snow crunching underneath your feet and soaking into the fabric of your shoes that weren’t built for the cold. As you journeyed to the local market, the sun was still rising, warm pink and yellow streaks bled into pale blue. On the horizon: a burning hole of a sun. You let it burn spots into your vision, just to continue looking at it.

The market was quiet when you entered it, the only sign of life being the freshly baked goods at the front windows, handcrafted pies, and loaves of bread. Steam coated the glass, and underneath it all was the lingering scent of him. Something earthy with a sweetness underneath, like the berries he liked to pick in the woods at the edge of town. “Dia dhuit.” A honeyed and resonant voice pulled you away from the pies, your head rearing up to glance at the front counter. He was there, an apron tied around his waist and a streak of flour against his cheek from the early morning. Remmick, the shopkeeper's son. He’d been your best friend since you were young, but the feelings that had developed for him as you’d gotten older were something new entirely. Watching his careful hands work had become your personal torment. You shifted from one foot to another, warmth spreading across your face. Your eyes roamed over his body, all neat angles and sharp lines. Despite the dusting of flour across his cheeks, his hair had been neatly combed back, and the clothes underneath his apron were clean and pressed. He somehow always managed to look completely perfect, standing before you like a marble statue. Completely untouchable yet begging to be disheveled. “Nice pies.” You smiled, crossing the distance to him and placing your hands on the counter. The wood cooled your burning fingertips. “You've been out in those woods again?” “Aye. They’re elderberries. Picked them just last night.” He raised his fingers, revealing the faint purple stain on the tips of them. Your gaze lingered on the veins in his hands, the skin that looked tough enough to knead dough but soft enough to caress skin. “You should be careful, Rem. Those woods spread out for miles.” You told him, the words easily tumbling from your lips for the hundredth time. But he never listened. Those woods weren’t safe; you’d been told that by your parents and grandparents for as long as you could remember. Your childhood had been filled with fables of people who’d gone missing for days and coming back changed. Like they’d been hollow shells of who they’d been before, something heavy sitting on their chests.

Remmick shrugged, and it was a familiar gesture that made frustration eclipse all other emotions. He moved around the counter with a small box in his hands. “Nah, they’re plenty safe.” He opened the box, placing a pie inside and securing it with a piece of twine with a baker’s precision. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and he held out the box. “You should come with me sometime.” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “I’ll keep you safe, a pheata.” 

He pressed the pie into your hands, his thumb grazing over the bumps of your knuckles. “No charge for a fine thing like yourself.”

Heat traveled up your neck as you met his icy gaze. “You’re sure?”

Remmick cleared his throat and let his hand release the box so he could instead lean forward, bringing his lips inches away from your ear. His scent lingered, cinnamon and clove filling your nose. You felt his warm breath brush the skin of your collarbone.

“You’ll just have to owe me, a chuisle.” He backed away, his eyes never leaving yours as he returned to the counter. “The edge of the woods, tonight after supper.” He winked, only breaking contact when a new customer came inside, ringing the bell against the door. You had to remember to take a breath before you left the shop, the pie held so tight in your hands that the delicate paper of the box had crinkled beneath your fingers. The snow continued to fall as you left the shop, but somehow you felt warmer than before.

The day dragged on, slow and painful. Your father worked checking and cleaning the game traps at the border of the woods, while you and your mother tended to the animals at home. Fed the chickens, milked the cows, spun wool from the sheep. You were stirring the stew for dinner in the kitchen when your father returned home. His cheeks were bitten red by the cold, and he held three rabbits in one of his hands. He kissed your mother on the head from where she stood, setting the table. “Fierce strange day.” He hummed, setting the rabbits on the counter. “Tracks in the snow near the traps. No animal footprints I’ve ever seen.” He shrugged, rubbing his rough hand over his beard. “Tracks went deep into the woods, I didn’t want to follow.”

You chewed on your lip, continuing to stir the stew. Your father made quick work of sharpening his butcher knife against a whetstone and slicing into the rabbits to add them to the stew. A loud curse from your father cut through the evening calm. The inside of the rabbits was black and dry, like the blood had been completely drained from the poor things. The only thing that remained were the organs, shriveled and lifeless.

“Th'anam 'on diabhal!” Your mother cried, hands flying to her mouth. “What sort of thing could have done that?” “Could it have been the cold?” You asked, your voice cracking. It was a hollow question. You knew the cold couldn’t dehydrate a creature from the inside out. You thought of Remmick, of the fables and the elderberry bushes. The woods that liked to eat people whole and spit them back out as ghosts. You dropped the wooden spoon of the stew and headed to the front door, grabbing your cloak.

“Where are you going, wean? Your mother followed after you, wiping her hands on the apron covering her dress. She looked at the dining table. “We haven’t eaten.” “I’m sorry,” You told her, hand wrapping around the cold metal knob. “I forgot that Mrs. McCoy asked me to pass along a message for Remmick. It was urgent, I don’t want to forget.” Crisp winter air met your skin as you pulled the door open. Night had claimed the village, and all that was left from the sun was a melted slush of water on the road. The squeak of your shoes was faint as you walked in the direction of the woods, a heavy anxiety pressing on your chest. You’d tell Remmick that he needed to stay away from them - that the Devil walked in the wood. You rehearsed the words in your head, your lips moving in a silent speech, until you reached the line of trees at the edge of town.

Remmick wasn’t there yet. You pulled your cloak tighter around your body as you gazed up at the trees. They seemed to groan with each gust of wind, as if warning whoever stood before them. The branches reached up to grab the sky with crooked fingers, and the pale blue moonlight spilled between them. 

Though the snow remained on the ground here, the air seemed to be heavier, warmer in your lungs. It felt like a large hand was pressing on your chest, trying to reach your pounding heart. Whispers drifted by your ears like breaths, just barely unintelligible. You turned, looking back toward the village.

“Remmick?” You called, your voice hoarse from the cold. 

“Remmick?” A voice called back from deep inside the woods. It was nearly identical to your voice, but wrong. It was distorted, like it’d been shoved into a throat not made for human noises. The tree branches made giggle-like sounds in response, and you felt the bile rise hot in your throat. When you turned to flee, your face met with an obstacle, solid and warm against your skin.

“Woah, where are ye going?” Remmick’s voice was like water in the desert. His eyes caught the moonlight, his gaze gleaming at you as his brow furrowed. In the dark, his hands found yours. The interlacing of your hands ceased your trembling.

“Remmick, you need to stay away from these woods.” You tried to pull him away, but his hands caught your shoulders, spinning you around to face him. The dark hollowed out his eyes and carved his cheekbones into sharp shadows. “What are you on about, pet?”

“A voice,” You swallowed. “I heard a voice, it was like mine, but it was…” How could you describe a wrongness so strong that it was supernatural? That something had stolen the voice from your throat and put it on like a disguise?

Remmick squeezed your shoulders - comforting or restraining you, you couldn’t tell. “Ah, the wind in the trees feels like they’re speaking to you sometimes, is all. Nothing to be scared of.” “Rem…” You said quietly, letting go of one of his hands, squeezing the other.

“Trust me, A chuisle mo chroí.” His soft voice made your inhibitions melt away. He pressed your knuckles to his warm lips, letting them linger there for a moment. “I just want to be alone with you.”

Your heart lost its rhythm, your hand on fire where his lips had pressed to it. His warm gaze held such a certainty that you weren’t sure how to say no. Maybe it was the feeling of his palm pressed to yours that made you feel safer, but you followed him into those woods.

Remmick’s hand never left yours as you passed the first row of trees, pine needles, and wet grass muting the sound of your steps. He ran his thumb over your knuckle repeatedly, soothing you without words. With him beside you, his arm brushing against yours, the groaning trees and crying wind didn’t seem as frightening. He hummed beside you, low and deep in his throat. 

The deeper you ventured into the woods, the more the cold disappeared, as if time moved differently there. Soon, you were shrugging off your shawl and wrapping it around your waist, as Remmick rambled along about the bakery, the plants he’d come across, a mushroom that matched the color of your eyes. Like summer rain, his voice fell over you, and you wished to open your mouth and catch the drops. “I’ve been keeping track of the plants I come across.” He told you, hand reluctantly releasing yours to pull out a leatherbound book. “See?” He passed it to you, and you flipped through pages of drawings and descriptions of different plants and bushes - their scientific names and the names he’d come to know them as next to that.

“I didn’t know you could draw like this.” You hummed, your voice trailing off as you flipped to the next page. A perfect charcoal drawing of your face, head thrown back in laughter. Every line had been drawn with loving precision, like he’d studied every valley and line on your face. You looked to him, an embarrassed flush brushed across his cheeks. “Didn’t think it worth mentionin’.” He shrugged, taking the book from you and tucking it carefully back into his coat.

“Everything about you is worth mentioning.” You squeezed his hand, looking back out to the woods. They were approaching a clearing, a strange area where the trees seemed to move around it like a circle. 

“My gran would tell me about this place,” Remmick explained as they entered the clearing, his hand on the small of your back as you walked over a fallen log. “She used to say that these woods existed outside of time, and that’s why so many weird things happened here.” 

Your eyes roamed over the white branches of birch trees curling around the clearing. A patch of dry, dead grass lay there, despite the rest of the ground being wet, surrounding it. You followed him in, feeling the very air change around you. It was thicker, warmer, like when you’d step into the room after a hot bath. 

“Have you ever taken anyone here?” You asked Remmick as you crouched down to run your fingertips over the grass. 

Remmick released your hand to sit down in the middle of the clearing. “No,” He shook his head as he stretched his long legs out. Every line of his body seemed to be carved from stone in the pale moonlight. His loosened collar revealed the strong, tanned column of his throat. His broad shoulders filled out his coat, and you could see just a peek of his suspenders underneath. You wondered what it would feel like to pull them off, to let them hang over his hips as you took him apart. “Just you.”

His words fell over you like a warm blanket, like arms wrapped around your middle. 

“Why me?” You sat beside him, shoulder pressed against his. His hand moved to rub the fabric of your skirt between the pads of his fingers, and he looked at you, all soft and pliant in the light.

“Because it was only ever you.” He said, leaning in until your foreheads touched. His breath mingled with yours as his eyes slid down to your lips. “Because every path that I’ve ever walked in these woods has always led back to you.”

Remmick’s hand released your skirt so he could rest it against the soft skin of your cheek. His thumb reached for your bottom lip, pulling it down and letting it go. The first press of his lips to yours was gentle, a soft brush of a kiss. The second was hungry, his rough hand grabbing the nape of your neck to pull you to him. The kiss was a liberation in your body - your fingers flying to his coat, clutching the fabric in your hands like he’d fly away if you didn’t. He shrugged it off in a heartbeat, lips hardly able to leave yours. Your heart drummed in your ears as you reached under one of the straps of his suspenders, pulling it down with a desperation that surged through your body like a flood. A pulse had begun between your legs, its roots spreading through your entire body.

Remmick pulled away from you, his eyes half open as he pulled the other strap of his suspenders down. He kissed you again, his body slithering against yours and pushing it down until your back was hitting the ground. The cool grass pressing against your back was a stark contrast to the warmth of his body pressed to yours. One hand braced near the side of your head, while the other slid down to lift your skirt up above your waist. His lips found your neck, his teeth nipping and licking downward. Your breath caught in your throat as he worked to slide his hand under your stockings and underwear, his fingers pressing against your center. Your nails dug into the dirt beside you, your hips lifting up to meet his fingers. 

“Remmick,” You said his name like a prayer, your eyes fluttering closed at his gentle touches. His mouth had reached the swell of your breast, his teeth marking and bruising the soft skin there. “Moilligh beagán, mo ghrá.”

Remmick pulled back, his chest heaving as his hand continued to move against you. His fingers had just begun to curl, your hands gripping the grass - and then he stopped. He looked out into the woods, his brows knit together.

“Do you smell that, love?” His usual soft and warm voice had an unusual edge to it, making you pause.

You sat up on your elbows, your body trembling as you tried to register what he’d asked you. But you didn’t have to. The overwhelming smell wafted past you, and Remmick stood up. The reflection of orange in his eyes made you turn your head, looking up to see heavy, charcoal gray smoke rising from above the trees.

“Fire.” You said, panic rising in your throat. You stood on shaky legs, wrapping your hand around Remmick’s toned arm. The muscle underneath his shirt tensed. “In the village, there’s fire.”

Remmick’s jaw clenched, and his hand reached down to grip yours. He pulled you through the woods like he knew every branch on the ground. The warm air from inside the clearing turned back to cold, filling your unprepared lungs. Your boots were soon hitting snow again as you reached the threshold of the woods, your eyes immediately searching for the source of the fire.

Remmick’s home - a small cottage at the end of the road.

“My mother.” The words were strangled, hoarse.

Remmick released your hand, clutched in his grasp as he sprinted down the slope and toward his burning home. Angry flames were licking the blue-black sky, the smell of burning wood filling your nose as you ran after him, your heart hammering in your ribcage. His feet splashed against melted snow and cobblestone. Local villagers had gathered outside the home, holding each other as they watched the fire eat the house and the small barn that Remmick’s father had built behind it. Their faces glowed orange, demonic masks that the fire had made for them.

“My mother?” Remmick called to neighbors, grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking them. “Has anyone seen my mother?”

They were shaking their heads, apologizing, crying. Remmick turned to look at the cottage, and you knew what he wanted to do. You reached for him, but he wouldn’t even look at you.

“No,” You said, tears beginning to fill your eyes. “Remmick, don’t.”

He wasn’t listening, his arm tearing away from your grasp. He shook his head, the fire waving in his pupils. His mouth hung open, slack in a dreamlike state.

“I can hear her,” He said quietly, walking toward the fire. “I can hear her calling…”

You looked up, trying to hear what he was talking about. You heard nothing but the foundation of the house cracking like bones, the sparks popping and flying off the roof. 

And then, in the doorway, you saw it. Your entire body froze, your own nails digging into your hand. You felt blood trickle down your palms, but you couldn’t feel the pain.

A dark figure stood there, cloaked in black. It stood in the flames like it was nothing but a summer breeze, fingers longer than what could be human. A shadow of horns spiraled from its head, something akin to the horns of the ram. And on what would be the face, if you could have seen it, were two red glowing dots for eyes. Despite what you could see, Remmick hadn’t stopped moving. He was walking into the fire, like the figure was calling him. You had been right. The Devil walked in the woods.

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t scream for him. Something had seized your body, pinning your feet into the snow-covered ground. The villagers cried, but none of them seemed to see Remmick entering the fire, or the figure that beckoned him. You felt your entire being die as he disappeared into the orange abyss. There was no scream of pain as the fire absorbed him, nor an acknowledgment of the figure that followed after. There was just numbing silence afterward. When the force that had kept your body still released you, you fell so hard to your knees that you felt the skin break open, blood against snow. 

