#away from her I can’t remember any specifics beyond that

[suispiria]

when I blended hannibal and alison dilaurentis into a teenage girl who drives her two best friends who are obviously in love with each other to murder ppl mostly because she likes to watch ppl die but also because why would they fall in love w each other and leave her out wtf . Miss her

#I was 19 drunk as hell in my bathroom writing a screenplay. good times? #one of the other two girls was already half mad with paranoia thinking her parents were taking her on a vacation to kill her and #and ofc her friend is like you’re sooo right actually you need to kill them first . AND SHE DOES! #then she’s like everyone alr thinks you killed them why not kill some more etc etc and the other two secretly plot to break #away from her I can’t remember any specifics beyond that

[unoislazy]

Jealous Mizu Headcanons

Disclaimer: A tad bit of NSFW is included in this so be warned

A/N: again, i apologize for not getting anything super extensive out. I thank you all for being so patient and so sweet!!

————————————————————

Mizu’s not the type to be outwardly jealous.

She’ll get jealous but she won't say much about it, she’ll just let it fester inside her quietly until it gets to be too much and she needs an outlet.

More often than not that outlet is fighting (more on that later)

She would never think to label you as “hers”, you’re not an object that she can possess.

However, when it comes to other people being around you, she finds it very tempting to start.

Before either of you confessed, you had already made up a plan to act like you were a couple to avoid unwanted stares from men and women alike.

Turns out Mizu enjoyed that much more than she thought she would.

God help the person that decides to flirt with you while she's around

If that person happened to be Taigen? Forget the duel that man's dying TONIGHT

Mizu of course would recognize that you’re your own person and you can choose to be with whoever you want… but the thought of you choosing TAIGEN of all people is not a thought that would allow her to sleep well at night.

She would claim its for no other reason than she thinks you deserve better than a man who abandoned his engagement for honor

She wouldn’t be wrong but you wouldn’t have even been interested in Taigen in the first place so her coming up with all these reasons why you shouldn’t choose him would just be outing herself.

She refuses to come to terms with the fact that she feels jealous about anything

She would be deep in denial for as long as she could manage until someone finally calls her out on it.

Her jealousy causes her to become a tad bit possessive

She’s not the most secure person in the world when it comes to relationships no matter how hard she pretends to be

She would go above and beyond to try and make sure no one was going to try and lure you away from her.

NSFW Headcanons

(Pretty vague in favor of remaining gender neutral)

Remember how I said “More often than not that outlet is fighting”

Well the alternative to that involves you

It would be less about being possessive over you and instead it would be her way of proving to you she can give you more pleasure than anyone else

And she would without a doubt prove that successfully

She might not be incredibly experienced but you wouldn't have been able to tell that by the way she treated you

Despite her feelings she would actually be extremely gentle with you

It’s not your fault she's mad that other people also find you attractive, so she’d have no reason to be angry with you.

Which means praise. Lots and lots of praise

Constantly reminding you how pretty/handsome you look while beneath her

What, you thought she wasn’t going to pin you down? That’s like her signature move at this point, she’s GOING to be on top.

She would take an opportunity handed to her to tease you and usually that meant one of two things

She teased you with compliments

Or she teased you by stopping what she’s doing all together and having you beg for her to continue

Just cause she’s not mad at you doesn’t mean she can’t mess with you a little

Considering before this point she wouldn’t have been so open about her feelings you would’ve been taken by surprise

She would find it incredibly entertaining if you got embarrassed by all the sudden attention she started giving you

As rough as she deals with things in her everyday life I think she’d be a service dom honestly, in this specific instance at least.

She wants you and she wants you to know that.

She wants to sear it into your brain so any time you even so much as look at someone else all you’d get is a flashback to how good you felt with her.

She would not let you do anything for her, she wants to focus on you and only you

She would just enjoy knowing she was making you feel good and that’s all she’d need

If you tried keeping quiet, she would persuade you into letting go, she wants other people to know that she was the one making you feel good

Needless to say if Taigen had attempted to flirt with you before, he definitely knew not to now.

#x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #fanfiction #unoislazy #mizu x reader #mizu come home the kids miss you #bes mizu #blue eye samurai fanfic #blue eye samurai x reader #x gn reader #mizufics #mizubrainrot #mizu x you #mizu bes #x gender neutral reader #x readers #blue eye samurai x you #mizu fanfic #taigen #headcanons #headcanon #nsft headcanon

[tojisun]

WIP: still your passenger (re: deftones)

simon ghost riley x gn reader

!! angst; canon-compliant // i rlly loved this one but writers block hit me bad every time i try completing it :< might pick it up one day (hopefully!!)

there’s a new medic in the base – a pretty girl with a pretty smile, pretty eyes, pretty laugh. she’s beautiful, perfect with her auburn hair and her chestnut eyes; striking with her trimmed waist and sloping curves. 

you’ve only met her once when you needed an aspirin for your fever and never more after that, after all, there’s really not much of a reason for a base assistant like you to visit the station. so all that you’ve heard about her came from privates and base operators, greedy in the way they took in the sight she makes and how darling she looks. you can’t really blame them, not after seeing her; seeing how she is a beam of something soft and tender amidst their chaotic group.

it had been soap who started giving you the specifics.

her name’s erin, a lass hailing from yorkshire. the only family she’s got is a younger sister, anna, who is in university for astrophysics. 

“they’re a family of smart nuts,” johnny mused as he spun his shot of whiskey. “can you believe it? she’s pretty and wise.”

you oohed and aahed before telling him to remember to keep it in his pants because erin, beautiful and darling and gentle erin, is an important member of the squad. that she is necessary in the base; having been sought out for the very reasons that got johnny acting like a fool.

“of course i’ll keep it in!” johnny whined, bumping his head on the counter. “i don’t want to anger LT, y’know?”

cold dread washed over you upon hearing what he said, the quiet thrum of the alcohol being chased away by the slice of his words. you felt like bleeding, like you’ve been cut open and doused with ice, blistering chill creeping up from the softness of your lungs to your stuttering heart. 

“oh?” you remember asking, your voice startlingly void of emotions. “why would he be angry now?” your hands trembled and so you hid them from view, clenching them on your lap instead. 

johnny turned to you and quirked up a secretive smile. “why else?”

the weight of your grief pressed onto your chest, threatening to crack the columns of your ribs. you felt afloat, untethered, and you blinked back the sudden prickling you feel in the back of your eyes. 

you laughed with johnny, trying to smother the ache. trying not to drown in the harsh pools of your heartbreak.

because of course.

of course. 

you and simon are friends, but nothing more. nothing beyond the hushed voices and whispered ‘i’m glad you’re safe’ pressed onto each other’s cheeks because neither of you made things official anyway. no risks were taken, no promises to break. 

everything with him was just physical – chasing the cold nights away with the warmth of each other’s bodies pressed onto each other, fighting nightmares with each other's touches. 

sure simon cradled you in his tender embrace but that was all. just a temporary passion despite your everlasting yearning. 

“y’ready to go back to the base?” johnny asked and you said yes, another lie that dribbled from your trembling lips. because after that night, you knew that things were never going to be the same.

—————

ignoring simon was easy. it’s not like you needed to do much to avoid him, anyway, not with the way he was gravitating around erin. any other day it would have been laughable how simon followed her around like she’s got a bear of a man for her shadow but, well. seeing him be so taken by her makes you ache. 

the sparse moments he has that were sometimes spent with you were now overwritten by his visits to the facility where erin usually is. everyone who didn’t know that ghost was smitten over the new medic certainly knew now; he had long stopped making it a secret and instead, began to posture over those who tried pursuing erin. 

he was never a jealous man. that was until her, you guess.

and it’s not like you can fault erin for how simon acts, because could you blame him? could you blame anyone for that matter?

erin was, is, beautiful. she had a laugh that sounded like wind chimes and had a sparkle that perpetually made her eyes look brighter. she was soft even after seeing everyone’s troubles or their anger, always a beacon of tenderness amidst their bleeding wounds. but she was also fierce, a fighter with a bite that no one expected, but maybe you all should have because no one would ever survive being out in combat if one isn’t strong, anyway.

erin was, well, she was someone you knew simon needed in his life.

so, again, could you really blame him?

you have always known simon. you have always understood past his pretences – he wanted to settle. he wanted a life beyond the fight; wanted a family to come home to. 

he’s told you this so many times, hasn't he? murmured his wishes and desires at the top of your head as he cradled you in his arms, letting the exhaustion of the day bleed away from your pores as you shared a breath with him; he had waxed poetries for a distant future, one you have always thought you would have been a part of. 

one you thought you would have shared with him.

but you knew. despite your self-reassurances that you meant something to simon, you knew that when he envisioned his life, his future, it was one that did not include you.

it hurts, you thought to yourself as you pressed the back of your palms over your eyes. it hurts.

but how could it? how could you hurt over losing something that you never even had in the first place?