The villagers hadn’t been able to move you from that spot, not for hours. You watched the roof collapse in on itself, the shed behind become reduced to ash. But you still somehow thought that Remmick could walk out of those flames, that he would press his lips to yours and wake you from this nightmare.

—------------

The murders began a few weeks after the fire.

The first victim had been Mr. Flynn, a sweet old man who had the biggest book collection you’d ever seen. When you were young, you’d run to his house with Remmick in the summer heat, feet bare and grass-stained. You’d sit in his room of books and tear through pages like you wre starving for them. He’d been found in that room, sitting in the armchair by his hearth, a book in his hands. He looked like he was sleeping, until you reached the front of them and discovered the two holes at the base of his throat, an inch or so apart. Sticky, wet blood stained the front of his shirt and trickled off the chair onto the hardwood floor. 

The book in his hands - a collection of James Joyce's poetry. A favorite of Remmick’s.

Rain on Rahoon falls softly, softly falling

Where my dark lover lies.

Sad is his voice that calls me, sadly calling

At grey moonrise.

Love, here thou

How desolate the heart is, ever calling

Ever unanswered - and the dark rain falling

Then as now:

Dark too our hearts, O love, shall lie, and cold

As his sad heart has lain

Under the moon-grey nettles, the black mould

And muttering rain.

The murders continued, one every week. The fifth week, the midwife who had brought both you and Remmick into this world, found just outside the nursery doors. The seventh, a local farmer who had been tending to his horses, found in his stables. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. While your village disappeared, your mother struggled to get you to eat, to sleep, to do anything. You spent your days on the porch, watching people begin to board up their windows, place crucifixes on their doors. The village priest began to host nightly services to pray for their lives, and though you didn’t attend them, you could hear their prayers and sermons echo through the village.

“And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy. And the beast which I saw was like unto a leopard, and his feet were as the feet of a bear, and his mouth as the mouth of a lion: and the dragon gave him his power, and his seat, and great authority.”

People didn’t leave their houses much after the priest was dead, the thirteenth to be found. 

After that night, you opened the door in the early morning to find something nailed to your door. An elderberry leaf, splattered with red. You turned it over and over in your fingers as you sat on the porch that day, waiting for the sun to go down. You waited for him because you knew it was him. 

The sun went down slowly that night, like it was trying to keep you from your fate. The last of the snow had melted, the air a bit warmer to welcome a morbid spring. Your bare feet pressed against cold pavement as you walked to the corpse of Remmick’s home. You hadn’t dressed all day, a sheer white nightgown clinging to the curves of your body as you stopped in front of the charred remains. 

You waited, standing there for nearly an hour as the breeze blew through your legs and hair, kissing your skin. 

A voice, as familiar as his hands on your body.

“A chuisle mo chroí…” The words that had once warmed your chest every time he said it now made your body go rigid.

Your head turned before the rest of your body, eyes meeting his cold, gleaming ones. He was dressed in clothes that weren’t his. A black button-up shirt, a size too small. Pants a size too big, held up with suspenders. The carved lines of his face had become even sharper, the hollow points of his eyes and cheekbones cloaked in shadow. The only part you could see of his eyes were his irises, amber, orange, and red, swimming in pools of black. Nothing like the clear blue you’d looked into just weeks ago, before he pressed his lips to yours. Your body betrayed you, a heat forming in your throat. His beauty hadn’t diminished; maybe it was even stronger.

You took a step forward.

“Your eyes…” You said hoarsely. “Looks like the fire is still in you and fighting to get out.” 

He smiled, and his smile was odd. More crooked than usual, and his teeth in the dark seemed.. sharper. Not the smile that he had pressed against your skin, though it still somehow made your legs feel weak. “No fire could have kept me from you.”

Your chest ached. All you could do was let out a broken breath that felt forced out of you, your hands aching to reach for him, but too terrified to move.

“Where have you been, Remmick?” You asked him, taking a step back. “Rather, where do you go when you’re not…” Draining your neighbors. Draining them of all their blood like those rabbits your father had found near the woods. The woods where Remmick had pressed his fingers to the most intimate parts of you.

Remmick turned his head, looking out to the slope that lead to the woods. Even in the early spring, you could still see your breath in the cold nighttime. Remmick had no breath, no movement in his body that read any way human. The rise and fall of his chest that you had once used to ground yourself was absent now.

“Come to the woods with me.” He said quietly, looking to you with an insatiable hunger. “When the sun is out, I sleep in the cold dirt, and it’s the most peaceful silence you could ever ask for.” You frowned. Remmick’s voice had changed, an accent that you didn’t recognize bleeding into his regular speech. You took another step away from him, and he followed, his body becoming coated in moonlight. It was then that you could see the viscous,  thick blood that coated his chin and chest, and the way that his teeth didn’t fit right in his mouth. A monster in your lover’s body -  the Devil in your lover’s body.

You asked what you didn’t want to know. “Who?”

Remmick didn’t answer. He just continued to ramble. “I can show you what I’ve seen. Life beyond life, death beyond death. The ability to move between worlds, to see what can’t be seen-”

“Remmick,” You backed away as he continued to move toward you, eyes seeming to get redder with each step. His gaze no longer held anything that made you feel safe. “Remmick, who? Who’d you-”

Remmick paused, inches away from you. He lifted his hand, and his fingers were long, with curved nails that went well past his fingertips. He took a strand of your hair in his fingers, twirled it around. Your body remembered his touch, wanting to connect to him like a magnet. But you stilled, staring at his eyes that gleamed like stained glass windows. “Do you know,” He said quietly. “I thought it would be your father that would taste rotten, but it wasn’t. It was your mother.” He smiled, his eyes fluttering closed as he breathed in deep through his nose. He had begun drooling, like a rabid dog. “She called your name as she went, sweet Death taking her into his arms…”

You tore yourself away from him, your hair tugging from his grasp. Your body burned, wracked with grief as you looked at Remmick, or whatever had replaced him. He was grinning, his hands pushed into his pockets. The drip of blood from his chin onto the ground made you feel nauseous, your hand clutching at your stomach.

“You’re scaring me, Remmick.” You said quietly, holding your hands out as if you were trying to not frighten a deer. But he wasn’t a deer. He was a wolf, and you were the prey. “Why don’t you just go?”

“You sweet summer lamb…” Remmick frowned, as if from genuine concern. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Remmick’s body twitched, as if taken over by something otherworldly. His head cocked to the side with an inhuman crack, his eyes traveled up your body, to the sky, to the woods.

“A game,” He said, a grin forming on his face again. “Like when we were children…do you remember? I’d chase you… You’d laugh.” His arms twitched as he took his hands out of his pockets. 

His voice fell into a deep purr, his eyes half lidded with a sick sense of desire. “Wouldn’t you like to laugh again?” 

Remmick lunged, his body moving quicker than you’d ever seen a human move. Your body twisted around, sprinting away as fast as you could with your bare feet on the cold ground. You knew he could have caught you from the moment that you started running, but he was having fun. Playing with his food. When you turned your head for a split moment to look behind you, you could see him walking, slowly. Hands at his sides, drool dripping from his mouth to the ground. His tongue caught out to catch it, and it was longer, flicking out like a serpent.

He was leading you to the woods, your feet feeling the switch from cobblestone to wet grass coated in mist. You felt the twist in your stomach as you passed the threshold, the way the air changed, and the trees whispered no longer fascinated you. You couldn’t help but wonder if the chase was somehow foreplay to something bigger, to something worse that he would do to you. 

Deep down, you wanted to know what he’d do to you if he caught you. The shame of that ached in your chest as you ran. 

You whipped past tree branches that seemed to reach out for you, catching on your nightgown and cutting your skin. You could hear his voice, echoing around you. 

“And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast: and they worshipped the beast, saying,”

You groaned as a branch ripped into your arm, your head spinning. You jumped over a log, passed through a bushel of elderberries.

“Who is like unto the beast? Who is able to make war with him? And he opened his mouth in blasphemy against God, to blaspheme his name, and his tabernacle, and them that dwell in heaven…”

A blow to the face, your nose crunching against something rough. Your body flew back as you felt the blood flooding from your nostrils and over your lips. You’d run into a tree that you couldn’t have seen in the dark. The woods spun in your vision, your nose already swelling and pulsing. Your lungs burned, and you turned, preparing to run in a different direction. 

You stopped, a breath caught in your throat. He was there, standing like he’d been there the whole time. In a speed incomprehensible to your eyes, he was in front of you, his hands pushing you to the ground with a force that you never would have been able to fight. His boot pressed into your shoulder, the inhuman weight of him keeping you still against the cold grass. 

Remmick leaned down, his thumb brushing against your lips and collecting the blood that ran there. He looked at you as he pressed his thumb into his mouth, his tongue swirling around to collect what he’d gathered there. He hummed, eyes fluttering shut.

“You taste like the sun… like goodness.” He opened his eyes. “And fear.”

His thumb left his mouth. The same hand moved to wrap around your throat. Not tight, but firm, like a collar that claimed you. His skin was abnormally cool against yours.

“What happened to you, Remmick?” You asked, tasting your blood on your tongue. “After the fire, I saw…”

Remmick smiled, using his other hand to push your hair from your face. “I died. I came back. I was hungry.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like it didn’t matter. “I know it wasn’t kind, what I did to them. But I prayed for their souls when I was done.”

He pressed his finger to your cheek, the sharp nail of his fingertip cutting into your skin. “But not you. I’ll keep you. Our souls will be damned, but we’ll be together.” 

Remmick removed his boot from your shoulder, and you still didn’t move. He leaned down, his body hovering over yours. His hands ran down your sides, his eyes wandered over your face.

“I watched you every night since my death.” He said quietly, something akin to the old Remmick in him as he said it. “And all I could think about was how my teeth would feel sliding into you.” His nose twitched, his mouth curled. “My tongue lapping up your blood.”

Remmick’s knee slid between your legs, pressing against you. Your treacherous hips lifted up, pressing against him. His drool dripped onto your skin as he leaned down to press his lips to your neck, right at the pulse point. His teeth digging into your throat didn’t hurt; not like you thought it would. It was warm and wet, his teeth sliding out of the holes to lick over the bleeding wounds. His hand gripped the fabric of your nightgown, pulling it up to reveal you bare underneath.

“Tastes like sin and goodness all at once.” He moaned against your skin as his hand pressed against your center, rubbing in circles that matched the rhythm of his tongue on your throat. You hated him. Hated the way your body responded to him and how he knew what to do to make you undone. 

The blood was nearly drained from your body when you found your release, your nails digging deep into his shoulder blade. Your body ached from the emptiness, and your nightgown pooled around your legs like a blanket. Remmick sat on his haunches before you, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a toned arm, stained with blood. 

His teeth, still coated in your blood, dug into his arm. He let the blood trickle down his skin, hovering it over you to let it drip into your mouth.

The taste was unlike anything you’d ever had before. The very taste of God on your tongue, sweeter than the elderberry pies that Remmick would give you at his family’s shop. It sang in your veins, making you reach for his arm to drink more. You drank until he had to force himself from your clutch, his body falling to lie next to yours, arm pressed to his chest. 

Your body had begun to die, a terrible pain wracking through your body. You convulsed, Remmick’s blood dripping from your lips.

He laughed breathlessly, turning his head to look at you. 

“Our covenant, my love.” He said finally. “I told you every path led back to you.”

_______________

Irish Gaelic translations:

dia dhuit - Hello or God be with you

a pheata - my pet

a chuisle - my pulse

th'anam 'on diabhal - your soul to the Devil! (expression of surprise)

wean - child

a chuisle mo chroi - pulse of my heart

moilligh beagan, mo ghra - slow down a little, my love

_______________

Also credits to the poem She Weeps Over Rahoon by James Joyce, and Revelations 13:1 from the Bible lmao

[ang3ltine]

"𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠" - Robert ("Bob") Reynolds x freader x platonic thunderbolts

Bob was asleep for God knows how long, now that he has the chance at a better life. Who better to show him than you?

a.n - Ava was sick of seeing you and Bob dance around eachother like puppies in love, so she does something about it

warnings - mention of mental illness, lovesick Bob! minor spoilers and major fluff!!

"Remember to call us if you need anything ok?" You were currently on the quinjet, ready to leave for a mission. But there was a problem, Bob had to stay in the tower by himself.

Bob nodded hurriedly before ushering you back onto the ship, but you hesitated when he turned to leave. You grab his arm rather quickly, which prompted him to look back at you with wide eyes.

"Be safe," you whispered softly so that it falls in his ears only.

Both Ava and Yelena heard the couple from a distance and snickered to themselves.

"I.. I will," Bob stutters before giving you a tight-lipped 'bob' smile. He stepped back so that he wouldn't delay your mission.

The hatch to the ship closed as you peer down at the small figure waving at you. Yet, you could almost feel the smugness of the duo behind you.

"Be safe," Yelena says with sickingly sweet tone while Ava butt's in afterwards. "Oh I'll be so safe."

You give them a deadpan look before responding with crossed arms. "Can you guys stop?"

"But how will that keep us safe?" Ava retorts sarcastically while Yelena falls into her arms dramatically. "I'll be safe once you kiss me."

You knew the two of them were mocking you for having a soft spot for Bob. Ever since you guys took him in after his 'incident' as Sentry. No thanks to Valentina ofcourse.

"Can you girls stop gossiping? It's annoying." John grunted while adjusting his suit.

The team was split into two for today's mission. Boys vs. Girls to make matters worse, but you guys didn't want to lose to John Walker.

So you tried your very best to complete your part of the mission as quickly as possible. An old hydra base had been spotted a few weeks ago so Bucky wanted to check it out and gather intel, just in case.

The location was in the snowy mountains of Slovakia and it was mission based on stealth. Something that John struggled with, and Alexei, so he was left in charge of the jet. Much to his disappointment.

"Oh you gotta be kidding me..." John mutters as he spots you from a distance with a smug smile on your face.

"Hey asshat, how's the taste of being a loser feel?" You quipped while happily walking out of the building, after successfully infiltrating it.

John on the other hand had failed his part and the others had to step in while he sat in the quinjet with minor injuries.

He puts his hands up in defence before sighing. "Fine, you win this time."

Internally he was fuming, but he wasn't ready to admit that.

"Relax I was just kidding." You mused while passing by him with a quick pat on his back. John knew that you were joking, but it was reassuring to hear the words himself.

"You think Bob's doing ok?" You mumbled while putting on your seat belt.

"Don't worry, I'm sure he's curled up on the couch thinking about you." Yelena let's out a coarse laugh while she takes her seat next to you.

" Oh 'lena what would I do without you?" You say sarcastically while she links her arms with yours. "You'll be lost...and unsafe."

The last comment made you roll your eyes before finally laughing along to the joke. As the rumble of the quinjet signalled it's takeoff sequence, so you got ready to take a nap on the journey back home.

What you all didn't expect was to find Bob standing on the helipad, with a pillow in hand. It seemed like he was anticipating your return since he was sort of giddy when you got off.

"Ahh look your boyfriend was waiting for you after all," Ava makes the comment while walking past you swiftly. You shook your head unamsingly before making your way towards the awaiting brunette.

"Were you waiting for us?" You sighed while reaching up to fix his hair. It had gotten messy due to the blast of wind from the quinjet engines.

"Oh well...I sort of had another episode while you were gone...so I thought I'd wait out here until you returned." It was hard to make out what he was said on the last part but nonetheless, you pull him into a warm embrace.

"You wanna talk about it?" You whisper into his hair before running your fingers through the dark brown locks. Bob shook his head as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Not wanting to push him, you just stood there while holding him until he was ready to go back inside.

What you didn't notice was how fast Bob's heart was racing while you two hugged.

Deep down he was glad that you didn't, he would be too embarrassed to ever admit that he secretly liked you. For now, it was better for you not to know.

"You got that right?" Ava asks while squinting her eyes to get a better view from the hanger. The sound of a click from a camera could be heard before Yelena answers with her phone in hand.

"Got it." Yelena snickers mischievously.

"We need a plan to get these two idiots to confess."

"What do you have in mind?" Yelena turns to Ava while she thinks of something.

"Ok... I think I have one."

"Is...is this ok?" Bob asks while showing his bowl full of cake batter. You leaned in slightly to see for yourself, and to your surprise, it was perfectly light and airy.

"Wow Bob! The batter looks perfect!"

Bob breaks into a wide grin at the compliment as the rush of giddiness returned. He observed the way your mouth was moving while you talks and was seemingly under a trance, that was until you pulled him back to reality.

"Bob sweetie are you ok?" You say in a gentle tone as you wave your hands infront of his face. He blinked at few times , seemingly lost before nodding. "Uh.. yeah I'm good."

"Aww you call him sweetie now?"

You sighed and hung your head low at the sound of the familiar voice. " 'lena don't push it."

You two had been dancing around each other for about 2 months now. Every day, it seemed like you were closer to getting Bob out of his shell. Whatever you did worked because he was able to start training with you all without the worry of the 'void' returning.

Speaking of Bob, he was in the kitchen having his dinner with Ava's company. It was late and well past midnight when the group had finished their training.

Her plan was beginning to unfold when you rushed into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your shoulder.

"What happened? Is there any emergency?!"

Your hair was slightly damp from the shower you had just taken. Bob recognised the top that you were wearing and almost choked on his food. You were wearing his blue t-shirt that he had left behind a few nights ago.

"There's no emergency is there?" You sighed as you shift your gaze towards the woman near the refrigerator. She simply shrugged before taking a chug of cold milk.

Bob had completely forgotten about the shirt and to make things worse was that you look absolutely gorgeous with it on. Not to mention, your thighs were exposed since your shorts were hidden underneath the gigantic top.

"Bob...! I didn't know you were still awake," blood rushed to your cheeks when you realised Bob was staring directly at you with wide eyes. You had no idea he'd be here, thinking that everyone else had gone to sleep already.

Bob cleared his throat and swiped his bowl to the side. His dinner now forgotten about and directed his attention towards you. You felt like a deer caught in headlights.

You were planning on giving his shirt back but you kept on delaying up until now.

"Oh uh --...hey love." Bob stutters slightly while he drinks in your appearance. Which was very out of character for him, even making Ava stop dead in her tracks from the sudden pet name.

The muscles of your cheeks began to rise as you felt yourself smile at the sweet nickname that he had given you. Bob on the other hand? Felt himself swoon whenever you gave him that smile of yours.

Yelena returned from the pantry with a bottle of water in his hand with a shit eating grin on her face. Giving knowing glances between the two of you.

"Its good to see you too 'lena," you sighed before making your way towards the counter.

"How's your day been beautiful?"

Bob was caught offguard by hearing Ava giving you a pet name as he blinks at her in confusion. Was there something going on between you and Ava that he didn't know about?

He became even more jumpy when he noticed your form taking a seat right next to him.

You fought back the urge to smile again when you noticed the tips of Bob's ears turning red. He looked like a puppy begging for attention. Nonetheless you turn back to Sam to answer his question.

"My days been eventful, to say the least. I mean I made some new adjustments to my suit so it could take in more volts of energy-"

Ava nodded and promted you to carry on. You spoke about the drills you had done with John and Bucky aswell.

Bob had tuned out of the conversation. He rested his head on his palm as a lovesick sigh escaped his lips. He followed the way your mouth moved while you talked and the way your hair would bounce slightly from every gesture you'd make.

Seeing the way your eyes would sparkle whenever you'd talk about something you're interested in.

Bucky considered himself lucky to be in your presence and the way the light above them gave you a warm glow. He didn't even notice the conversation dying down as you, Ava and Yelena turned their heads towards him.

You looked at him with concern while Yelena muffled her laugh behind her hand. She saw how smitten her best friend looked which only convinced her more to get you two together.

"Bob hon', are you ok?"

Ava let out a choked laugh at the nickname. You gave her a light glare as she calmed herself down.

Your body was fully facing the now flustered Bob, he almost flinched out of instinct when your cold hand met his burning cheeks.

"Geez Bobby you're burning up, are you feeling ok?" You started to get worried, thinking maybe he had gotten a fever.

"Mmh? I'm feelin' fine though." Bob murmured as he looked like he was going to collapse right there in your arms. Getting absolutely drunk from the attention you were giving him.

"I'd say otherwise," Ava mumbled to herself in amusement as she excused herself, also dragging Yelena with her despite her protests.

She believed that the two needed some privacy so she had the fabulous idea of locking you two in.

"Seriously guys?!" You yelled when the shut the door on you both. Knowing that there was no use in chasing after them, you turn to face Bob again.

Bob saw the way your mouth was still moving but he couldn't focus on the words that you were saying. If this was anyone else, he wouldn't even let them touch him. Depending on the person ofcourse, like Yelena.

But it was you. The woman that had the ability to make his heart hurt from how lovely you were. He'd never felt so much love for someone in a long time and it kind of scares him.

You were still patting his cheek, feeling the slightly rough stuble beneath your skin. You also moved stray hairs out of his face and tucked it behind his ears. He wanted to say something but no words came out.

"Maybe we should head to the med bay to get yourself checked out." You were about to get up to leave until you felt a strong grip on your arm as Bob made you sit back down again.

"Do you not want to go?" You asked in confusion as you tilted your head. Bob froze as he tried to figure out what he should do next.

His hands slowly reached up towards your cheeks and gently caressed them with his thumb. He was impossibly close now, his nose practically touching yours.

You were surprised at how bold he was being but you weren't one to complain. But still, you waited to see what he would do next.

The faint scent of your shampoo and conditioner fills his nostrils. Your peer into his deep blue eyes, his pupils were dilated but oh so full of love.

You hesitated, and rightfully so. Bob had the tendency to fluctuate his mood so you weren't sure whether you should take advantage of the situation.

Bob brushes his lips against yours, testing the waters. Not knowing if you wanted this or not. Without a second to waste, you pressed your lips fully against his.

They molded together perfectly, you don't know why you waited so long to feel this, to feel him.

His lips were like you imagined, soft and plump with a hint of cinnamon since he just started eating his dessert.

But a distant voice at the back of Bob's head made him pull away.

You noticed the way his eyes filled with worry, knowing something was bothering him. He lets out a shaky breath as you feel a slight shift in his demeanour, as if trying to hold something or someone at bay.

"Would you... want someone like me? I mean -... you don't think I'm...pathetic?" A hurt laugh escaped his lips as he mentions the last part.

"Darling, is that the reason why you're so hesitant?" Your heart hurt squeezed at the thought of him even thinking of being unworthy of love.

You lift his chin up so that he'd make eye contact with you again.

"You know...I fell for you for a reason, Bob. That means every part of you, including your insecurities. Because... that's what makes you human, just like us."

He couldn't help but smile brightly at your statement as all his worries leaving him in an instant. The voice that was nagging him not a moment ago, vanished. As if it wasn't there in the first place.

You pressed a chaste kiss on his lips to start off, causing Bob to become even more giddy than usual. Then turning into laughter as you pepper his face with kisses before pressing one last kiss on his now pink lips. Due to the excess tint from your lipbalm.

"Thanks for believing in me..." Bob whispers against your lips as he peers down at you through his lashes.

"Always," you whispered back in a slightly quieter tone while brushing the stray hair away from his eyes.

You silently ask for Bob's permission with your eyes, which he answered with a firm nod before leaning back in once again.

He lets out a surprised gasp against your mouth when you took a seat on his lap for better access. Taking the chance to show him how much you truly loved the man beneath you.

The rest of the world faded around you as you both got lost in time. It was beginning to get hard to breathe as he pulls you against him to deepen the kiss. You felt a butterflies deep in your stomach that you never felt before with anyone.

Bob could taste the slight hint of strawberry on your tongue from the candy you had eaten just before taking a shower. In another bold act of gesture, he takes the opportunity to fully immerse himself in the kiss and sucks lightly on your bottom lip. Wanting to taste more.

His hands were all over you and he had a hard time keeping himself under control. Giving your hips a gentle squeeze while you sat on his lap.

He whimpers against your lips while you gently prod and nibble on his bottom lip, the soft muscle becoming swollen.

Literally, anyone could walk in and see you two, but clearly that wasn't on their mind at the moment.

But eventually you both had to pull away for air, your cheeks were flushed but you were content. Smiling softly down at the adorable brunette below you. Bob lightly nuzzled his nose against yours while both your breaths became foggy due to the cold air in the kitchen.

"So Sunshine....can I finally call you mine?"

Before he could answer you hear the sound of muffled talking in the hallway and they were headed straight towards the kitchen.

You two quickly scrambled off eachother and tried to act casual. Bob picked at his now cold food while you rummaged through the fridge.

"Cut the act you two. We already know what happened." A teasing voice called out. "By the way, we have pictures as proof."

You internally groan as you turn to see Ava with a smirk on her face with Yelena having the same amused look.

"So, are you two dating now?" Ava asks while she looks between you and Bob.

You huffed as you made your way over to Bob, who was already standing up from his seat and stood beside the chair awkwardly. You reached his height by tiptoeing slightly and placed a firm yet soft kiss on his cheek.

Bob's face turned almost bright red while Ava and Yelena both looked at you in disbelief.

Which only made the situation all the more amusing. They didn't expect you to be so bold.

"I guess we are," you respond with a doting smile as Bob shared the same look he'd always had.

Lovesick.

Taglist: @doodlebob-mp3 @starktonyx @perdidosbucky-yyo @marianastudiesart @ordelixx @hisredheadedgoddess28 @avatarobsessedgirly @starstruckfirecat @adventure-awaits13

[siobhans-world]

My fic 'Heaven Has A 4 Week Trial is now complete! ✨🌟

👼😈 Rated E:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56723143/chapters/168164575

What a journey it's been! I've loved writing Death. They were definitely my favourite character in the end apart from the boys

Thank you so much to everyone who has/is reading it. You are wonderful. The art is a tiny spoiler for the last chapter but not a big one.

I jumped at the chance to draw them kissing in front of the love heart nebula. I HAD TO!

And thank you so much for being the most inspirational beta @dreebs8891 😘 I loved doing this with you.

[elfyourmother]

The Willing Whip

Finally, finally completed the insanely long Abdirak lore doc I’ve been working on off and on for a year and a half. I’m posting it here because, well, character limits and I don’t feel comfortable with a g docs link at this time.

Disclaimer: there is frank discussion of BDSM in here, obviously. As well, all of my BG3 world and character building takes place in the context of my very specific Realmslore that has been written for 20+ years now, grown out of the original BG trilogy. My Loviatar, in particular, has always been very different than the one presented in TSR and WOTC Realmslore.

In short, this Abdirak lore is specific to my Realms. It is not presented as anything but my specific interpretation of this character. It is not intended as public domain work for anyone else. His story, as with all of the npcs I write, is ultimately deeply rooted in Gisèle’s, and should be read and understood through that lens and that lens alone.

Now, then...

“The Willing Whip”

Name:  Abdirak yi Zhal, born Abdirak yn Vidar el Einarsson yi Zhal

Origin: village of Zhal, Calimshan

Birthdate: 30th of Marpenoth, 1462 DR

History:

Abdirak's father, Vidar Einarsson, was a Northlander mercenary from the rugged isle of Ruathym; he came from a family of sheep herders, but yearned for the adventure of seafaring life like in the skalds tales, so he left his tiny rural mountain village as a lad. He largely worked protecting merchant ships traveling the Sword Coast from attack by pirates, but was shipwrecked off the coast of Calimshan after a terrible storm, not far from Memnon. With little but the tattered clothes on his back and his axe, he hired on as a guard for a caravan headed to Calimport. Earnest and quite serious, with a strong sense of honor—though boisterous when drunk—he endeared himself to the merchants.

Abdirak's mother was a wealthy Calishite, born Nazira yr Yasmin el Zaman, the daughter of Pasha Iskandar el Zaman. The Zaman family is very old money, and began building its wealth in the salt and spice trade back in the days of the last Shoon dynasty, but expanded into the art and antiquities trade. All of this is simply a cover for the real family business, which is dealing in rare magical components and Netherese artifacts. Through the extensive Zaman trade network built over the centuries, Pasha Iskandar has a wealth of contacts all over Faerûn at his disposal, and has developed his own sideline as an information broker; wife Yasmin was as powerful as her husband in the elite social circles of powerful wives and had a network of her own. Nazira was raised in the lap of luxury in Calimport, with the best of tutors, and her parents catered to her every whim. Iskandar in particular doted upon her, and she wanted for nothing. But she was intensely curious and chafed at life behind the estate walls; while she loved her family dearly, she wanted to get out and see the world she read so much about in her many books. Something quite unseemly for a young Calishite of status.

As it happened, the caravan Vidar escorted to Calimport belonged to the pasha, and after hearing tales of his tremendous strength and daring along the journey, Iskandar--mindful of his many enemies--kept Vidar on as a personal bodyguard for the family. Perhaps in part because he lacked sons, the pasha took a shine to Vidar...but so did Nazira. Vidar was quite unlike the bevy of suitors beating down her door, who sought only the wealth and social status of her family; he was kind, and noble, taking a genuine interest in her as someone of like age (early 20s). Her curiosity amused him a great deal, and he entertained her with stories of Ruathym and his life on the sea, fighting Nelanther pirates and clandestine dealings with unsavory merchants.