#suns.f #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley angst #erin - but NOT the dbf!simon one #suns

[her-satanic-wiles]

Masterlist ⛧ Lost in Translation Masterlist ⛧ Ao3

Words: 10.8k

Reading Time: 43 min

Warnings: angry sex, begging, biting, corruption kink, creampie, cum eating, cunnilingus, dry humping, fear kink?, groping, feelings of claustrophobia, hair pulling, low self-esteem, mentions of grooming (non-sexual), multiple orgasms, nipple play, pain kink, penetrative sex, PIV sex, possessive Copia, primal kink?, praise kink, pussy slapping, rough sex, semi-public sex, this is objectively filthy, unprotected sex (sash the dick to smash the slick, lads), vaginal sex

Taglist: @zombiesnips-blog @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @ellenokumura @thew0man @sodoswitchimage @the-real-eggplany @deathmimedream @love-is-all-you-need-13 @kadedoesthings @rosyerato @xshadyladyx @popiaswife @perpetratorwithaquill @punkiy50 @onlyhereforghost @kaijukimchi @copiaspet622 @jaymechaos @akayuki56

As the newly appointed Cardinal Copia struggles with the weight of a looming prophecy, a resilient scholar challenges the narrative, uncovering a conspiracy that reaches beyond the walls of the Ministry. The emergence of a forbidden love ignites a rebellion against a power-hungry Sister, whose thirst for control threatens to reshape the very foundations of the Church. Will the revelation of those schemes lead to liberation or plunge the Ministry into chaos?

Previous Part ⛧ Next Part

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Your conversation with Copia left you feeling perturbed at best. Something didn’t sit right with you. As the Ministry’s librarian and main archivist, you knew most of the prophecies that circled the Church - none of them mentioned the antichrist’s Prime Mover, not that you could remember, anyway. That prophecy ate away at you, gnawing its way into your brain like a worm fig fly burrowing into an unripe fig.

Arriving back at the library, you were bombarded by Aisha and Riley, both of whom had seen Copia talking to you when he should have blessed you. Both had their concerns, of course, worried that you’d fall back into some kind of relationship with him and wind up with your heart broken again, but when they heard what you’d learned, they were just as stumped as you.

“It’s entirely possible that you’re wrong about this, ___.” Aisha said, her tone hesitant but still as honest as usual. “I don’t understand why someone would base their whole lives around a prophecy that wasn’t accurate… or real.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” you replied, animated in your actions, “no one in their right mind would. I feel like I need to put on a tin-foil hat right now and go to my cork board, but I have read damn near every inch of this library. I’ve digested almost every single Satanic, religious text I can get my hands on. I’ve read all the prophecies we know of thus far - I just don’t remember this one specific one.”

“But,” Riley interjected, their tone just as measured as Aisha’s, “there are thousands of prophecies after all. You can’t expect to remember each one.”

“No, but I do expect to be reminded of them as I hear them. Of course, I couldn’t remember every single one in great detail, but I’d remember the gist at the very least.”

Aisha, “Well, there’s only one way to find out, I guess.”

Riley, “What can we do?”

“We? Bitch, I know you’re not dragging me into this stupid charade.”

“Look at it this way, the faster she figures out what the prophecy is, the faster she can move on and we can all forget this debacle.”

Aisha looked at you and clapped her hands. “Where do we begin?”

Well, that was the question. In a library filled with thousand-year-old texts, each with its own historical relevance and prophecies given by each author who just wanted attention or fame, where would one begin? When every book in that room carried mystical contents, it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. So, you all chose a large, mahogany table and set that up as your base, comandeering each seat and preventing anyone else from using it or interrupting you. Then, you all searched for and grabbed any historical text in reference to prophesies or the antichrist and dumped them all on the table. How many books were there in the end? How many stacks had piled up so high that you’d created yourselves a small prison? 300. 300 ancient, scholarly texts that had mention to the antichrist and relevant prophecies.

Aisha and Riley took it in turns to manage front desk for you, but both of them took a stack of books and a notepad with them so that they could continue the research in their down time. You, on the other hand, remained at the desk, allowing your other work to fall behind so you could figure this out. It was like your brain could only focus on one important task at a time, and when you discovered that this was important, it ended up taking top priority.

Daytime became nighttime, and nighttime became hazy cycles of reading relics and skimming over pages full of prophecies that blended into one another like a jumble of misplaced words. As the light from the lamp flickered across the tattered covers of the volumes, the library filled with the smell of old paper.

There were open books all around you, their yellowed pages teeming with historical descriptions of apocalyptic visions, and mysterious symbols. The prophecy’s complex language mingled with the deep religious debate, creating a maze of material that seemed designed to confuse rather than educate.

You carefully noted every detail that even slightly referred to the prophecy in question, cross-referenced sections, and compared the subtle differences between translations. Notes strewn all over the pages, a disorganised collage of your efforts to put the jigsaw together.

You kept getting the feeling that you were chasing shadows as you dug deeper into the texts, reaching for something that was evasive and eluded you every time you believed you had a lead. There were creases on your cheeks from exhaustion and the weight of the old books pressing down on your shoulders.

You worked side by side with Aisha and Riley, who translated texts, brought you food, and consoled you when you felt that you could no longer take the frustration any longer. The three of you formed an unofficial partnership to take on the mystery surrounding the prophecy.

Nights became days, and you couldn’t tell which day it was. Every page you turned echoed the murmur of countless seekers who had gone before you, the moments merging into an invisible blur.

And then, in the midst of the seemingly endless search, a faint glimmer of recognition sparked in your mind. A passage, hidden within the dense verses, bore a semblance to the prophecy in question. The revelation struck like lightning, awakening a surge of determination within you.

“No!” You said, much louder than you’d anticipated.

Riley and Aisha snapped their heads to your direction (as did the rest of the library goers who were startled by your outburst.) “What?” Riley asked, standing from their seat and leaning over the desk at you.

“The prophecy Copia and Sister Imperator believes just doesn’t exist. It’s like it’s been conflated from an old antichrist theory from centuries ago. Listen to this, “‘the antichrist will be born on the sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year. Only then can he come forth and do Satan’s bidding, bring about the end times and raze a new Hell upon this Earth.’ This prophecy was taken from an old Catholic text and whoever deciphered it left footnotes and opinions.

“The translator doesn’t believe that the antichrist would bring about the end times, not in the way Catholics believe. Armageddon won’t pass as a rain of fire from the sky and the destruction of the planet, but more like a sociological shift that will destroy the Catholic church and bring education to those indoctrinated by Yhwh’s Bible.

“What I’m getting at is that there’s no mention at all of a wife for the antichrist, or if the antichrist will even produce an offspring at all. In fact, the author seems to believe that this sociological shift will become the antichrist’s final act - ‘the antichrist will die at the hands of the non-believers, messiah’d in the same way as their saviour, for only death can bring the motivation of the masses to call for a change of the system’.”

“So why does Sister Imperator place so much emphasis on the ‘wife-with-three-sixes-in-their-birth-date’ theory?” Aisha asked, putting her book down and looking at you.

You shrugged. “Maybe she’s mistaken?”

Riley shook their head. “No. Sister Imperator doesn’t make mistakes - she bends the Ministry to her will to benefit her. She’s far too smart to make mistakes as big as this.”