But he was equally impressed by her intellect, her great passion for learning, and her mischievous sense of humor. The inevitable happened for a pair of beautiful young people spending a great deal of close time with each other, and Vidar and Nazira fell in love. They tried to keep the affair a secret, but Yasmin soon discovered it. She warned Nazira that this was a step too far, that a foreign “barbarian” was maybe suitable as a plaything if she had a care to keep it quiet, but he could never be anything more, and she would only bring disgrace upon the family were it known. Like all Calishite daughters of privilege, Nazira was to wed at her station or above, and there was even more pressure on her as the only child to marry well. But she would hear none of it, her heart set on the Northlander warrior. He felt much the same about her, and truthfully had been somewhat relieved Yasmin found them out—that strong sense of honor made him hate the deception. Despite Yasmin’s admonitions, the earnest young Vidar somewhat naively thought if they were honest, it would be permitted.

Instead, Iskandar became outraged when Vidar asked for formal permission to court Nazira; despite his personal fondness for the lad, the pasha saw it as a profound insult that a mere servant would even presume to vie for the jewel of his house, much less a foreigner; in a sense he even felt betrayed, and suspected that the lad had worked his way into his confidence solely to steal away his daughter. Nothing could have been further from the truth, and Vidar swore he meant him no harm or insult but that he simply loved this girl and wanted to build a life with her honorably, but his pleas fell on deaf ears and Iskandar nonetheless moved to cast Vidar out of his household, forbidding him to come near Nazira again. Nazira was beside herself, and could not bear to be parted from the only man she ever loved. She declared that if Vidar was to be cast out, then her father would have to cast her out too, because she was never going to leave her beloved. Iskandar pled with her to come to her senses, but she would have none of it, and so she walked away from her life of privilege to be with Vidar.

The pasha was heartbroken, but feared losing his daughter entirely should he attempt to force her hand any further, thus let them go in peace—but without his blessing, believing that eventually such a spoiled girl would soon tire of a life of hardship and return to the fold and the comforts of wealth. He greatly underestimated the steel that lay inside her, however. Despite her previous admonitions, Yasmin was not unsympathetic to their plight, and so she secretly helped the young lovers slip out of Calimport in the middle of the night, booking them passage in a caravan bound for Tethyr, sending them with seed money and supplies for the journey. She would later feign ignorance, though Iskandar always suspected she had a hand in it.

Vidar and Nazira never made it to Tethyr, however; when the caravan stopped at a small village upon a wadi at the eastern edge of the desert, named Zhal, they decided to stay there instead. Despite being little more than a forgotten, isolated caravanserai and a few scattered farms and desert groves, it was beautiful, and Vidar welcomed it after the complications of life in Calimport. By then Nazira was with child, and a few months after she and Vidar were wed by the village priest at a tiny shrine to Lathander, she gave birth to Abdirak--named for her ancestor, a great wizard of the Shoon dynasty.

Life in the village was idyllic and pastoral for the young family. Vidar returned to his roots, working as a sheep herder to get by, and Nazira cared for little Abdirak while learning to work the land. Abdirak remembers very little of Zhal, however; “I remember watching the women go to the well at sunrise, and I went with my mother.” When the farmer Vidar worked for passed away without sons, he purchased the land with his savings and he and Nazira worked the land together, cultivating grapes and pomegranates. She devised a clever irrigation system, feeding the groves between inundations. It was hard work, but they were content.

Three years passed before tragedy struck. Zhal and the surrounding region were subject to a seasonal monsoon which provided the bulk of the rainfall for farming and sustenance, and during one such monsoon storm, Nazira was swept up in a flash flood while helping to secure the family vineyard. While she survived, she became sick from the flood waters, and as her illness progressed it became clear it was beyond the village cleric’s abilities to cure. He told them to seek the Ilmatans in the mountains, for everyone spoke of their legendary healing prowess.

And so Vidar made the difficult decision to pack up his family and take Nazira on the difficult journey. After a tenday they arrived to St. Dobla's Abbey, an Ilmatan cloister known for helping women in need, begging aid. The Ilmatan sisters tended to her, saving Nazira's life. Neither she nor Vidar had been particularly religious; Vidar shouted the name of Tempus in battle but thought little of him or the gods of his people, not after his misfortunes. Nazira worshiped Sharess as an idle rich noblewoman but that life was so distant to her that it may as well have been someone else. But life at the abbey changed them both. Perhaps because they had hit rock bottom, and lost everything but each other and their son, the kindness shown them by the Revered Mother of the House and the rest of the Ilmatan sisters deeply moved them. Nazira in particular came to believe Ilmater led them there. Vidar and Nazira both devoted themselves to the Crying God, with Nazira even taking holy orders and learning the healing arts.

And so Abdirak spent the next ten years of his life being instructed by Ilmatan nuns. It was a very regimented life, filled with prayer, religious instruction, and strict rules meant to instill discipline and humility, but he thrived there as a quiet, obedient child. This is not to say he did not enjoy the frivolities of youth--Abdirak had a natural kind of charisma and was very well liked by the other children who lived there, often holding court with the others during periods of free time. But he was always very intense, curious and intellectual in a manner far beyond his years. The sort of child who devoured books of theology as much as adventure tales.

Growing up at the abbey was when Abdirak first became aware of his fascination with pain. For as long as he could remember, even as a small child, he enjoyed the discomfort of spicy foods and candies, though he couldn’t understand why. But this curiosity only grew at the abbey. He would stim for lack of a better term first by snapping the sacred red cords tied around his wrist--meant to evoke Ilmater's holy symbol--and then, by striking himself over and over with his leather belts. He always felt a peculiar peace come over him when he did, but the peace would always give way to guilt, for he had always been taught pain was something to be endured, prayed for deliverance from, but not enjoyed.

Many of the Ilmatan sisters practiced self-flagellation, though not nearly as intense as the kind Loviatans practice. Still, Abdirak would secretly watch them at their devotions, enthralled by the sight for reasons he didn’t understand until he got older and his body began to change. When it did, one of the younger nuns, Sister Karina, was of particular interest to him, and he began having recurring dreams of her catching him spying upon her devotions and punishing him with her flagellum. Always, he would awaken ashamed and frightened of what his desires wrought, forbidden as they were to Ilmatans. Still, he could not help himself; while books of vice were nowhere to be found there at the abbey, the illumined manuscripts and tomes full of bloody saints and suffering martyrs aroused him, leading him to fantasize about causing them agony. It terrified him though, the intensity of what he silently called the "darkness" within himself, and he prayed to Ilmater to be rid of it, but it only seemed to grow stronger. When he confessed it to his father--if only in part, deliberately downplaying the severity out of fear and shame--Vidar sharply told him with the zeal of the converted that his feelings were heresy, and that he needed to pray harder for Ilmater to take them away from him. He also made Abdirak swear not to tell anyone else about it.

It was probably for the best that Abdirak's parents decided to leave the abbey at around that time, before his burgeoning curiosity led to experimentation with his peers, rather than just with himself. To the Revered Mother, they claimed it was because after so many years, Vidar longed for the sea and Nazira longed for the city, but as an adult Abdirak suspects they thought a handsome boy growing into manhood in an isolated abbey full of holy women was a recipe for disaster, particularly one with his proclivities. So with a small purse and many blessings, they bid farewell to their gracious hosts, and caught a ship in the south to Baldur's Gate, leaving Calimshan behind.

The family settled in the Lower City. Vidar found work at the docks as a merchant marine once more, and was gone out at sea for long stretches, leaving Abdirak with Nazira, who threw herself into religion between working long hours as a healer at the local apothecary to cope with her beloved's absences. It was a burden, but a necessary one, and she found comfort in Ilmater's promise that her suffering was not in vain.

Abdirak was not precisely left to his own devices, but he had much more freedom in the city and much less supervision--a somewhat dangerous combo for a thirteen year old boy who inherited the curiosity and wanderlust of his parents, and had been sheltered in an isolated abbey for most of his life. He continued academic instruction at a local Ilmatan temple, but roamed the city at his leisure once his daily lessons were finished, his natural curiosity leading him to explore libraries, taverns, and festhalls alike. He befriended a vast array of people with his natural charm and magnetism, from the lowest commons to the children of patriars. It was one of the last, a half-elven scion of House Sashenstar named Liandar, with whom Abdirak quickly became closest. A handsome and dashing boy his own age, Liandar was a frequent patron of the Blushing Mermaid, which is where they met. Liandar grew up obsessed with his famous explorer grandfather's tales of adventure and fancied himself a bard, as hungry for knowledge and new experiences as Abdirak, and he was enthralled by Abdirak's tales of life in Calimshan. They became boon companions, kindred spirits as they were, exploring all Baldur's Gate had to offer together.

In Liandar, Abdirak found someone with whom he felt he could truly be himself, without fear of judgment or condemnation, for whom he did not have to keep up the facade of the pious Ilmatan. And Liandar didn't care a whit for Abdirak being a commoner; far from it, the young nobleman threw open the Upper City to Abdirak, and it became his playground as much as the rest of the city. Abdirak seized the opportunity it afforded him, escorting Liandar to garden parties and tea salons, charming the well-heeled with his eloquence and scholar's mind. And given their age, it was probably inevitable they would become one another's first lovers.

In many ways, they were some of the happiest times of Abdirak's life. The lads pilfered books of vice from the extensive library in the Sashenstar estate, and experimented as curious lads did. Abdirak was an expert at ropework, owing to his father's lessons in seamanship, and replicated with ease the intricate patterns he'd seen in Kozakuran treatises upon Liandar's all too willing self. Something awakened in him, hearing Liandar plead during these trysts, when he was so vulnerable; what he'd called the "darkness" inside him, what he'd been trying desperately to suppress to no avail in the abbey, returned in force. But to Abdirak's amazement, it did not frighten Liandar at all, but rather enthralled him, and he rather eagerly explored such forbidden desires with him. And Abdirak began to notice hushed whispers among their peer group in the Upper City, rumors of secret masques where men and women alike were whipped and bound for pleasure. Abdirak eagerly devoured such salacious tales, for they spoke to his curiosity, and that curiosity was noted by the more daring youths of privilege that he and Liandar cavorted with. Soon, invitations would follow.

Thus began something of a double life for Abdirak. By day, a pious young scholar of the Lower City devoted to Ilmater, on the fast track to becoming a priest. By night, indulging in kinky hedonism with his lover and a host of their young companions at secret wild parties at posh estates in the Upper City. In these trysts he discovered he enjoyed receiving pain as much as dealing it, and as handsome and charming as he was there was no shortage of young nobles eager to partake of these pleasures with him. He reveled in all of it, and became the talk of the clandestine circles he and Liandar ran in.

Nazira, for her part, remained ignorant of her son’s extracurriculars—thoroughly cautious as he was to keep his Lower and Upper City lives carefully separate—and she was happy that Abdirak seemed to be thriving there in the city. She was charmed by Liandar and adored the lad when he eventually introduced her to him. But she feared for Abdirak spending so much time in the Upper City, and feared that their class differences would tear them apart and Abdirak's heart would be broken. She warned Abdirak often of the dangers of love which transcended station, thinking of her own estrangement from her family; she warned him that even should Liandar truly love him, his status as heir to a powerful patriar family might mean his family would force him to put Abdirak aside for a suitor of means.

And Vidar greatly disapproved when he found out about the relationship, for similar reasons--though he loved Nazira dearly, and did not regret a single of the choices he'd made in life, he did not trust that Liandar would be willing or capable of making the same sacrifices he and Nazira once did, and the last thing he wanted was for Abdirak to get hurt. Even if he wasn't, Vidar did not want that manner of life for his son. It was the source of a great many arguments between Abdirak and his father; in truth, nothing would have pleased Vidar more than if Abdirak had forgotten all about that boy, because he feared he would bring nothing but trouble, no matter how much he liked him. (But Vidar did like Liandar, mind; if he thought he was slightly too polished in a politician's manner, always saying what he thought others would want to hear, Vidar attributed it to his patriar's upbringing and thought the boy good and sincere beneath it. He did not trust his family, though.)

Against this backdrop of growing tension within his household, Abdirak’s double life began taking a toll upon him. He increasingly found it difficult to reconcile the pleasure he felt in his "dark" desires with the Ilmatan dogma he was raised with: that pain was a burden to be endured and not enjoyed. It had always been difficult for him, but once he stopped running from his desires and began reveling in them, he grew angry and resentful at the notion that something he and his lovers felt such pleasure in was something to be treated as the gravest sin. He was wise enough never to openly question what he was taught, for he remembered well his father’s revulsion at even his mild expression of interest in pain as a child, but Abdirak became disillusioned by the fact he found no satisfactory answers for these contradictions in the Ilmatan texts he studied.

At last, one day he made a fatal miscalculation. Abdirak brought Liandar home for a tryst during his mother's regular hours at the apothecary; what they didn't know what Vidar's latest stint at sea was ended early when the merchant vessel headed for Neverwinter had to return to Baldur's Gate for emergency drydock. The lads were caught in flagrante delicto that day by Abdirak's father. It would have simply been mortifying and not endangering were it not for the fact Vidar walked in to see Liandar bound in shackles pleading for mercy while Abdirak struck him over and over with a leather riding crop.

The pious Ilmatan flew into a rage, cursing his son for the depravity he dared commit under his own roof, that this was the gravest, foulest betrayal of Ilmater's teachings to treat pain as such. Liandar, hastily released and clothed, was terrified his powerful family would find out, and offered a bribe to Vidar for his silence, but that only infuriated him more, the notion his honor and devotion to Ilmater could be bought. Abdirak told Liandar to flee, that he would handle it. In truth, Vidar would not have exposed Liandar to House Sashenstar, for no one would have believed the word of a mercenary and merchant marine at any rate, but also his own wounded pride at as his perceived failures with his son forced his silence. And it was in stony silence that they awaited Nazira's homecoming that night.

Three times, Vidar and Nazira bade Abdirak to renounce his actions, to pray for Ilmater's forgiveness, to go to the temple and be cleansed of his sin. Three times, Abdirak refused, saying that to renounce the pleasure he had with Liandar would be renouncing his love for him, and that was something he would never do. He told his parents that he was tired of pretending to be good and pious for a god who cared nothing for his own suffering, who refused to take away this one thing inside him that was the cause of so much agony. Instead, he renounced Ilmater.

And then Vidar angrily told him to get out.

With nowhere else to go, Abdirak went to Liandar's manor. But tragically, House Sashenstar would prove no refuge. Abdirak pled with the guardsman to let him into the estate, passing a note meant for Liandar, then waited and waited for Liandar to come--all night, even. But those gilded gates were barred to him, and Liandar never came.

Sunk into the deepest despair, Abdirak wandered the streets of the Lower City until just before sunrise, collapsing in a heap upon a shadowed doorstep in a part of the city he rarely frequented. He awakened some hours later, into the morning, inside a long forgotten temple, small and relatively nondescript. Not much more than an altar with freshly lit candles and flowers--and a handsome drow priest in mourning garb, wearing a silver veil. He brought Abdirak fresh fruit, warm bread and cheese to eat, and introduced himself as Brother Shadow, keeper of this temple, one devoted to his Lady. When Abdirak asked him if he was a Sharran, he said softly that although he was no stranger to loss, the goddess he held so dear had long perished, and he tended the shrine in her memory, that her name not fade--Ravenna, the Lady of Merciful Death. And when he asked Abdirak what brought him there, perhaps undone by such tender concern, he wept and told the whole of it to the priest.

It was an encounter that would change Abdirak’s life forever. Because Brother Shadow listened with compassion, and then Abdirak heard the name of Loviatar for the first time. Oh, she had been spoken of in euphemisms and harsh whispers all his life, from St. Dobla’s Abbey to the Shrine of the Suffering, but much like a boogeyman one fears to name, simply "The Accursed", "The Enemy", etc. And it had always been with contempt and with fear. But when Brother Shadow spoke her name, it was with reverence, and it was like a bell rang in Abdirak’s heart. While the drow himself did not worship the Maiden of Pain, his fallen Lady Ravenna counted her as a loyal companion, and he once sought expiation from her priestesses there in the city, in the worst of his despair. Abdirak listened utterly enthralled by the drow speaking of the release he felt with the kiss of the lash, purged of the grief and guilt he felt at failing his Lady, with only serenity remained—how with pain, given in love, came peace. It resonated deeply with Abdirak, in his own despair; and it soothed him, to hear of pain spoken of not as something terrible to be endured, but as a gift. He knew then, beyond any doubt, that Loviatar’s way was his. He begged Brother Shadow for knowledge of the temple.

And so the drow wrote a letter of introduction, and gave it to Abdirak with instructions to seek out the House of the Sanguine Thorn in the posh Bloomridge District across the Lower City. He did so the very same day, and from the moment he set foot inside it, he felt at home in ways he could scarce explain--a manner of peace washed over him. The young elven priestess who welcomed him was beautiful and serene, accepting Brother Shadow’s letter with curiosity, and when Abdirak said he wished to learn Loviatar’s way, she told him the high priestess herself must make the determination, and brought him to her.

At the time, the temple’s high priestess, or Entrusted Whip, was Lady Amaltheia, a tall and striking beauty of marilith heritage—though she kept this hidden well with glamours. All Loviatans are skilled heartseers, trained in observation and psychology as much as in methods of pain dealing, but Amaltheia was skilled beyond reckoning, and personally evaluated every prospective acolyte. She received Abdirak in her study, and after reading the letter, she listened intently as he told her why he wanted to serve the Maiden of Pain, revealing to her the whole of his darkest secrets—his experimentation with Liandar and the others, fascination with pain from earliest childhood in the abbey. Things he had never told even Liandar, such as the wet dreams he'd had about being beaten by the beautiful nun there.

To Abdirak’s relief, Lady Amaltheia did not react with distaste at the revelation that he had been raised by Ilmatans. To the contrary, it heightened her curiosity toward him—unlike many Loviatan priestesses, who took great pleasure in slaying Ilmatari clergy out of hand, Amaltheia took a great deal of pleasure in turning them to the Sacred Pain, so the revelation that Abdirak was indulging in secret BDSM play with his lovers while studying to become a priest of Ilmater absolutely delighted her. Truthfully it was that more than anything that swayed her to accept him at the temple, but there was one test Abdirak would be subjected to before he was.

As it happened, Abdirak arrived at the temple the day of the Vernal Equinox, a high holy day for Loviatans; the Rite of Pain and Purity, the most sacred of Loviatan rituals, was to be carried out that night. This ritual is normally conducted under the tightest secrecy, with the temple doors shut firmly to outsiders and no fetes or gatherings held--by all rights, Abdirak should have been barred from it as a mere seeker. But Lady Amaltheia believed his arrival that day was a sign from the Goddess herself, and so took the completely unheard of step of inviting him to attend the Rite. He was forbidden to partake of course, but Amaltheia invited him to bear witness to it--a secret test of character, to determine whether or not he had truly heard the Maiden's call. Her subordinates were scandalized, but none dared question the wisdom of one so favored by Loviatar, and so at sunset Abdirak knelt unobtrusively upon the balcony which overlooked the innermost courtyard: an enormous, immaculately kept rose garden covered in a carpet of brambles, dominated by a statue of the goddess.

What he saw there that night moved him to tears, and shook his very soul. A procession of all the temple's clergy, overwhelmingly (but not entirely) female, was led into the courtyard by Lady Amaltheia herself. Not one of Loviatar's servants was any less than spectacularly beautiful, in a diverse range of features and sizes, and all were nude save for the holy symbols hung from their necks--the sacred nine-tailed scourge. They made a slow, stately procession into the garden, each bearing a slender taper, which they lit from one of two braziers at the entrance, and placed in holders that formed a massive circle of light about the carpet of brambles. Drummers beat a slow rhythm, and the priests began to dance upon the thorns. Abdirak was lulled into an almost meditative state watching it, mesmerized by the beauty of what he saw. The drumming intensified, and the priests lost themselves to the rapture of the dance, singing praises to Loviatar with each prick of their skin. Abdirak had never felt such intense yearning in his life as he did that night; every instinct he had was to fly down to join them in their revel, and it was only his strong sense of discipline that held him back. But as the Rite continued, and grew more frenzied, crimson mist settled upon the garden, bathing the priests as they danced and sang upon the brambles, their feet, calves and shins covered in blood. Instinctively, Abdirak sensed a great Presence among them then, gooseflesh rising on his arms and the hairs on his body stood on end; and he knew without being told that it was the Maiden herself.

Loviatar herself appeared then in the crimson haze, and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life--tall, dark, and mysterious. She turned her gaze upon him, smiling enigmatically, and he found himself lost in her eyes--black as midnight, gazing into his very soul. When she reached out and coiled a hand about his throat, he welcomed it utterly without fear even as her grip tightened, something deep within him stirred and awakened, and she bid him welcome with a gentle kiss upon his brow. He wept then, utterly without shame; all of his inner turmoil melted away. He had finally found the place he truly belonged, his true calling in life.

When the Rite was ended, Abdirak told Lady Amaltheia his vision of the goddess, and so with great satisfaction the high priestess--her instincts confirmed--brought him to the inner sanctum. That very night, he committed to walking the path of Sacred Pain through a solemn oath, and his first offering to Loviatar: the pain of circumcision, the First Pain as it's known to all who undergo it in her service. As he lay dazed upon the altar, Abdirak saw her face once more, and smiled. He emerged an acolyte, the lowest rank of novice within the temple.

While the radical restructuring of Loviatar's faith that occured in the mid-14th century DR by order of the goddess herself saw the discarding of its strict, elaborate centralized hierarchy in favor of a much simplified system of rank without a single central authority figure, individual Loviatan temples still largely operate under a social hierarchy based on seniority, and the Sanguine Thorn was no exception. As a lowly acolyte, Abdirak was little more than an indentured servant. His direct superior was Sister Leilatha, a girl only slightly older than him by elven reckoning, who’d only just become fully dedicated to the goddess—the very same priestess who first welcomed him to the temple. She was severe in assigning him all manner of menial tasks, much of it tedious manual labor of the sort the higher ranking clergy scoffed at, but was nonetheless vital in maintaining the temple: mundane custodial work, landscaping the immaculate gardens, scullery duty, the grinding of herbs for medicines and perfumes, etc. The slightest of errors in performance of these duties was corrected with corporal punishment. In truth, the seemingly endless toil and harsh punishment was meant to instill discipline within prospective priests, which was the foundation of all Loviatan practice.

In addition to physical labor, Abdirak received intensive theological and academic instruction as well. As one always possessed of a scholarly bent, he soaked it all up like a sponge, and the more he learned of Loviatan ethos--known alternately as the Sacred Pain, the Kiss of Loviatar--the more it resonated with what he had always instinctively felt: that not only was there no shame in his dark desires, they were holy. He had never felt so affirmed as in those early days, even though there were few other males at the temple. It mattered little to him, being surrounded at last with likeminded souls who spoke openly and warmly of that which he had been forced to repress and shun. By his logic, all of the physical labor he was subjected to merely served as time he could use to contemplate his lessons.

In truth, Abdirak thrived in the strict environment, ironically due to his childhood in the Ilmatan abbey; he was no stranger to hard work or strict rules, and instinctively grasped the true purpose behind all the toil, even if part of him did admittedly grow impatient at times to begin to practice all of the theory he devoured from Leilatha between his endless chores. He was still an eager adolescent, and what good was it to know for example the precise number and location of pressure points upon the sentient races--humans, elves, dwarves and the like--if he was never permitted make practical use of them?

Still, despite the delight of her whip hand the rare times he erred, Abdirak exceeded Leilatha’s expectations wherever possible. He was an utter perfectionist, determined to show her—and Lady Amaltheia—his worth. And perhaps he had something to prove to himself and the world—that not only this was where he belonged, but having been abandoned by first his parents and then Liandar, he was still worthy of love and acceptance. While he reported directly to Leilatha, Lady Amaltheia took a keen personal interest in his instruction, and in many ways she became a stern but loving maternal figure to him, something he sorely needed. She regularly met with him, drilling him on all he was learning: theology and church doctrine, history, languages, etc. But Amaltheia was much more interested in his views and feelings on all he was being taught, and they spent most of these sessions in intense conversation. In this, Abdirak also impressed, matching wits with his high priestess with ease, and he greatly enjoyed those talks.

By far his favorite task in his days as an acolyte was attending guests at the many fetes and gatherings held at the temple, however. These affairs were frequently put on for lay worshippers of means, curious seekers, and those with little interest in Loviatar but who simply enjoyed to watch or partake in kink. All revelers were strictly vetted and expected to follow the firm guidelines in place regarding consent and conduct--those who did not abide by the temple's bylaws at such affairs were branded as heretics (sometimes literally, depending upon the offense) and cast out, blacklisted from returning upon pain of death. Such lists of heretics were circulated throughout Loviatan temples across Faerûn as well; one could not expect to be welcome in the Black Spires in Amn nor even The Maiden's Demesne in Bezantur across the continent in far off Thay if one misbehaved at a Baldurian fete, and Loviatar's strictures against dealing pain to the unwilling distinctly did not apply to heretics.

As an acolyte not quite of the age of majority, Abdirak was strictly forbidden from the pleasure dungeons and any physical contact with guests, but was instead tasked with the art of menial service in the upper level salons where the well-heeled simply conversed and luxuriated away from the more intense festivities elsewhere. This, too, was a form of training however, and Abdirak learned much of the art of submission simply in serving wine and cordial in a graceful and unobtrusive manner, observing and anticipating the needs of guests before they even asked, and kneeling for hours at a time with downcast eyes; this was a kind of pleasure for him as well, rather unexpectedly so, and he excelled in this as in all his duties.

Howver, it was not merely for the sake of his training that Abdirak served, for these events were vital to the functioning of the temple. They brought in a great deal of income both from the fetes themselves, but there were also many converts made from them, who in turn gave generously to the temple and spoke well of it to their peers, spreading acceptance of Loviatar's worship. While it was by no means illegal in a city as cosmopolitan as Baldur's Gate, her rites were greatly misunderstood and viewed as unsavory and even evil by many, and many lay worshippers of status feared for their reputations should they be known publicly as Loviatans; Abdirak recognized more than one patriar from his time in Liandar's elite circles, magistrates and other pillars of the Upper City. Therefore secrecy was paramount, and Abdirak was taught to respect it with great care. Much secular business was conducted there at the temple, for that reason, knowing that whatever occurred within those walls firmly remained there.

Perhaps because of his immensely strong work ethic, sense of discipline, and scholarly mind, Abdirak became a fully fledged priest and earned his scourge in record time: upon his sixteenth birthday, when he reached the age of majority. Per tradition for Loviatan priests, he received his first piercings, upon his nipples, and upon his nethers: a guiche, and what is known colloquially as the Bane's Crown, the equivalent of the irl Prince Albert. The pain of his piercing and the recovery period was, naturally, a part of the offering, and he did not flinch, but moaned praises to the Maiden of Pain all the while.

Now a Lesser Lash, Abdirak began the practice of self-flagellation with his holy scourge during his morning prayers, reveling in the offering of his pain to the goddess; he was also expected to attend the Candle Rite held once a twelveday, and participate in the Rite of Pain and Purity as a dancer celebrant rather than the supportive role to which acolytes were limited. Most crucially, he was now free at last to practice Loviatar's arts upon others, not merely himself--and was expected to do so.

And Abdirak soon set himself apart among his peers at the temple with his zeal for and his skill at the Maiden's arts. All of the intellectual theory he had absorbed and meditated upon for countless hours, all of the techniques he studied so intensely, he put into practice with a passion and an artistry that left even seasoned Lashes of the temple breathless. He was a true switch as well, enjoying the receiving of pain every bit as much as doling it out, and was just as talented in the arts of submission. Equally gifted and eager he was with aftercare, seeing to the comfort of his penitents with a nigh uncanny ability to read them, honed during his years of observation and service as an acolyte.

And while he derived immense sexual pleasure from all of it--he would not be a priest of Loviatar did he not, and he always made an offering of it to the goddess--the greatest measure of pleasure Abdirak felt was in the closeness with his beloved goddess, knowing that he pleased her always, that he was loved and adored for who he truly was. Not a time he meted out pain did he not feel the presence of Loviatar with him, savoring his zeal and his pleasure both. As it was during the halcyon days of his play parties with Liandar, Abdirak's reputation preceeded him within the temple, and soon even his fellow priests were eager to receive his ministrations, during formal worship and personal time alike.

As a Lesser Lash, the fetes he had attended since his days as an acolyte pouring wine in the salons were now fully open to him as well, the doors of the pleasure dungeons flung open wide. And at Abdirak's very first fete as a Lesser Lash, he encountered none other than his ill-fated lost love Liandar--and Liandar's wife, the Lady Jacinda. The pain of seeing him once more after so long was excruciating, but in this too Abdirak found meaning. Liandar had come to knowledge of Loviatar's temple through their old social circles, and to Abdirak's great surprise his old flame sought penance for what he believed was his great betrayal of Abdirak years earlier. With all his newfound skill, Abdirak worked his arts upon Liandar before the revelers, his wife included, until he was limp and sated. In a sense, it was a manner of closure at last for them both, and while they reconciled in the administering of aftercare, both men had changed a great deal in the intervening years, with Abdirak wholly devoted to his faith, and they resolved to part as friends.

In truth, while Abdirak greatly enjoyed the company of many of his peers at the temple--Sister Leilatha among them--and often had sex with the revelers at fetes, he did not especially wish to pursue relationships per se. Because it was also during his time as a Lesser Lash that Abdirak first learned of and became obsessed with the Vasharani Codex, a sacred text said to be the collected writings of a Loviatan mystic of 10th century DR Turmish. Mother Vashara was the last known anguissette--Chosen of Loviatar--and was known to receive prophectic visions while in the throes of ecstatic pain. Among these visions, Mother Vashara spoke of a great calamity that would arise from Baldur’s Gate to imperil Faerûn in the coming centuries, and that another anguissette, her successor, would emerge from the cradle of darkness to restore balance to the city —and in so doing, save the world.