“You think this is more sinister?”

Riley nodded. “Surely she must have said something to you the last time you saw her?”

You began to shake your head, eyebrows furrowing at how hard you were thinking back to your conversation with her. “She told me to never let them see what they’ve done to me.”

“That was after you saw Copia fucking another person. I’m talking about before, when you felt like you had to go see him in the first place.”

You tried to remember everything that happened during that conversation, but it had become so long ago that the details had become a little fuzzy. “She did say something a bit strange now that I’m thinking about it. She said something like, ‘we didn’t work this hard for the Cardinal’s career for it to fail’ but the ‘we’ was an ‘I’ until she corrected herself.”

“See?”

Aisha, “So you think that Sister Imperator has organised this whole thing? Nah, I’m not buying it. If she organised this then why didn’t she make herself Mama and be done with it?”

“Because,” Riley rummaged through one of their piles of books and flicked to a page, “according to the Emeritus lore… mythology… whatever… the Satanic Church runs as a democratic type of monarchy - we can have a say on who we want to run the Church, but they have to come from the Emeritus bloodline given that they are, supposedly, direct descendants of Lord Lucifer Himself.

“Now, up until he became head of the Church, no one knew for sure who Cardinal Copia’s parents were. The amount of interest Sister Imperator showed on the kid made everyone believe Imperator was his mum, but no one could be certain if Papa Nihil was the Cardinal’s father. Just because the Cardinal has the typical Heterochromia doesn’t mean it’s real. Remember how people whispered about the idea that Imperator made the Cardinal wear contacts every day? It wasn’t until he became Head of the Church that people started accepting the Cardinal’s lineage, because only an Emeritus can lead the Church. Sister Imperator is not an Emeritus. She can’t directly lead the congregation. But her son can.”

“This sounds unbelievable.” Aisha claimed. “If the Cardinal was an Emeritus, then why is he still Cardinal? Why isn’t he Papa?”

Riley thought for a minute. “Maybe because Papa Nihil is still alive.”

“Then surely Papa Nihil would be Head of the Church right now, since Papa Terzo passed?”

“After last time?” You asked. “Nah, he wouldn’t take up that position again. Why do you think Papa Primo took over while Papa Nihil was still alive? Even if Papa Nihil wants to be the Head again, I don’t think the Clergy would let him.”

“Maybe that’s why the Cardinal is still Cardinal,” Riley added, “the Clergy won’t let another son ascend to Papalcy as long as a Papa is alive.”

“Which is why Papas Primo, Secondo and Terzo died.” You said quietly. “She said, ‘we didn’t work this hard for the Cardinal’s career for it to fail’, and we know the previous Papas didn’t die of natural causes…”

“They had to die because they would have fought back against Sister Imperator and her wishes!” Riley exclaimed closing their book and dropping it to the table. “My head is spinning.”

“But she said ‘we’,” Aisha thought aloud, “who’s ‘we’? She couldn’t have done all of this alone.”

“Aisha’s right,” you said, “this had to have been a group coup, there’s no way one woman could pull off three murders and an ascension all by herself.”

Aisha, “Well, Papa Nihil is still alive, so we know he must have been involved somehow.”

Riley, “Who stood to gain from the Cardinal’s ascension? Who did gain from the ascension? Who’s new to the Upper Clergy?”

You, “Cardinal García’s new, he wasn’t around before Papa Terzo.”

“Cardinal Dubois and Cardinal Li.”

“Archbishop Müller was bragging about his payrise in the bar not three weeks after Papa Terzo’s removal back in Sweden.”

“Now Cardinal Al-Farsi was removed from his position in the Upper Clergy, and we know it was because he was actively against the removal of Papa Terzo.” Riley looked at Aisha, now standing wide eyed and frozen in her spot. “Aisha?”

“Sister Evelyn Chandler.”

“Who?” You asked.

“She’s due to be the Cardinal’s Prime Mover in all of this, apparently she has three sixes in her birth date as well. No one benefits as much as she does.”

Your world came crashing down around you once again, your brain ticking into overdrive as you remembered catching Copia rocking against the other woman in his office months ago. During the first and only Mass you’d attended since then, you remembered seeing her wandering into the Basilica behind Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator as a third, important member of the family, but your mind was hyper-focussed on seeing Copia for the first time in so long, you almost didn’t register her. Almost.

In all the time since you caught them together, your mind had been all over the place. If the whole Ministry was talking about Sister Evelyn and the Cardinal, then how could you have missed it? The short answer was that you just weren’t listening. As a way to distract yourself from what had happened between you and Copia, once you’d left your home and re-entered society, you had holed yourself away in your office to work on the translations. Seeing her for the first time (truly seeing her, not just as a lump on Copia’s lap) during Mass, it didn’t register that she was the person grinding into Copia’s crotch, and that she had become important enough to be paraded to the entire congregation.

She never interacted with you, never acknowledged your presence, never looked at you, not that you’d noticed anyway. It was so easy to just not see her. But now it was all flooding into your brain, the idea that she and Sister Imperator could have orchestrated this whole thing behind Copia’s back.

Was Copia in on this?

No, he couldn’t possibly be. He seemed genuinely angry at the “prophecy” and how he’d have no part in it if he was given the option. Besides, no one advocated for Papa Terzo harder than Copia. Copia publicly looked up to Papa Terzo, worshipped him almost similarly to his worship of Satan. He wouldn’t be happy with the death of his half brother, not when he idolised him so much. Watching him from afar for as long as you did, meant you were able to see him in multiple different moods, and he mourned Papa Terzo. He mourned his half-brother for months, almost the whole year he’d been Head of the Church and leader of the Ghost Project. He definitely wouldn’t have gone through with it… right?

“So where do we go from here?” Aisha asked both you and Riley, pulling you out of your miniature crisis.

“Well,” Riley began, “I’m not entirely sure. We have all this circumstantial evidence, but there’s no proof of anything. Like I said, Sister Imperator’s smart, she’d hardly leave any physical proof of her crimes.”

Aisha turned to look at you. “You said you wanted to figure this out and now you have. All you have to do is present all of,” she gestured vaguely to the table, “this to the Cardinal and then you can move on.”

“What if he’s in on it?” You queried, your voice quiet and scared.

Riley shook their head. “Nah. The Cardinal’s a lot of things - ‘dumbass’ would be a word I’d use for him - but he’s not the kind of person to usurp the Satanic throne for his own personal or political gain. I mean, look at the man; he spent all his fifty years trying to be invisible. If it makes you feel any better, I think he’s a naïve and gullible idiot who’s so desperate for his mother’s love and approval, he’d do anything to appease her. You said yourself he doesn’t believe he’s the antichrist, right?”

“Right.”

“Well then, there you go. There’s your answer. He thinks he’s in this position because it’s the right and prophesied thing to do. Not because he’s a puppet in his mother’s games.”

Aisha’s tone was lighthearted. “Honestly, fair play to her. A bad bitch who knows what she wants. I admire that.” Both you and Riley looked at her with a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. “What?” She stood from her seat. “I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs.” She turned to walk away and raised her fist in the air. “Go live your best life, Queen!”

Riley sighed. “I hate her sometimes.”

“Mmm,” you agreed. “You gonna help me put these back?”

Riley sucked in air through their teeth and began to back away from the desk. “You know, I would, but Sister Kowalski said she needed help finding books about rituals and, you know, can’t let Sister Kowalski down.” They gestured to the table. “But you got this, right?”

You shot a middle finger at them.

“Atta girl!”

Setting the books back was a lonely task thanks to Riley’s disappearance and Aisha ‘working at the front desk so she can’t leave’. But it gave you chance to think about the situation at hand.

There was a crushing feeling of helplessness that descended over you as you carefully returned those old books to their shelves. With every book you placed back, the magnitude of the problem became more apparent and the weight of the knowledge you acquired felt like a burden. You felt exposed and helpless when you realised you were trapped in a web of deception and surrounded by people who had ulterior motives. The Ghouls and Sisters around you went about their business, oblivious to the storm building within you. You were more aware of your inner struggle in the library’s profound silence.

The sensation that you were just a pawn in a much bigger game lingered as you pushed a hefty volume back into its proper position. Your sanity was being tormented by doubts regarding Copia’s role, Sister Imperator’s actual motivations, and the possibility of Upper Clergy influence. Your impression of being trapped was echoed by the library’s walls, which seemed to be closing in on you.

Copia’s POV

With every passing hour, Copia was more and more convinced that he’d never see or hear from you again - at least in the way that he wanted to. He paced the floor of his office when he was alone inside of it, mind raging at the prospect of living his life without you. He was so convinced that you were running from him - and who could blame you? He felt like a sham, a joker with the hat of a Cardinal and all the responsibility of a Papa. Out of all of it, all the attention and the duties, he only wanted you. And he was tormenting himself as punishment for doing stupid things that could lose you in the end.

A knock on the door interrupted Copia’s thoughts as he paced his office, gripped by the agony of possible loss. Startled, he turned to face the entryway, a glimmer of anticipation replacing the dread etched on his features. “Come in,” he called out, his voice a mix of apprehension and hope.

The door creaked open, and a Sibling stepped into the room. Copia thought he recognised this person, but being the head of the Church and living in the Ministry alongside thousands of other clergy members, everyone’s face was familiar to him. “Good afternoon, Your Dark Eminence,” they greeted cautiously, closing the door behind them. “Mind if I have a word?”

Copia, his expression a blend of curiosity and anxiety, gestured for Riley to proceed. “Of course, Sibling… uh…”

“Sibling Riley Martinez, Your Dark Eminence. I work with Sister ___ in the library.”

At the mention of your name, Copia’s stomach flipped. He was excited to know that you’d sent one of your friends to talk to him, but nervous at that exact fact. What did you not want to say? Or rather, why didn’t you want to convey your message yourself? Why did you send your friend as he would a Ghoul? “Ah, yes. Sibling Martinez, what brings you here? Is everything okay?”

“Well, Your Dark Eminence, no. May I?” Sibling Martinez gestured to the sofa in front of Copia’s desk. Copia nodded, and invited Sibling Martinez to sit.

They cleared their throat and began to tell Copia exactly what they and their friends had discovered. Copia listened carefully as Sibling Martinez revealed the information, each word hitting the weak spot in his heart like a hammer. The information weighed heavily on him, and a hint of resentment started to peek through the gaps in his calm demeanour. Fury couldn’t even begin to cover how Copia felt. His wrath simmered beneath the surface as the truth came to light. His hands balled into fists as he tried to control the flood of feelings that were about to explode; not that Sibling Martinez would know, from the outside Copia looked calm and collected, as if he was just listening to any old story. But on the inside, he was seething…

Sibling Martinez continued to share the discoveries, detailing the inconsistencies in the supposed prophecy and connecting the dots to Sister Imperator’s potential involvement in a larger, more sinister plan. Copia’s jaw tightened, his frustration morphing into a potent mixture of anger and betrayal. “So, she’s been playing me all along,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sibling Martinez. The realisation was a bitter pill to swallow, and the taste of deceit lingered in his mouth.

“Sister ___ also suspects that Sister Evelyn Chandler is a key player in all of this. The three sixes in her birth date, the sudden rise in her status—”

The anger within Copia surged to the forefront. He slammed his hand against the desk, the impact resonating through the room. “Maledizione!” he exclaimed, his frustration breaking through. “I trusted them. I trusted Sister Imperator. And I thought Evelyn was just a pawn, but they’ve been orchestrating this entire thing.”

Sibling Martinez nodded, acknowledging the weight of the revelation. “It seems that way, Your Dark Eminence. Sister ___ would have wanted you to know. She’s trying to make sense of it all, just like you are. She doesn’t know what to do about any of this, though.”

Copia paced the room, the fire of betrayal burning within him. “And you? What do you think of all this?” he asked, his gaze piercing into Sibling Martinez’s eyes.

Sibling Martinez hesitated for a moment before responding, “It’s a lot to take in, Your Dark Eminence. But if there’s a plot against you, we want to help expose it.”

Copia continued to pace the room, his mind brimming and full with fresh rage. The cogs in his brain were ticking over and over. Something about Sister Evelyn’s involvement didn’t quite add up, though. If the plot was based around a flimsy, untrue prophecy, then Sister Evelyn would know that it wasn’t real - yet, she, like Copia, was fully immersed in the whole farce. But what was the answer.

He stopped pacing and turned back to his guest. “Who did you say benefited from my ascension?” Sibling Martinez listed the known members of the Clergy and Copia clicked his fingers together. “You’re missing one. I’ve just discovered Sister Chandler’s involvement.”

“Your Dark Eminence?”

“Of course she benefits - of course she does. She becomes Prime Mover. But, she was unaware of this whole plot, I’m convinced.”

“So how is she involved?”

“It’s not her. It’s her father - Saltarian.”

“Cardinal Saltarian? I don’t know him, I’m sorry.”

Copia shook his head. “Not Cardinal, just Mr. He has no title. Mr. Saltarian has been in my life for almost thirty years at this point, a very good friend of my mother’s. There’s not much that he doesn’t know, to be truthful. He’s a spy to everyone - not a man to be trusted. He may not be a member of the Church per se, but I doubt my brother’s deaths didn’t line his back pockets in some capacity. Not to mention his daughter becoming my Prime Mover. That would give him a power that he wouldn’t have as a mere Cardinal.”

“So what are we going to do about this, Your Dark Eminence?”

Copia stopped and thought for a moment, weighing all of his options. “You do nothing.” Sibling Martinez went to protest but Copia continued. “For now at least. I appreciate you coming to me with this information, Sibling. And please thank Sister ___ for starting this whole investigation. After everything I’ve done to her, I don’t deserve it.”

“Well, she doesn’t want you suffering. What will you do?”

“I’m not sure.”

The truth was, Copia was sure, he just didn’t want word getting back to you. Not yet anyway. The way Copia was feeling, he was more than ready to burst into Sister Imperator’s office and confront her about all of this. It wasn’t until Sibling Martinez had left that Copia was able to straighten himself up and storm to his scheming mother’s office, and unfortunately for her, she was there.

He didn’t knock - he didn’t see the need. He was too angry for pleasantries and kindnesses. Sister Imperator didn’t have a guest, so he could get right to the point without disturbing another person. “Ah, Cardinal.” She said, an amiable smile on her face. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Three sixes in her birth date, hm, Sister? That’s why Sister Evelyn is to be my Prime Mover?” Copia’s attitude was foul, completely out of character for him.

“So the prophecy says.”

“So it is to do with the prophecy and nothing to do with Mr. Saltarian’s involvement in raising me to power?”

She was silent for a moment, just a brief second too long, but that was all the confirmation Copia needed.

“You are despicable.”

Sister Imperator’s expression remained stoic, her eyes meeting Copia’s with unwavering confidence. “Everything was done for the Church, for our cause. The emergence of the antichrist is a crucial moment in our history, and we can’t afford to let it slip away.”

Copia scoffed, the bitterness in his tone cutting through the air. “For the Church? Or for your own gain? Mr. Saltarian’s involvement, the manipulation of prophecies, the orchestration of all three of my brother’s deaths - all to secure power for yourself.”

Sister Imperator leaned back in her chair, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Power is a means to an end, Cardinal. Our mission is to bring about the reign of Satan on Earth. Sacrifices must be made, alliances forged, and obstacles removed.”

Copia’s anger intensified, a storm brewing within him. “You manipulated me, used me as a pawn in your game. And for what? To satisfy your thirst for control?”

“Control is essential in guiding the destiny of the Church. Your ascension was necessary, Cardinal. You were groomed for this role, and now, you stand at the precipice of a new era. To serve as the antichrist just as the prophecies have told!”

Copia shook his head, his disbelief transforming into a fiery resolve. “I won’t be a puppet in your schemes any longer. I won’t let you exploit the Church - and me - for your personal agenda.”

Sister Imperator chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “You’re still learning, my dear Cardinal. The puppeteer does not relinquish control so easily. The Church needs a leader, and you were chosen for a reason.”