The text fell into obscurity even among Loviatans, but renewed interest in it came during the Time of Troubles, for among her writings Mother Vashara correctly predicted the Bhaalspawn crisis, its end with the ascension of Ravenna, last of the Bhaalspawn, to divinity—a name that stunned Abdirak to see, thinking upon the priest who set him upon his path. The Vasharani Codex also predicted the fall and return of Bane, something of immense interest to Loviatans given the goddess was once his divine consort. And in 1372 DR, when Loviatar’s mystics across Faerûn began to speak of the imminent arrival of the prophesied anguissette, the Sadiques--the elite caste of Loviatar’s priesthood--were charged with finding her. When none did, the search was suspended, as it was believed alternately that the appointed hour had not yet come, or that the prophecy was somehow false or misinterpreted, and it fell once more into obscurity.

Abdirak became utterly consumed with these prophecies, and most especially this mysterious anguissette, and much of his free time was spent trying to gather any scrap of lore or information he could in hopes he would find her. Youthful hubris perhaps, but once he put his mind to something, Abdirak would never waver; it simply wasn't in his nature. He did bring the matter up with Lady Amaltheia, however, because of his immense respect for her. In truth, she had suspected Abdirak was the prophesied anguissette, which is why she’d recruited him in the first place, but was quickly disavowed of the notion because no true anguissette so reveled in meting out pain, only in receiving it; they were divinely marked by Loviatar herself to experience transcendent ecstacy from the most excruciating pain, the Maiden's Perfect Victim. Abdirak vowed during that conversation that he would be the one to find her, and that he would work toward proving himself worthy of becoming a Sadique to that aim.

It was a bold and audacious claim; as Sadiques were the most elite caste of Loviatar’s priesthood, they existed outside the temple hierarchy to act as independent agents of Loviatar’s will, and answered only to the Exalted Scourges who oversaw entire regions. But it was a notion very much characteristic of Abdirak and the intensity of his convictions. Amaltheia knew better than to dismiss him out of hand, but urged caution, advising him not to let chasing legends consume him to the point he lost sight of his duties.

Still, after only four short years, at the age of twenty Abdirak was deemed worthy of ascension to the highest rank of priest within the temple, the Lash; the youngest ever to do so at the Sanguine Thorn. Upon the Summer Solstice, at the height of the Rite of Pain and Purity, he received the next set of his piercings, upon his tongue--known as the Kiss of Loviatar--and the hafada ladder upon his sack, known as the Claws of Loviatar.

Abdirak's duties increased as a Lash, for now he presided over rituals and the instruction of acolytes, and heard confessions from lay worshipers and those not dedicated to Loviatar but who sought expiation for their sins. And he was equally skilled at oratory as he was with the scourge, giving impassioned sermons on the Sacred Pain which swayed hearts and minds. Word spread like wildfire among the city's elite of the handsome, charismatic young priest of Loviatar whose scourge hand was as loving as it was cruel.

He was perhaps the greatest weapon Amaltheia had in her arsenal to draw the well-heeled to Loviatar's faith and grant it a measure of respectability it had never truly enjoyed in Baldur's Gate. And he was sought out specifically for his services by wealthy seekers and penitents—for in addition to the fetes regularly hosted at the temple, Lady Amaltheia contracted a select few Lashes out to a number of wealthy patrons for private assignations, and Abdirak was by far the most coveted. The temple's coffers soon overflowed to bursting with offerings to Loviatar made in his name, but the fees he commanded meant little to him beyond what use they would have for the temple. Abdirak truly loved his art, not merely for the physical pleasure he derived from it (though that was immense; as in temple fetes, sex was not expected of Lashes during these assignations, but was permitted at the priest’s discretion, and Abdirak almost always indulged), but because beyond all else he had the soul of a healer and his great sense of compassion compelled him to grant this manner of solace to those in need of it. He was the truest of believers in the Sacred Pain, and the passion of his great conviction meant he did nothing by halves.

It was at this time that another young upstart making waves in the city began spending time at the temple's fetes. Enver Gortash had much in common with Abdirak--both were cast out from families who deeply misunderstood them, and they became fast friends. But while Gortash paid homage to Loviatar and gave the Maiden her due, he was dedicated to Bane and thus it was control and dominance he sought. He regularly attended functions at the Sanguine Thorn because that was where some of the most powerful movers and shakers of the city gathered, and the vows of secrecy to which Loviatan priests were sworn made it the ideal place to conduct business of an unsavory nature.

But also it was a place to indulge his own hedonism, and Abdirak gladly obliged--for all his nature as a versatile switch, Abdirak was such an immensely skilled sadist that he rarely got to enjoy his masochistic desires and receive pain from others. And Gortash indulged him gladly, not stinting the offering to either of their deities; he took special pleasure in leaving his mark on Abdirak, and many of the latter's scars are mementos of their trysts. But Abdirak left his own mark upon Gortash after a fashion, feeding his belief in the sacred bonds between Bane and his dark lord’s one-time consort—but also physically, as Abdirak was trained as a body modification artist, and granted Gortash a number of piercings below the neck for a handsome sum, Bane’s Crown among them. And eventually, Gortash was among those wealthy patrons of the temple that contracted Abdirak for assignations. Abdirak always anticipated ones with Gortash the most, as he meted out pain as well as any Lash of Loviatar; he was magnificent in his cruelty.

After one such tryst, Gortash even demanded Abdirak's silver hair, always worn for his whole life past his waist, be cut such that no one else would ever be able to pull it again like he had. And so, ever after Abdirak kept his hair in the short undercut for which he’s known in the present, and Gortash kept his shorn silver locks as a memento and a trophy, pleasuring himself with it from time to time. Abdirak had never cut his hair before that night; while he was not precisely vain, he was well aware of his beauty as he was expected to cultivate it as part of his priestly duties—the better to appeal to seekers—and he considered his long, silvery locks his most alluring feature. The pain of its loss was sweet to Abdirak, and an offering to the goddess.

It did little to dull Abdirak's lustre among the idle rich of the city, however. Life at the Sanguine Thorn continued much the same for him, his days spent in worship and hearing confessions of the repentant, meting out pain to alleviate their suffering. His nights were filled with sadomasochistic revels in the pleasure dungeons and private assignations at estates, the well-heeled practically throwing themselves at his feet to experience the singular skill of his artistry in giving pain. In many ways, Abdirak’s life was perfect. And while he should have been content living out his heart's darkest desires there as the crown jewel of the clandestine world he so comfortably called home, there was still a restlessness deep within him, and he increasingly began to feel that he was called for more than this--that he was meant for yet greater things in Loviatar's service.

His every waking moment not devoted to her worship was spent studying the Vasharani prophecies for some clue or hint as to where her anguissette would be found, for his conviction that she walked among them in Faerûn was as strong as ever. Too, his restlessness was driven in part by the talk of growing unrest in the city. Beyond the temple's well-manicured gardens and high walls, Baldur's Gate had been thrust into turmoil following the assassination of the immensely popular Grand Duke Imoen Harshaw, and there was a noticeably heightened tension among the lay worshipers as the city's powerful factions vied with one another to fill the vacuum of power. Abdirak's mind was ever fixed upon Mother Vashara's dire warnings of a great calamity to come, and unlike the Loviatans of the past, he did not believe the Bhaalspawn crisis of a century past was the whole of it.

Five years into his service as a Lash, news came of the death of another luminary: Lady Sadirah, Exalted Scourge of the North. As the highest ranked clergy of Loviatar’s church, Exalted Scourges oversee the different regions of Faerûn, providing guidance and discipline to the Entrusted Whips. Abdirak had only met Lady Sadirah once, as an acolyte serving wine for her and Lady Amaltheia, for she was largely content to leave the Sanguine Thorn to its own devices. But her death sent shockwaves throughout the North, for she had held the title for decades and was well-respected. A conclave of the remaining Exalted Scourges was called at the Black Spires of the Maiden, the great temple of Loviatar in Amn, and every Entrusted Whip under Sadirah's purview was expected to attend as well. Lady Amaltheia handpicked Abdirak and Leilatha both to accompany her.

This conclave was a pivotal moment in Abdirak's life. It got him on the radar of the clergy beyond Baldur's Gate, namely; Lady Amaltheia was well-respected among her peers, and spoke highly of him. But it was when he was chosen to open the Rite of Pain and Purity, and gave so passionate an invocation that it stirred even the Exalted Scourges into a frenzy, that he made his name outside the Sanguine Thorn. Many were eager to test him, and the days that followed were quite satisfying to him.

By consensus of the remaining Exalted Scourges, and decree of the Goddess, it was agreed upon that Lady Amaltheia should be Lady Sadirah's successor. Abdirak could not have been more proud of his much beloved mentor, but it was bittersweet, for Amaltheia had been his rock of support for so many years, and it would necessitate her remaining there in Amn. No longer would they enjoy long, philosophical conversations in her office well into the evening, or after his assignations.

Many expected Abdirak to be her successor as Entrusted Whip of the Sanguine Thorn, given their closeness and his prominence within the temple, but while he would have been honored to be chosen, it was not a role he wanted—it would have kept him rooted to Baldur’s Gate, unable to fully pursue his search for the anguissette. And Amaltheia knew this well, for she knew him better than anyone. But Sister Leilatha did relish the notion, and so she, in turn, became the new Entrusted Whip of the Sanguine Thorn, a fitting reward for her long years of dutiful service. Amaltheia believed the temple would thrive under her leadership, for as seniormost among the Lashes she commanded a great deal of respect, not least of which because she directly trained the star priest of the temple. And there was no jealousy or rivalry between the Sanguine Thorn’s favored Lashes. Abdirak was genuinely overjoyed for her, and they celebrated in much the way one would expect—in full, approving view of the high priestess who made it possible.

Lady Amaltheia's first act upon her ascension to Exalted Scourge, once the Sanguine Thorn’s succession was settled, was to put forth Abdirak as a Sadique. While he had certainly always been her beloved protégé, much like with Leilatha’s promotion, this was not simply a reward for his loyalty and his years of service, but an acknowledgement that he was perhaps the priest she knew who most encapulsated Loviatar's teachings, as a Sadique must; in order to become one, to truly understand the fulcrum of pain, one must savor the giving and the receiving of it in equal measure, and Amaltheia knew no other who did so much as Abdirak. And he had done more in the advancement of the Kiss of Loviatar than any other she had known and trained, so much that she knew that he was destined for greatness even beyond the walls of the Sanguine Thorn. And, on a personal level, it was her way of showing that she believed in him and his pursuit of the anguissette. As a Sadique, he would answer to no one but her. In exchange for being her envoy and agent, he would have free reign to conduct his search, with unfettered access to church resources.

But Amaltheia did love Abdirak dearly, and the strength of his convictions moved her greatly; if anyone would find this anguissette, she believed fervently it would be Abdirak, who enjoyed Loviatar's favor as much as anyone ever had, and was brilliant, cunning, and driven enough to succeed. And so she resolved to give him whatever aid he needed.

To that end, Abdirak was anointed a Sadique during the Rite of Pain and Purity which took place on the Winter Solstice, some months following the Amn conclave. He returned to the Black Spires, and received his final piercings then: Loviatar's Ladder, up the length of his frenum, which was considered the sacred gift of phallus-bearing Sadiques alone and a mark of station; Amaltheia wielded the piercing lance herself upon him. And then he underwent suspension for hours upon hours; so long he did not know, his mind drifting into an altered state of consciousness he could scarce comprehend. But he felt the presence of Loviatar quite strongly, and with her kiss came a manner of clarity he had never felt before. She whispered to him that his purpose was to find her blessed anguissette, that it was the very reason she had called to him. Everything he had believed so fervently was true.

When it was over, Abdirak resolved forth to travel Faerûn and fulfill his charge. While Sadiques exist apart from the temple hierarchy, he was still gifted lavish private quarters at the Sanguine Thorn by Leilatha, and he availed himself of their comforts between his many arduous travels. Truthfully, he would spend the next several years on the road searching for any scrap of lore or written record he could find on anguissettes, from Alaundo's prophecies in Candlekeep to the libraries of Bezantur, even traveling as far as the distant holy land of Dambrath and the great temple of Loviatar at Cathyr.

And he learned a great deal, far more than he ever could have had he remained in Baldur's Gate, but it came at a cost. The solitude he experienced upon his long journeys was something that was alien to him, quite unexpectedly so, for Abdirak had by then spent years firmly ensconced within the Sanguine Thorn, and thrived while ministering to the faithful--whether with words or whip. Always, his days and nights had been filled with camaraderie and companionship, with his peers, with lay worshippers, with revelers at the fetes, upon assignations.

By contrast, it was a lonely road he found himself upon as a Sadique; his time in the wilderness, he calls it. But this manner of pain was, as always, something he believed drew him closer to Loviatar; something that honed his spirit, made him sharper, and he never believed his charge a burden even during the worst of his loneliness.

From time to time, despite his best efforts at prudence, he was accosted by bandits or highwaymen--ignorant fools to a one, for Loviatan priests were feared the continent over by the superstitious for their love of torture, and most were too fearful to provoke their wrath. While Abdirak did not typically relish combat--he found violence without purpose crude--he was built tall and muscular like his Northlander father and had been trained to fight since he was old enough to pick up a weapon, his body was honed to physical perfection over the years, and his sense of discipline was unmatched. Many who believed a lone priest on the road easy prey were gravely mistaken and made to pay for their folly. Loviatan priests are hearty folk, as an understatement.

Meanwhile, back in Baldur's Gate, Leilatha invested the Sanguine Thorn's wealth in any number of mercantile operations around the city, seeking to raise the temple's profile, but particularly in Gortash's ventures. It was when Abdirak returned from Bezantur a second time that Gortash held a masque at the temple to celebrate his birthday, and he asked Abdirak to attend as his companion. It was more than a little strange to Abdirak attending a temple fete not as a priest but as a patron, but he genuinely enjoyed any time spent with Gortash, and after months of hard, seemingly fruitless travel with his goal nowhere in sight, it was a blessed relief to simply lose himself in frivolity wih the promise of cruel hands. Tongues wagged, of course, for Gortash's profile in the city had risen considerably since Abdirak's own ascension to Sadique, and his old friend had been styling himself "Lord" Gortash. When they retired to Abdirak's private chambers and its pleasure dungeon, Gortash confided in him that he had become Bane's Chosen, though to what aim he would not say, only that he meant to bring order to the city.