Copia’s resolve saw through the complex web of deceit, and his eyes hardened. “I won’t play your games any longer. I’ll expose the truth to the congregation. They deserve to know the extent of your manipulation.”

“Expose me, my dear boy, and the entire congregation will work to overthrow you.”

“So be it. I never wanted this role - this was your dream.”

“You wouldn’t. Now, enough with this idiocy, Cardinal. You have duties to attend to and a ritual to prepare for.”

“I’m going to put a stop to this.”

“Mhmm. Of course you will.” Sister Imperator went back to fiddling with papers on her desk, making herself look busy in order to get Copia to leave.

With a blazing determination in his eyes, Copia left Sister Imperator’s words trailing behind him. The seriousness of the situation weighed on him, but he couldn’t turn his gaze away from the betrayal that had occurred. He wondered where to go next as he made his way more into the Ministry.

There was an unsettling silence in the hallways, and shadows played on the walls. Copia’s mind whirled with ideas about how the congregation would respond, potential partners he might discover, and the impending threat of Sister Imperator’s power. He knew he needed help, and he needed someone he could rely on.

Copia entered the library in search of comfort, the smell of ancient volumes and parchment reassuring him, and guiding him to a familiar room. He discovered you absorbed in your task, a serene determination on your face. The agony and turmoil of the past had given way to a steely resolution, a testament to your resilience.

You looked up as Copia entered, a mix of surprise and apprehension in your eyes. “Your Dark Eminence,” you greeted respectfully standing from your seat with your voice betraying no emotion. Your eyes were just as wide and doe-like as they were the last time he saw this expression on your face, except that time you wore his bedsheets as a dress. That time he ravished you on his dining room table and showed you absolutely no mercy. The mood he was in again, he didn’t want to show you any mercy again; he wanted you beneath him on that desk, screaming his name and taking everything he was willing to give, everything he felt like he had to give.

Was he wrong for feeling this way? Absolutely. After everything he put you through and after promising to wait for your answer, he should be doing that. He should be waiting for you to contact him. He should be giving you the space and time that you needed to work through this. But there was too much anger coursing through his veins, too much adrenaline working through his body with nowhere to go.

There was a look in his eyes that you’d never seen before - an anger that had never been present in all the time you’d observed him from afar, or spent directly in his presence. It terrified you - but had your core tightening in knots and aching for relief you’d not had in weeks. You wondered if you’d let him touch you like that again, if you’d give in to his urges in order to quell your own.

Copia opened his mouth as if to speak then closed it again. Despite his anger, he was still hesitating to get the words out. But he stepped closer to you, slowly, tentatively, as though moving would scare you off like the doe your eyes portrayed you to be. “You need to stop me if you don’t want this, amore.” He told you, his voice dangerously low and rumbling as he spoke. “Any word from you and I’ll walk away.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, breasts rising and falling with the heaviness of your breaths. Each step he took closer to you made you more and more breathless, your hairs standing on edge and your body tingling in anticipation.

He was right in front of you, a gloved hand reaching up to the back of your head and pulling at your hair from the roots, lifting your face to look directly into his and expose your neck. “If you don’t stop me, I’m going to bend you over this desk and take what belongs to me. Will you let me, amore? Will you let me inside you again?”

You whimpered, unable to trust your voice to convey your thoughts accurately. Your mouth was drier than it had ever been, saliva refusing to flood your mouth and whet your lips. Your whimper was the only response you could muster, and it clearly displeased the Cardinal.

He tugged harder on your hair, lifting your head a little further back. “Words, amore. Use them.”

“Y-yes, Cardinal. I-I… want you inside me.”

Though your words were barely a stuttered whisper, Copia still counted them. His lips smashed against yours, teeth banging against teeth as he encapsulated your lips in a rough kiss. The hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair moved to your waist, pulling you closer to his body while he pushed you back against the desk, trapping you between him and the wood just as he did the first time he had you back in London. His tongue entered your mouth, tasting you again for the first time in so long, and groaning at the sensation. He missed this - he missed you. There was a part of him that wanted to be gentle with you, but the rest of him was too tightly wound; he couldn’t bring himself to handle you with care.

He broke the kiss and stepped away from you just long enough for him to grip your hips with both of his hands and turn you around, before he pressed you back up against the desk. His hard cock tented beneath his jeans and cassock, bulging against your ass cheek and reminding you just how much he desired you, how much he craved and needed you.

Your palms were flat to the lacquered wood, leaning against the desk for some support while Copia had his way with you. His hips gently rocked against your body, desperately rubbing himself against you as his lips attached themselves to your neck, kissing and licking at the exposed skin there. In frustration, he pulled your habit off your head and threw it to the ground, before placing his hands back at your hips. But those hands wandered as they loved to do, grabbing and squeezing at your body roughly, getting their fill of you after weeks of being deprived. He gripped onto your love handles, your stomach, moving his way up and groping at your breasts, squeezing and rubbing them beneath his gloves and your clothes. He caught hold of your nipples between his thumb and finger, while his teeth captured your ear and bit down gently.

“Copia!” You breathed, your hands moving to sit on top of his as they tweaked and pulled at your clothed nipples. Small moans escaped your lips as he toyed with your body, your pussy dripping and screaming for some attention.

Copia chuckled and released your ear. “Is she needy, hm? Needy for her Cardinal’s cock?”

“Please.”

“Sathanas - you have no idea how much I missed hearing you beg for me, amore.” He let go of your right nipple and ran his hand down your body, stopping at your crotch. He covered your cunt with his hand and gripped it. “Are you wet enough for my cock, I wonder? Are you ready for a good,” he slapped your cunt, “rough,” another slap, “fucking, hm?”

“Yes, Copia! Please!”

He lifted your habit and dipped his fingers into the waistband of your panties, hooking them against the elastic. “Tell me, amore. Tell me how much you want me to bend you over this desk and pound this cunt.” He pulled them down just enough to completely expose your bare pussy to him, a string of your wetness snapping when the fabric was pulled too far down your thighs.

“I w-want you so deep inside me. I’m so desperate for your c-cock, Copia. Please… please give it to me.” As you spoke, you felt him reach beneath his cassock and fumble with his clothes to free himself. “Fuck me, please!”

His hand came up to your shoulder blades and pushed you down flat against the desk. The other fisted his cock, stroking a few times before lining himself up with your dripping wet entrance.

“I won’t be gentle with you, amore.” His warning was delivered more like a threat, but it had your walls clenching nonetheless.

“Make it hurt.” You whispered.

He pushed in all the way to the hilt, not bothering to take it slow. He let your words go to his head and set a relentless pace inside of you, hitting your cervix deliciously and making you scream out with each thrust. Your cunt opened up for him just as easily as it always did, further proof that you were made for him. His hips snapped slowly, but roughly, making your entire body jiggle with the force of each one, and the heavy desk to slide across the floor.

Sliding into you felt like sliding home. After all the time he was away from you, he couldn’t have you, and hold you in his arms, there was a massive bout of relief that washed over him. This felt good, it felt right. It was everything he needed after all this time. And you felt the same way. You didn’t realise just how much you needed him and missed him until that moment.

Copia’s grunts as he rammed his cock inside you filled the room alongside the loud squelch of your cunt swallowing him whole. His hands were now attached to your hips, gripping onto them as tightly as he could, leaving red marks and bruises in his wake. Copia was so long and thick that he stretched you out so nicely, and he always made you feel so good inside. By the time he was finished with you, you were usually a sore, shaky pile on the bed, with little ability to move or even think. You could feel your knees weakening as Copia rearranged your insides, your whole body turning to mush at his hard mercy - a mercy he wasn’t willing to show you as he picked up his speed but maintained his roughness.

There was a dull ache that came with the head of his cock slamming into you as hard as he did, but you worshipped the feeling. After going so long without feeling him stretch and fuck you, you needed to feel him, no matter how much burning came with it.

Your ass jiggled more than normal as you moved your hips to meet his thrusts and arched your back as far as you could for him. He let loose a torrent of profanities in Italian, each one telling you how you felt incredible for him, wrapped around him and squeezing him so fucking tightly he could hardly breathe.