It was an earthshattering revelation to Abdirak, for Bane's church had long been dormant in the Gate, even when Loviatar's temple began making strides...its role in the Time of Troubles had condemned it to infamy, and it was one of the very few faiths outright banned in the otherwise open and ecumenical city. That the Accursed would re-emerge would be profoundly unsettling to many, and it was why Gortash was circumspect. But his revelation renewed the fires of conviction within Abdirak regarding what had been a rather fruitless search for the anguissette. For it had long been taught by the Loviatans that Bane’s Chosen had a special relationship with Loviatar’s, and surely the emergence of His meant the emergence of Hers as well--sooner rather than later. But, too, it was known that Loviatar was wroth with Bane, and had even turned from him to forge her own path. That the goddess did not make any displeasure known regarding Abdirak's continued relationship was a sign to him that it was of import; a relief to Abdirak, despite his zeal, for outside of Lady Amaltheia and his peers at the Sanguine Thorn, Gortash was the person closest to him.

Abdirak continued his search with a renewed sense of purpose; Gortash maintained correspodence with him, frequently waxing rhapsodic about the alliance between their temples, and his fervent desire to bring them closer as a part of Bane's grand design. But increasingly, Abdirak had come to believe quite strongly that the anguissette would be a tiefling or a drow, obsessed as he had become with the particular part of the prophecy that stated she would emerge from the cradle of darkness. As such, his travels at last brought him back to the Sword Coast in 1492. With Elturel's sudden disappearance and re-emergence from the Nine Hells, Abdirak believed he would find if not the anguissette, then a much needed lead in the region and so concentrated his search there. It was at this time he began to hear the first stirrings of the Cult of the Absolute, spoken of in whispers here and there, which grew louder throughout the Western Heartlands as so-called "True Souls" emerged preaching of the Absolute's power, gathering followers among goblin tribes and others. While he could not connect all of these strange events, news from Leilatha of a sudden rash of murders in Baldur’s Gate made him suspect the growing unrest in the region was connected. Mother Vashara's prophecy was ever firmly in his mind.

The breakthrough came at last when he heard rumors traced back to drow cultists of a z'elendarin, said to have fled Menzoberranzan some years prior. Abdirak learned much of Lolthite culture during his time in Dambrath as the Crinti noble class there still hold many of the same beliefs and traditions as their drow ancestors despite their devotion to Loviatar, and thus knew that “z’elendarin” was how Queen Cathyr, the first anguissette, was named by them--"pain-bearer". The drow of her time believed her blessed by Lolth to feel exquisite pleasure in agonizing pain, which is why they allied with her, establishing the creole culture that would come to rule Dambrath for centuries.

Abdirak knew without a shadow of a doubt that this exiled z’elendarin was the prophesied anguissette, and undaunted by the fact that locating her would be much like a needle in a haystack, tripled down on his search, seeking out any sign of surface drow, specifically concentrating on finding any manner of community of Eilistraeans, as he knew from his studies that their duty was to aid exiles from the Underdark and it was likely his best chance of finding this z’elendarin. On his travels in years past, Abdirak had encountered tales of the goddess herself manifesting to mortals up and down the Sword Coast; at the time he'd paid them little heed, engrossed as he was in his mission, but turned his attention to revisiting them in light of his conjecture, believing it would prove his best possible lead.

However, the spring equinox was imminent, and with it the Rite of Pain and Purity. Abdirak would momentarily set aside his search and return to the Gate, leading the ritual at the Sanguine Thorn at Leilatha's request; in truth, even the Loviatan faithful were in need of reassurance, and their beloved Sadique ministered to them as only he could. In the throes of ecstatic worship, Abdirak received a vision from Loviatar herself: what he recognized instantly as the symbol of the Absolute, shattering in a silvery burst of moonlight, leaving naught but silver thorns in its wake--and the Hand of Bane in specific, covered in blood. What precisely it would portend, he did not know; but his conviction that Eilistraee's followers had a part to play in this somehow was confirmed by the Scourge Mistress herself. A tenday he spent fasting and meditating, undergoing sacred suspension, seeking the truth of these visions. In the height of delirious ecstacy in pain, Loviatar spoke to him once more, warning gravely of the threat the Absolute posed not just to the city, but to Faerûn and all of Toril.

But before Abdirak could return to his mission, an invitation arrived at the Sanguine Thorn for him from the Upper City--with Gortash's seal. It seemed. Abdirak accepted gladly, and in the afterglow of their tryst, Gortash confided in him as he often did. He said that he knew of the unrest in the region and that Baldur's Gate could not afford further instability, which is why he was seeking to unify the city as Archduke. To do so, however, would not prove so simple a thing, thus the need for an external threat. He revealed to Abdirak that he founded the Cult of the Absolute to that end, and was counting on the Sanguine Thorn's support of his bid. It was not merely Gortash's extreme fondness for Abdirak that caused him to show him his hand, but his zealous belief that he and Loviatar's anguissette would usher in a new era for the Gate, subjugating it in the name of Bane.

Abdirak was badly shaken by these revelations, however. As a scholar, and a student of history, he heard echoes of Sarevok Anchev's designs from a century earlier and gravely misliked it, for fanatics were not so easily controlled. And Loviatar's words were seared upon his memory; if the Absolute posed a great threat, that necessarily meant Gortash did. But he did not let his misgivings show; indeed there was much Abdirak kept from Gortash, chiefly his search for the anguissette, as it was deemed a temple matter. He did, however, confront Leilatha when he returned to the Sanguine Thorn the next morning, but she denied any knowledge of Gortash's connection to the cult, swearing only that she was supporting him to raise the Sanguine Thorn's profile; she was firm in the belief that once he became Archduke, Loviatar's worship would no longer be confined to the shadows, and the Sacred Pain would thrive as it did in Bezantur. Abdirak did not gainsay the wisdom of it, but reminded her--pointedly--that the Kiss of Loviatar must only be accepted willingly, and that the tyranny Gortash would impose upon the city in Bane's name would cause many to suffer who did not choose to.

In truth, despite his grief over what his old friend and lover had become, Abdirak's convictions only became that much stronger in the wake of the truths that had been revealed to him. In the tendays that followed, he investigated rumors of Eilistraee's manifestations up and down the Sword Coast, all the while his dreams were filled with visions of a drow maiden clad only in moonlight dancing through flames, upon a bed of thorns as in the Candle Rite.

But it was a chance encounter at his old adolescent haunt the Blushing Mermaid of all places that proved the turning point in his search for the mysterious z'elendarin. A group of moon elves affiliated with Clan Auzkovyn--a nomadic band of surface drow devoted to Vhaeraun and Eilistraee who dwelled in the forests of Cormanthor far to the east--had only just returned from a pilgrimage to a temple grove in the High Forest where the goddess was said to have manifested. Abdirak covertly eavesdropped on their conversation, discreetly passing the barkeep coin to ply them with ever stronger drink, in the hopes it would loosen their tongues. In the course of the evening, he learned the Eilistraeans conduced a sacred hunt the same night as the Loviatans were observing the Rite of Pain and Purity in the Gate. Not unusual, for as he knew, the passing of the seasons was marked with many such rites in many faiths, not merely his own. But, deep into their cups, Abdirak overheard them discussing the revel that followed the hunt, and a particular priestess from Menzoberranzan who craved pain and submission.

Abdirak seized upon the opportunity, casually introducing himself as one who knew much of pain, and wished to meet this priestess. But it seemed she was sent on an important mission by the high priestess, and none had heard from her since she left the forest.

He left the city at first light, intending to retrace her path to find any sign of her. But that first night on the road, he had the most vivid of his dreams of the drow maiden yet, and instinctively knew it was her: the anguissette. She danced into the shadows bearing a singing sword illuminating the darkness, reaching out with her hand; again, the Absolute's symbol shattered, leaving silver thorns. Abdirak awakened believing this meant her purpose was to destroy it, that this was his purpose, in finding her. He decided to change tactics then; for years and years he'd searched only to meet what seemed an impossible dead end. But if she were meant to destroy the Cult, infiltrating it to learn as much as he could would be invaluable; perhaps that mission she was sent on by her own temple was this very thing, and she was conducting her own investigation. Abdirak was still in Gortash's confidence, which would make gathering information rather trivial. He knew from their correspondence that the Cult had made a large encampment to the east, in the Western Heartlands, from which to conduct raids of the surrounding area.

And so he reached out to Gortash, claiming that he sought to aid him in his design, and offered to instruct the cultists on interrogation techniques. Gortash enthusiastically accepted, and invited him to the eastern encampment under the command of one Minthara Baenre, a drow general, to do so.

Thus, Abdirak came to dwell in the goblin camp. He observed as much as he dared, particularly when a group of adventurers had been abducted, chief among them an archdruid. And every night he dreamed of the anguissette; in his heart he knew she was drawing closer.

And then the fateful day came at last, while he was at his evening rites, that Gisèle walked in. He sensed her presence before he even saw her, and his heart soared; when he looked into her eyes and saw the turmoil within them, he knew her for what she was. He would have to test her, of course; but beyond even that, beyond what had become his life's work for the past fifteen years, an obsession that would utterly consume him, he was a priest of Loviatar and this was a woman before him who suffered greatly and needed the only solace he could provide. So he gave it, and a peace washed over him that he had never known--peace, and incalcuable pleasure. Loviatar's presence settled upon the chamber, so palpable; and Abdirak's heart sang, knowing he had found his anguissette at long last. But he grieved to learn she had been infected with one of the cult's tadpoles. Even were she not the one he had been seeking for half his life, Abdirak would have been incensed by it, as the removal of agency and free will it represented was the vilest of heresy to him.

In the end, Abdirak joined Gisèle's band of companions, teaching her all he could of the Sacred Pain and guiding her as her spiritual advisor, while vowing to save her from the ceremorphosis that was to be her fate. During their sojourn in the shadow cursed lands, he performed the long and arduous ritual of granting her Marque, the elaborate, unique back tattoo that was her birthright as Loviatar's chosen. But more than that, he became her lover, confidant, and friend. He helped her find the peace that had always alluded her, in acceptance of her nature; she had come to believe it a curse, but his ministrations, physical and otherwise, helped her to heal in ways even she did not know she needed. What she did not realize is that Abdirak saw much of his younger self in her, his absolute youngest self, fearful of the "darkness" within. In helping her to heal, he was healing his own childhood wounds.

But the mission was clear: Gortash had to be stopped, and Gisèle was the only one who could. Bane's Chosen would only be undone by Loviatar's, as Mother Vashara predicted. To that end, he told Gisèle all he knew of him. When they at last reached Baldur's Gate, Abdirak brought Gisèle to the Sanguine Thorn to meet Leilatha--and Lady Amaltheia, whom Abdirak had sent word to in Athkatla shortly before the companions embarked upon their journey to the Shadow Cursed Lands.

Amaltheia herself put Gisèle to the test, taking her to the pleasure dungeons before Abdirak and Leilatha, and declared her a true anguissette. But Abdirak, seemingly having achieved his calling at last, was still restless. Finding her was only the half of it, in truth; he vowed to see Mother Vashara's prophecy fulfilled in whole, and the Gate saved. But Leilatha strongly objected, arguing that Abdirak could have been misinterpreting the prophecies. She believed that the anguissette was meant to aid Gortash in his ascension, to serve as his consort even as Loviatar was once Bane's. In truth, Leilatha had invested quite heavily in Gortash's ventures, betting the temple's future upon his ascension to Archduke. 

In the end, Abdirak swayed Amaltheia to his side, with Gisèle's help, and she gave her blessing upon their endeavor. The Exalted Scourge ordered Leilatha to give Gisèle the full aid and backing of the Sanguine Thorn. Leilatha's ego was bruised mightily and she was infuriated by what she felt was the betrayal of her lifelong friend and companion. Despite Amaltheia's blessing, Leilatha did not trust Gisèle because she could not comprehend how Loviatar would cast aside Bane to conspire with Eilistraee, and believed Abdirak merely besotted by her.  Abdirak, for his part, knew through his heartseeing that Leilatha was merely lashing out because she felt foolish at having been used and taken in by Gortash, and Gisèle was a convenient scapegoat. He tried to make her see reason, but she refused, and they fought bitterly. But Gisèle intervened, and challenged her to seek Loviatar's will where Bane was concerned. She submitted to Leilatha's scourge, taking the brunt of her fury, and the truth of all was made clear to her. They reconciled, and Leilatha agreed to help them.

(Note: this storyline forms the Act 3 climax of Abdirak's companion quest, "The Willing Whip". If Gisèle chose not to intervene, Abdirak and Leilatha would have become bitter rivals, and Leilatha would have tried to assassinate Gisèle, Abdirak killing her in the attempt.)

Ultimately Gisèle accepted the alliance with Gortash when he offered it to her; Abdirak bore witness in the name of Loviatar, and deliberately fed his zealous belief that Gisèle was proof of his right to rule. It was with a smile as he watched her go with Gortash upon the assignation that would seal his fate. Though the part of him, the very human man who had fallen so deeply in love with her, feared greatly for Gisèle should her ulterior motives be exposed, Abdirak trusted in the geis to protect her: that should Bane's Chosen kill Loviatar's, he would suffer 10,000 years of torment. He had come this far by faith in the Scourge Mistress and he would not waver. He could not. And it was Abdirak who pled the case for her to their wary companions, and particularly to Karlach, who felt betrayed and could not understand why Gisèle would do such a thing. Abdirak's intervention with her was, in a sense, the mirror to what Gisèle had done for him with Leilatha. And so they accepted the plan.

Together they all aided Gisèle in her pursuit of Orin, and helped her retrieve the last of the netherstones.

Of course, Gortash could not control the brain even with all three stones, Gisèle saved his life, and he found himself stripped of his Bane-granted gifts. In the worst of his despair, Abdirak and Gisèle offered him the only solace they could. And she swayed him to her side, as she had always planned. As Loviatar wished--and Eilistraee. When Gisèle defied the Emperor in the Astral Plane by freeing Orpheus, and at last made an enemy of him, Abdirak was the first to step forward when it was stated only an illithid would be able to stop the brain then. Without hesitation, even knowing that by becoming an illithid he would lose his soul and be denied communion with Loviatar in death. In typical Abdirak fashion, however, the pain of such a notion he savored as one altogether fitting for a Sadique.

Gisèle immediately rejected it, in her typical fashion, of course. She rejected it out of hand, and vowed to find a way to destroy the brain without ceremorphosis being forced upon anyone she loved. 

Leilatha herself led a cadre of Lashes from the temple at the final push in the Upper City against the Netherbrain and the Emperor, as part of the forces Gisèle could call upon for aid. In the end, Gisèle was able to call upon the divine essence of her previous existence which lay dormant within, and harnessed the power of the crown, destroying the brain and freeing herself and everyone of the tadpoles once and for all.

His mission accomplished, Abdirak returned to the Sanguine Thorn, savoring the pain of separation from his beloved anguissette as a true priest of the Scourge Maiden, but content that he had fulfilled his life's purpose--one of them, at least. Administering the balm of pain to the penitent will always be his highest calling, and no one in the Gate has forgotten this unlikely hero's role in saving the city--or Loviatar's.