“Made to take this cock, eh?” He huffed, his Cardinal paints dripping from his face with the exertion of his movements. “Built for me to fuck whenever I wanted to. Cazzo! I didn’t take you as much as I should have. Should have had you hanging off my dick every fucking day. Closest to fucking Heaven I’ll ever get. Fuck!”

“Right th-there! Oh, fuck, Copia! Right there!” You moved your hand down to your clit and began to rub at it, furiously stroking your bundle of nerves and tightening around him, causing him to let out a groan so deep and gutteral, it had you whining for him.

“Always so tight for me, amore.” He breathed as he watched the cream from your pussy gather at the base of his cock. “Always so wet and pliant, taking everything I give you like a good fucking girl.”

He started thrusting more rapidly and erratically. The fingers that had been gripping your hips clenched even more tightly than before, as if he was afraid you may vanish at any moment and leave him without an orgasm.

“Copia! You - fuck! - You’re gonna make me cu-cum!” You could feel your toes curling in your shoes, your brain turning to mush at the feeling of him rearranging your insides like he hadn’t done before.

“Tell me, please, amore! Tell me how much you love this cock.”

“Copia, n-nobody could… compare! Nobody could ever… make me cum… like you. Fuck, Copia, I’m so close. Please!” You continued to work yourself into a frenzy, rubbing quickly over your clit and applying more pressure, your other hand gripping onto the edge of the desk so tightly your knuckles were turning white.

Your cunt cinched tighter around him, making him feel almost choked. As you reached your peak, it became extremely hard for him to move inside of you. Copia felt his knees turn to jelly from the force of his body, forcing him to thrust within you one last time before spilling his load into your twitching hole, a strangled groan falling from his throat as he bent at the waist, sweaty forehead resting on your back while he was emptying himself into you.

But he wasn’t done with you yet.

He pulled out of you, ignoring your whine at the loss of connection. You turned your body as much as you could to watch Copia fall to his knees behind you, groping your ass cheeks and pushing them upwards, in turn spreading your labia apart and watching as his cum spilled from you like honey from a wand. “So fucking filthy for me, amore. What a gift for me, eh? I was blessed by the Dark One, no?” With his hands still pulling your body apart, he dove into your cunt, licking the dripping cum from your hole first before playing with your sensitive clit when he’d deemed your labia clean enough.

His tongue came down on your hole again causing you to cry out in sensitivity as he dipped his tongue inside you, scooping out his seed and swallowing everything he’d gathered. The one hand that played with your clit was now tangled in his salt and pepper hair, pushing him deeper into your pussy as it screamed for a second release.

“Amore, does my tongue feel that good?” He tormented you with his remarks, stroking over your clit with his gloved fingers in place of his mouth for a little while. “It’s that good that I could make you cry like that? Merda! Listen to yourself.” To prove his point, he started to suck on your clit more forcefully, making the squelch of your heat louder with each rough move.

Following his actions you tried again to stifle your cries by biting your lower lip, but it didn’t work. Instead, your cum leaked out of your body onto his face, soaking his moustache as you came a second time. He was moaning at your taste, and you could hear him slurping everything up, like he was sipping from a water fountain. It wasn’t until you physically pushed him away, your body exhausted and shaking that he finally stopped tormenting you with his tongue, and backed up.

Like an old man usually would, he groaned as he stood up from his knees, gripping onto the desk to help him stand as his own body wasn’t responding as it should. You chuckled at him, a lazy laugh spilling from your lips as you watched him rest against the desk, tucking his soft cock back beneath his clothes. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and his chin still glistened with your release, his hands not wiping him clean yet for reasons unbeknownst to you. So, you fought with your own weakness to stand in front of him, and kissed him, your tongue popping out from behind your lips and licking up your juices from his lips. Once you pulled away, you rubbed your thumb over his chin and wiped up the excess of your cum, sucking it into your mouth.

“You shouldn’t do things like that,” he complained, “I’m too tired to fuck you again. Give me a few minutes.”

You laughed. “Rest and recover, old man.” You said, tapping his chest with your hand. You began to pull your panties back up and make yourself presentable. “What brought all that on?”

Copia explained his reasoning for coming to find you, that he didn’t intend on fucking you within an inch of your life, but he saw you and he had too much energy, too much adrenaline, he just couldn’t help himself. You listened intently, affectionately holding onto his arm and pressing soft kisses there every now and then. It wasn’t until he’d been silent for a few seconds that you realised tears were beginning to fall from his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blubbed upon noticing you’d seen him, “I’m so sorry.”

Copia’s sudden apology caught you off guard. You reached up, gently wiping away the tears from his eyes. Concern crept into your voice as you asked, “What’s wrong, Copia? Why are you sorry?”

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. “I… I just can’t believe how much I’ve hurt you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I want it so badly.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his eyes. You sat beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We can work through this, okay? We can figure things out together.”

He nodded, appreciating your understanding. “I love you, ___,” he confessed, his voice laced with sincerity. “I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t want to lose you.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “I love you too, Copia. But…”

He cried a little harder. “No, please, no ‘but’. Anything but that…”

“Sister Evelyn’s still going to be your Prime Mover. And I don’t want to be your mistress and share you with other people. Not like that, anyway.”

He wiped a tear from his cheek and rubbed his nose with his glove, taking a sniff before he spoke again. “I never wanted her in the first place. And I don’t intend on going through the ritual with her. I didn’t to begin with, and I definitely don’t now. Please don’t walk away from me.” He pulled you into a tight embrace, holding onto you as if afraid you might slip away. In that moment, you both clung to the hope that love could conquer the challenges you faced, no matter how complicated they seemed.

You could feel a storm approaching as the weight of Copia’s remarks hung in the air. Even after his sincere admission and your mutual hug, an overwhelming feeling of doubt clouded your relationship. You could not deny the truth of Sister Evelyn’s existence in Copia’s life as he clung to you.

“I can’t promise everything will be okay, Copia,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the silence that followed. “I want to believe in us, but it’s hard when there’s someone else in the picture. And with Sister Imperator pushing for this, I don’t see how we can get passed this.”

Copia’s grip tightened, a mix of desperation and fear painted across his features. “I know I messed up, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. Please, don’t leave me.”

Your heart ached at his plea, torn between the love you felt for him and the reality of the situation. “Copia, I need time. I need time to process everything and figure out what’s best for both of us.”

He pulled away slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of certainty. “Time,” he repeated, his voice carrying the weight of the unknown.

You nodded, tears welling up in your own eyes. “I don’t want to lose you, Copia. But I can’t be with you if it means sharing you with someone else. It’s just too much.”

A pained expression crossed Copia’s face, his emotions on full display. “What if… listen, the full moon and the ritual is in two days. Once the ritual is completed, nothing can change it. No Sister Imperator, no Sister Evelyn, no one. What if I performed it with you?”

Copia’s idea lingered in the air, an intriguing yet unsettling proposition. The weight of his words fell on the room, and you couldn’t help but feel a mixture of unease and want. The prospect of sharing such an intimate ritual with Copia sparked hope, but the history of grief and betrayal threw a shadow over the decision.

Your glance met his, looking for genuineness in his eyes. “The rite, Copia, is a sacred and binding ceremony. This isn’t something to take lightly. Are you sure that this is what you want? And can we honestly move on from what has happened?”

He nodded, a determined expression on his face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. A life with you matters more to me than anything else.”

Despite your concerns, the honesty in Copia’s voice touched your heart. The thought of rewriting the story and starting again seemed appealing. However, the scars of the past warned of caution.“I want to believe in us, Copia,” you said, lowering your tone. “I’m scared. Is it possible for us to move passed everything that happened between us?”

Copia’s hand gently caressed your cheek. “I know it’s not going to be easy. It’s too late to undo the harm I caused you. But I’m willing to go to any length to get back what we had.”

His vulnerability mirrored yours, and for a brief time, you sensed a real yearning for redemption. The thought of standing at Copia’s side during the ceremony, rewriting the tale together, gave you a sense of hope. “One day, Copia. One day to think about it,” you said, your eyes locked with his. “If we’re going to do this, we need to be certain. No more secrets, no more pain.”