Skills:

Abdirak is a polyglot: he speaks Common of course, but also the High Calidrian dialect of Alzhedo (his mother's native tongue), and the Ruathen dialect of Illuskan (his father's native tongue), as well as Elven, Thayan, and the Dambraii liturgical language known as the Maiden's Tongue. He is also an expert in leatherworking and rope use.

As a Sadique, essentially a specialty cleric of Loviatar per 2E, Abdirak is skilled in physical combat and has a truly insane level of endurance (reflected in his 20 CON stat), but mostly relies on his prodigious command of clerical magic in fights. Debilitating the enemy is his specialty, through the use of Loviatan-granted powers such as pain touch, and the Kiss of Loviatar. Conjuring spectral whips is another specialty of his. But generally Abdirak detests fighting without purpose, as he finds it uncivilized and boring. He does not seek out combat, but when it comes to him, he is ruthless.

[mummyemmatojames]

39. Dressing the Dynamic: Clothing as a Symbol of Our Roles

Hello, dear community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, excited to share a joyful update on our MDLB and FLR journey as we embrace clothing (and the intentional absence of it) to celebrate James’s little status. This approach has brought us closer, and I’m thrilled with how it’s shaping our dynamic. I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences to keep this beautiful rhythm going!

How It Began: A Clear Expression of Our Roles

As Mummy, I take pride in always presenting myself with care—whether it’s a crisp blouse and skirt or a cozy sweater and trousers, I’m always neatly clothed, a visual anchor of my nurturing authority. For James, we’ve crafted a clothing routine that reflects his 10-year-old little role perfectly. Outside the house (unless for work), he wears simple shorts—playful and childlike, fitting for our dynamic whether we’re at the park or the store. After using the bathroom at home I might tell him to leave his trousers off, letting him pad around in just his shirt and little boy pants (see previous post), which sets a relaxed, dependent tone. It’s a gentle reminder of his place with me.

The Routine: Stripping Down with Purpose

Our day is now rich with these intentional shifts. Fifteen minutes before bathtime, I strip him down completely—no privacy, just me guiding him into that vulnerable space. It’s a sweet ritual that prepares him for the care I’ll give him. At dinnertime, I undress him to his pants, removing his shirt and shorts to avoid any mess—a practical choice that also deepens his childlike headspace. Then, when I nurse him, I take his top off too, maximizing skin-on-skin closeness. It’s a tender moment where he latches on, feeling my warmth against him, which effortlessly pulls him into that perfect little mindset. I remain fully clothed, adjusting just enough for feeding, keeping boundaries clear—he sees my breasts only for this loving act, nothing more.

James’s Response: Embracing His Little Side

James has settled beautifully into this routine. The shorts outside, the trousers-off rule after the bathroom, and being stripped down for dinner and nursing all keep him in a constant state of little vulnerability. He moves with a quiet trust, sometimes clinging to me after I undress him, which I adore—it shows how safe he feels. The skin-on-skin nursing especially lights him up, pulling him deep into his childlike joy. I love watching him relax into it, his worries melting away as he leans on me completely. It’s exactly the headspace we’ve been building toward.

Why It Works: A Visual Bond

This clothing dynamic is a powerful tool for us. My always-presented self contrasts with his bare or minimally dressed state, making our roles crystal clear without a word. The no-privacy stripping—before bathtime, at dinner, for nursing—keeps him reliant on me, aligning with his wish for my leadership. It’s not about control for its own sake; it’s about fostering a space where he can let go, knowing I’m his steady guide. The skin-on-skin closeness during nursing seals that bond, turning a simple act into a celebration of our love and structure.

My Joy: A Perfect Fit

I’m delighted with how this has unfolded. Seeing James thrive in his shorts, trusting me as I strip him down, and melting into my arms for nursing fills me with pride. It’s a perfect fit for my nurturing leadership, and I feel more connected to him than ever. This routine reinforces our dynamic with every step, and I’m excited to keep exploring it. The visual cues—my clothed authority versus his little exposure—create a rhythm that feels right for us both.

What Do You Think?

I’d love to hear from you, community! Have any of you used clothing or nudity to signal your dynamic—how has it strengthened your bond? Does your little embrace the vulnerability like James does, and what moments bring out their headspace best? Any tips for keeping the closeness alive with routines like ours? I’m eager to learn from your journeys as we continue to grow.

Thank you for being part of this with us. James is my precious little boy, and I’m overjoyed to lead him with love in this beautiful way.

With all my warmth,

Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

[orcelito]

FANTASTIC NEWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i finished & posted the ITNL 14 re-edits, WHICH MEANS!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm officially done with my re-edits project!!!!!!!!!! :D!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ive been thinking a lot today about my plans for ITNL 15, AND i have tomorrow off, so if all goes well i'll be able to start writing again. TOMORROW !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and if the chapter grips me like i expect it will then... hehehehehe

could be an update in as little as a few days, depending. i'll keep u guys updated

[yther]

let me just take a sec to be the horrible person you might have convinced yourself I am.

If you're reading this, and you can fly a plane, and you're really tall....

Consider increasing your life insurance policy because your brother deserves it. 👍

[instantpansies]

shoutout to rpf for always being there for me. and making me the man i am today

[the-nysh]

i know you're a ONE-centric blog now but just wanted to drop it and say that i was looking for bkdk metas and yours came up and i LOVED it !!!!!! only been in the mha fandom for 3 years, but you've stuck by bkdk since 2018 + i hope you feel rewarded by everything that's happened since ! all the older bkdk fans got the last laugh <33 (again dont post this on your blog since its not really an 'ask' but hope this made you smile + feel some sort-of nostalgia, have a great day !!!)

Ahaha, oh anon~ So you've noticed. ;) (And no worries, there's no need to hide it; I'm fine with sharing!) I'm guessing you found one of those old anon-asks I answered back in 2018? Cause in truth my faith in bkdk had already been fully invested since 2016, but I secretly kept it to myself (for obvious fandom hell reasons) til I could no longer hold back my feelings anymore, and began posting here in 2017 with some of my first metas for them. And since then *insert serious Woody voice* oh yes I've always stuck by and seen ev-ry-thing~

This is what I had already long concluded and confessed back then:

I’ve come to an educated decision pertaining to what’s been narratively invested from the start – a core direction of the series actually, and from this I’ve found one of the most fascinating, complex, and rewarding character-relationship dynamics I’ve seen. Damn I’m sold.

And now? AND NOW?? What does it FEEL like? To be rewarded for that long term patience and receive precisely what I'd signed up for? Ohum~ It feels like purring behind a pleased smile, chilling back with some of the most refined scalding hot darjeeling tea.....to have simply enjoyed this ride and trusted in Hori (not the western fandom) and my own reading preferences from the start. To be constantly fed his slow-cooked, full course meals without ever needing to ask for anything more? Cause there's really no need! Everything came to those who waited. Hah....(yes the signs were there all along for those who chose to look and read his work for themselves) it feels so correct to have chosen Kacchan as a favorite and follow how his complex canon relationship with Deku would develop from their deliberately rocky beginnings. I am so glad for the journey to get here. :')) I can only wish Hori the best to finally stick the landing and conclude his series in a way he feels satisfied with!

[milk-toast-honey]

Me thinking that good things would keep coming by themselves without me actually doing anything just because my mental health has gotten a lot better.

Turns out i still need to put in an effort. Huh. Who knew.

[venusrrvelez]

Huh. It appears my application for the 27 Club has been rejected.

Oh well.

[salem-baker]

A cry for help from Gaza

My name is Salem, I am 26 years old. I am married to Hadeel, she is 25 years old, and we have two beautiful children: Laila (5 years old) and Bakr (five months old). We live in the northern part of Gaza.

Laila and Bakr are my heartbeat, the light of my life, and my everything.

The horrific story of the recent war in Gaza

Since the beginning of the last war in Gaza, our home has been completely destroyed, forcing us to be displaced. We had to move more than 10 times to find safety. During this harrowing journey, we faced extreme hunger and malnutrition that almost claimed the lives of me and my children. In addition, we have been exposed to many serious infectious diseases and epidemics.

Before: This is our homeland, our dream, and our promising future.

Unbearable hardships

Every day I have to travel long distances just to get water, and stand in lines for hours to get food. My children's mental health deteriorated due to the war, their education was interrupted, and they suffered from catastrophic hunger that almost claimed their lives.

After: This is our house, built with our sweat and effort, and it was completely destroyed.

The right to a peaceful life

My children deserve to live a peaceful life free of fear and anxiety. I dream of your help to support my family and escape this genocide. Your help means the world to me and my children.

The cost of arranging travel for an adult outside Gaza currently varies

Between $5,000 and $7,000, and $2,500 for each child, in addition to a cost of living of $500 per month.

How can you help?

Your donations can be a beacon of hope for us. Every dollar can help save my children's lives and give them a chance to live in peace. Your prayers for us to overcome this ordeal and lift the siege are greatly needed

Laila: My beloved, the closest to my heart, and my little one.

Bakr: My child who came during this horrific war.

Donate now and help us get to safety

May God reward you greatly for your generosity.

Background on the Gaza war

The war in Gaza has left hundreds of thousands of victims, destroyed infrastructure, and left many homeless. The humanitarian situation in the region has reached critical levels, with severe shortages of basic necessities such as food, water and health care. Children are the most affected, as they have lost their sense of security, education and normal life.

Your support is our hope

Your donation is the light that can guide us towards a better future. Don't miss the chance to be part of a story that saves a family suffering from unimaginable hardships.

Donate now and make hope possible

Thank you for your support and kindness.

My gratitude

Salem and family

[homunculus-argument]

A fantasy story of a hero on an epic quest to recover a memory that they have lost - the wizard who wiped it out told them that returning the memory is not within their power. The protagonist specifically asked to have the memory removed, and if they want it back, they must quest to the house of another wizard on the opposite side of the realm, who is capable of such things.

Once the protagonist finally completes this quest, and regains the memory, they see that it was a huge mistake. This memory is horrifying, awful, it brings no fulfillment nor solace and offers no answer or explanation that they wouldn't have already had. It is not worth having, not worth remembering. They ask the wizard to take it back, undo the spell they just did. The wizard that returned the memory says that they cannot do that any more than they could unpour water. To have it wiped off, the protagonist must journey back to the first wizard.

It is heavily implied that this isn't the first time this has happened. As a matter of fact it's been happening for quite a while now. The two wizards keep sending this poor motherfucker back and forth across the realm just to annoy each other.

[delightfullygiddy]

gonna just shoot this out here cause i want it off my mind anyways-

If you have to change your terms of service in anyway to sort of...what...make even the barest minimum of acceptable of some brand new fangled thing that just came into existence- is extremely bad faith on anyone you choose to work with now and anytime in the future.

It's literally lies- to design your own loophole to make it seem okay? Bruh? no. It truly comes down to ethics at this point.

[bluegiragi]

I really don’t care if I’m considered an annoying luddite forever, I will genuinely always hate AI and I’ll think less of you if you use it. ChatGPT, Generative AI, those AI chatbots - all of these things do nothing but rot your brain and make you pathetic in my eyes. In 2025? You’re completely reliant on a product owned by tech billionaires to think for you, write for you, inspire you, in 2025????

“Oh but I only use ___ for ideas/spellcheck/inspiration!!” I kinda don’t care? oh, you’re “only” outsourcing a major part of the creative process that would’ve made your craft unique to you. Writing and creating art has been one of the most intrinsically human activities since the dawn of time, as natural and central to our existence as the creation of the goddamn wheel, and sheer laziness and a culture of instant gratification and entitlement is making swathes of people feel not only justified in outsourcing it but ahead of the curve!!

And genuinely, what is the point of talking to an AI chatbot, since people looove to use my art for it and endlessly make excuses for it. RP exists. Fucking daydreaming exists. You want your favourite blorbo to sext you, there’s literally thousands of xreader fic out there. And if it isn’t, write it yourself! What does a computer’s best approximation of a fictional character do that a human author couldn’t do a thousand times better. Be at your beck and call, probably, but what kind of creative fulfilment is that? What scratch is that itching? What is it but an entirely cyclical ourobouros feeding into your own validation?

I mean, for Christ sakes there are people using ChatGPT as therapists now, lauding it for how it’s better than any human therapist out there because it “empathises”, and no one ever likes to bring up how ChatGPT very notably isn’t an accurate source of information, and often just one that lives for your approval. Bad habits? Eh, what are you talking about, ChatGPT told me it’s fine, because it’s entire existence is to keep you using it longer and facing any hard truths or encountering any real life hard times when it comes to your mental health journey would stop that!

I just don’t get it. Every single one of these people who use these shitty AIs have a favourite book or movie or song, and they are doing nothing by feeding into this hype but ensuring human originality and sincere passion will never be rewarded again. How cute! You turned that photo of you and your boyfriend into ghibli style. I bet Hayao Miyazaki, famously anti-war and pro-environmentalist who instills in all his movies a lifelong dedication to the idea that humanity’s strongest ally is always itself, is so happy that your request and millions of others probably dried up a small ocean’s worth of water, and is only stamping out opportunities for artists everywhere, who could’ve all grown up to be another Miyazaki. Thanks, guys. Great job all round.

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

The final part for The House of Glass! Everyone has a lot to figure out, but progress takes time. Follows from this. This was my first ever complete comic from start to finish, I hope you guys enjoyed the journey!

If you've enjoyed this comic, please consider donating to Aya Yasser, a 19 year old university student from the University of Palestine. She had to pause her studies due to attacks on Gaza. Her 55 year old father is ill and she is trying to evacuate him and her brothers.

You can find her blog @samaagaza

It's like two in the morning right now so I might be a bit incoherent, cw for discussions of racism, homophobia, biphobia, sinophobia and classism

I've really wanted to write Chang as someone who's made to be a perpetual outsider. As a Chinese person born in the UK I've always been made to feel like a foreigner no matter where I go - obviously I am a foreigner abroad but I'm also treated as such in the very country I was born and raised in. I think a lot of east Asian people can relate to being treated as a strange exotic foreigner first and a person second.

As a working class orphan he would probably have been treated as disposable by society at large too. As soon as he's rescued by Tintin in the Blue Lotus he immediately asks why Tintin bothered saving him, and in his letter to Tintin in Tintin in Tibet he writes that he's unworthy of his uncle's hopsitality. We don't get much from Chang as he doesn't make many appearances but it seems he's internalised strong feelings of a lack of self worth. Tintin may have been the first person to recognise his humanity since Chang's birth family passed.

Being queer is also very isolating at first. You're not born into a culture you can reference or make sense of your experiences initially, it's something you have to seek out. I wanted to explore learning to love yourself through others. We're all weird to some degree, we're all in this together!

I genuinely have no clue how I'd follow this up, I have ideas for future stories but I'm not sure what would follow directly from here!