He nodded, understanding the weight of your words. “I’ll give you the time you need, ___.”

He kissed your hand and left the room, butterflies forming once more in his stomach. Copia couldn’t ignore the feelings of nervousness and optimism that swirled in his gut as he left your office. The weight of the coming ritual, the decision hanging in the balance, and the frailty of your connection all played out in his head like a symphony of doubts.

Copia returned to his office and slammed the door behind him, providing a brief respite from the turmoil outside. The room felt both familiar and foreign, reflecting his emotional rollercoaster ride. He took a deep breath, hoping to calm himself. His heart was warmed by the hope that lingered from your conversation. The thought of starting again and correcting the past with you by his side was a light in the shadows. Copia slumped on his desk, his thoughts racing with possibilities, worries, and a desire for a better future. For the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of hope. The notion of sharing the sacred ceremony with you held out the potential of a new beginning. His ambition was fueled by a real desire to repair what had been broken.

As the night of the ceremony approached, the mood in the Ministry became electrified with excitement. The corridors were alive with whispered talks, and the air was thick with the weight of approaching events. The faithful assembled, dressed in ceremonial attire, and made their way to the Basilica di Lilith for the long-awaited ritual between Copia and Sister Evelyn.

You could feel the tension in the air like a physical force among the wave of followers. After careful consideration and talks with Riley and Aisha, the choice to carry out the rite alongside Copia was made. While the uncertainty persisted, a calm resolve grew within you. This was your night, the first night of many where you would be beside the man you loved - provided all went according to plan, of course.

Copia’s Ghouls had split, and the one half had made their way to a secret, smaller chapel in the Papa’s quarters: the Cappella di Venus, named after another woman who had been demonised by the Catholic Church, based from mistranslations, as usual. Catholics mistaking Venus rising before the Sun, bringing light to the world before the Sun had woken and drowned Her out, they had taken this to be a metaphor for the Devil challenging God, and in turn destroying everything She had, just as they had done for countless women throughout time; Hypatia, Jezebel, Lilith, Eve, Delilah. The list went on.

The Cappella di Venus, located in the heart of the Papal Quarters, radiated a sense of intimacy and secret that contrasted dramatically with the grandiosity of the Basilica di Lilith. Despite its modest size, the chapel was opulent and splendorous, providing a more private sanctuary for the Upper Clergy’s private rites.

The chapel’s entryway was embellished with beautifully carved wooden doors containing occult symbols. When these doors swung wide, they revealed an area that glistened with an otherworldly brilliance. The chapel was bathed in a warm and intimate brilliance from soft lights emanating from exquisite candelabras carefully positioned along the walls.

The architecture of the church reflected a bygone era, with vaulted ceilings covered in brilliantly coloured murals depicting scenes of celestial beauty. Every surface was embellished with gold highlights and intricate filigree, catching and reflecting the dancing candlelight. The air was fragrant with incense, producing an unearthly atmosphere that seemed to transcend the terrestrial realm.

The chapel’s centrepiece was a magnificent altar made of polished marble veined with deep crimson and ivory tones. A tapestry portraying the Emeritus bloodline’s symbol hung behind the altar, a quiet homage to the sacred lineage that ruled the ministry.

A life-sized statue of Venus, the venerated figure of love and beauty, presided over the chapel’s focal point. The statue was meticulously carved from marble and showed Venus with a calm look, carrying symbols of love and grace. Candlelight threw subtle shadows on the statue, giving the impression of movement within the stone.

The chapel’s velvet-cushioned pews formed a semicircle around the altar, creating an intimate atmosphere for the limited few who had access to this secret sanctuary. The chapel’s walls were embellished with stained glass windows representing images of historical significance to the Church, and tales from Venus’ mythology, transforming the ambient light into a kaleidoscope of colours that danced across the polished surfaces.

As you and the Ghouls took your places in the dimly lit chapel, the excitement in the air was obvious. Aisha and Riley stood by your side, bringing a mix of comfort and shared concern. The flowing shadows formed by the flickering candlelight created an atmosphere imbued with both mystery and holiness.

The atmosphere in the chapel appeared to increase in tensity as the minutes passed. The gentle rustle of velvet as Aisha shifted alongside you, as well as the occasional exchanged looks with Riley, expressed the shared fear. You cast sidelong looks towards the entryway, the carved wooden doors closed, separating you from the imminent ritual.

The Ghouls lined the chapel with solemn looks, dressed in their ceremonial attire. Their veiled features betrayed no emotion, adding to the seriousness of the situation. It was a dramatic contrast to the turmoil you were experiencing.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Copia wouldn’t arrive on time, that circumstances beyond anyone’s control would derail the meticulously prepared arrangements. The weight of the impending rite pressed in on you, increasing the anxiety with each passing second.

Everyone’s attention was drawn to the sound of footsteps echoing in the corridor outside the chapel. The oak doors creaked open gently, exposing Copia standing there in his scarlet cardinal robes, the remainder of his Ghouls following behind him. As you caught his gaze, a rush of relief washed over you, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of anxiety. His eyes were a mix of tenacity and vulnerability, expressing the turmoil of his emotions.

Copia entered the chapel with measured steps, the doors closing behind him with a soft thud. The Ghouls separated to make way for him as he approached. The mood shifted, the coming ritual’s heaviness settling over the chapel like a heavy shield.

He took your hands into his as Aisha took her spot between the two of you, and placed a kiss on the back of them. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, “I had to dodge a few Sibling latecomers.”

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.” You said, a smile on your red lips.

Aisha sighed. “It won’t be long before Imperator figures out what’s going on, can we get started please?”

In secret, Aisha had taken a white candle and carved it on two sides, one with the symbol of Venus, the other with the symbol of Lucifer - together representing the freedom to love whomever one chooses. The candle was placed in a dish, similar in shape to a martini glass (but the bowl was rounder and the stem was a little shorter) and while you and Copia held it, Aisha lit the candle. “May the Father guide you on your future together,” Aisha said as the candle began to burn down, “and may the Lover bless your union in Her name.” The candle would continue burning after the ceremony had been completed, and once it had burned away, it was said that the remaining smoke would help to bless the couple, and banish negative spirits.

A special oil had been concocted the day before, too, this time by Riley. Using the same book that Aisha was reading from during the ceremony, Riley had crafted an oil known to enhance love and bring abundance, made from roses, patchouli and vanilla, as a symbolic gesture to boost passion, and create a magnetic energy that drew people together. After the candle had begun burning, Aisha took the condiment-sized bowl filled with the oil, and drew the Satanic Cross over yours and Copia’s forehead, right where your third eye would be. “May Lucifer protect you and your union from outside evil.”

Venus, personified in the statue that overlooking the event, cast an ethereal gaze upon it. The warm glimmer of candlelight reflected off the Goddess’s marble face, granting Her presence an unearthly atmosphere, while the light of the full moon bathed the chapel in the rainbow of colours, as if she was bearing witness alongside Venus as well as lending Her power to the ceremony.

You and Copia swapped rings as the rite neared its conclusion, a symbolic union that Satanism kept given its roots in ancient Roman weddings. The ring planned for Sister Evelyn was now on your finger, already blessed and ready for a life bound to an Emeritus.

As the rite came to a close, you and Copia kissed, confirming the tie formed in the sacred chamber of the Cappella di Venus. The bond felt profound, a joining of fates that resisted the tyranny of a false prophecy. The kiss embodied relief, an unconscious acknowledgment that, for that brief moment, the outside world and its difficulties had vanished.

You could feel a gentle presence lingering in the chapel after the rite, as if the ghosts of Venus, Lucifer, and Lilith Themselves were looking over the unhallowed site. The energy left behind was a harmonic blend of celestial elements, and the flickering candlelight seemed to dance with renewed life.

It was done - and no one was able to stop or break it.

Barely thirty minutes after the ritual had completed, chaos broke loose. The consequences of your secret ritual were sure to make an appearance that night, given the fact that Copia had jilted his initial Prime Mover at the altar, and ruined the ritual for another month, but that was before Sisters Imperator and Evelyn had discovered the ritual had already been completed with another woman. They both came charging into Copia’s home - now yours, too - unannounced, Sister Evelyn’s red dress flowing behind her like a hellish princess only to find you and Copia entangled in each other’s arms after enjoying one another’s bodies, the blessed ring nestled comfortably on your finger and an uncharacteristic, shit-eating grin on Copia’s face.

The air crackled with unspoken tension as Sister Imperator’s stern expression deepened.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sister Imperator’s voice cut through the room like a whip. “Copia, explain yourself.”

Copia remained where he was, uncaring who saw you wrapped in his arms. You were both covered by sheets, but even still he felt both exposed yet powerful. “Isn’t it obvious? I chose ___ as my Prime Mover. The ritual has been completed.”

Sister Evelyn’s eyes flickered with a mixture of fury and hurt. “You… you betrayed me, Copia?”

Copia’s grin faded slightly, almost guilty. “Betrayal implies there was trust to begin with. I never intended to go through that ritual with you, Eve, and you know that. I suppose your father will be pissed, though.”

“Of course, he wants the best for me.”

Copia flinched, a cockiness coming from somewhere he’d never used before. It was turning you on to see, if you were being honest with yourself. “Will you tell her, or do I have to? Not fair to keep her in the dark now, is it, Sister?”

Sister Evelyn’s expression shifted from hurt to simmering anger. Her eyes bore into Copia, a storm of conflicting emotions playing out on her face. The revelation of her father’s involvement added another layer of complexity to the unfolding drama.

“I will handle this,” Sister Imperator interjected, her tone firm and commanding. “Evelyn, leave us. I need to speak with Copia alone.”

“No,” Sister Evelyn demanded, “someone is going to tell me what’s going on before I lose my shit at all of you! I’ve been jilted, humiliated and betrayed and now I demand some fucking answers!”

Copia’s defiance wavered for a moment, but then he sighed. “The prophecy is a farce, Eve. It was all a huge lie to get me in power so she could do what she wanted with the Church and your father could get a bit of control.”

“Her dad?” You gasped from beside Copia, earning you a slight chuckle from him. “Oh shit, that explains it.”

While he spoke, he still held onto you, his fingers stroking up and down your bare back softly. “The three sixes in a prophecy is for the antichrist, not for you.”

Sister Evelyn’s anger intensified at the revelation, and she shot a venomous glare at Sister Imperator. “Is this true?” She demanded, her voice sharp and accusatory.

Sister Imperator, ever composed, met Sister Evelyn’s gaze without flinching. “The prophecy was a means to an end, Evelyn. The emergence of the antichrist is crucial for the Church’s future. Copia’s ascension was a necessary step.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened, her disbelief evident. “But I thought… I thought I was meant to be his Prime Mover.”

Copia’s grip on you tightened, a silent reassurance amidst the unfolding chaos. “You were a pawn in this, just like me. I never wanted the ‘Papa’ role, I’m certainly no antichrist, and I’m sorry your fate was tangled up in this so your father could gain some power. Go, be free. Enjoy a new life with fewer responsibilities.”

Sister Evelyn, caught between hurt and anger, took a step back. “I can’t believe I let myself be manipulated like this.” She looked directly at Sister Imperator. “Fuck you. For all of this!”

“Hey, Eve?” Copia said, his voice gentle but the same shit-eating grin appearing on it as before. “We’re looking for a new Cardinal to fill the role in the Upper Clergy - how about it? A bit unconventional but I think you could do well, no?”

Sister Evelyn smiled, eyes never leaving Sister Imperator’s. “I’ll take it.”

Sister Imperator’s nostrils flared, her displeasure evident. She turned back to Copia, angrier than ever. “This disobedience will not be tolerated. You will face the consequences.”

“How?” You said, finally joining in on the conversation to deliver the final blow. “Exposing him means exposing you, too. Would you really want to risk it, Sister?”

A tense silence filled the room as Sister Imperator assessed the situation, her steely gaze shifting between Copia, Sister Evelyn, and you. The balance of power teetered on the brink, and the impending clash of wills hung in the air like a storm about to break. She hated not having the upper hand, not being in control and dominating the underlings. She was, however, a smart woman, who knew when to cut her losses and concede. But if either of you thought this would end here, you’d be wrong. She’d be back with something else, some other way to exert her power and control. But for now she simply muttered, “This isn’t over!” And stormed out, like the world’s worst Scooby Doo villain.

Sister Evelyn, no… Cardinal Evelyn, now with a pep in her step bid the both of you goodbye with the promise of seeing Copia on Monday to make good on his word, leaving the both of you alone in your marital bed.

You climbed on top of Copia’s lap, the bedsheets falling from your body and exposing your nakedness to him in all your glory. “You know, that confidence was very hot of you, Cardinal.” You said, your voice teasing and suggestive.

Copia laughed. “Oh was it, now?”

“Mhmm.”

“How hot?”

“Let me show you.”

And with that, you leaned down and kissed him, a passionate kiss that had him growing hard beneath you again, refractory period now over and ready to take you one final time before you both slept.

Previous Part ⛧ Next Part

Hello, everyone! Mel here.

I just wanted to thank everyone for your continued support since I started posting Kinktober last year, but also now with Lost in Translation. It really means the world to me that you not only read my fics, but also leave comments and share it around, so thank you so, so much! Truly, you don't know how much this means to me.

I also want to thank @zombiesnips-blog for her commission, for her saintly patience, and for trusting me with her idea. This was an incredibly fun piece to work on and I cannot wait for the rest of you to see the next fic we have planned, which will be coming soon!

This is just a quick reminder that commissions are open and I have multiple membership options open, so if you are so kind as to support what I do, then I would be most appreciative. If not, I still am deeply thankful for your time and readership!

Much love!

Commissions are open! ⛧ Memberships ⛧ Tip Jar

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost #ghost band #queue me sunshine #ghost the band #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic #ghost fan fiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fandom #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x reader smut #cardinal copia smut #cardinal copia my beloved #copia #copia x reader #copia x reader smut #copia smut #copia emeritus #copia fanfiction #copia is my husband #copia my beloved #lost in translation #commission #ZombieSnips

[ornii]

Greetings,could i request Lucy Maclean x Male reader?,Thanks

Funny enough I was gonna do a short series on it anyway. Cause God Damn Ella Purcell takes the cake in beauty. So here’s—

The Wasteland Love Guide #1

Part 1: The Couriers Eye

Love, Betrayal, and tale as old as time.

Dim lit, you awoke in the rank scent of a sewer. The cold concrete against your back you felt a beating pain in your face. You sat up, the beating pain was too much to bear and you felt your face, and you felt, something in your.. eye. “Fuck..” you mumbled, pushing yourself up you looked around, it was too dim to make out anything specific, adding blindness only made it worse.

You literally had to shake off the potential concussion and walked along the concrete wall to a large exit, stumbling out you felt sand in your palms and and fingernails. Stumbling out into the sandy beach you looked around for any form of help. It was nearly endless sand, besides a few rundown houses. You walk your way towards it, trying to remember the last day of your life to recall what Happened, but nothing came to mind. Pushing a door open into a rundown place you spotted a furnace. Somehow the water was running.

You cleaned up your face and painfully washed the blood off your face. Breaking up old floorboards and wood you tossed it into the furnace to start a fire. Giving you minimal light you checked your body for any open wounds or cuts. None you can see thankfully. Sitting down near the fire you calm yourself and relax, and try to sleep off the pain. Nightmares echo and scream in your head, and in the last moments of your nightmare, you could remember one face.

Moldaver.

Your eyes open to a face, of a woman trying to see if you were still alive, panic kicks in and you push her away and reached for a weapon, a baseball bat. You cocked back and gripped the handle ready to swing, before you could, the barrel of a syringe gun was right at your neck. You had no idea just what it could have and taking the risk of acid or drugs shot into you would be bad. The moment was silent, only the cracking fire illuminating both of you. You clenched the bats grip hard, and you spoke sternly.

“I don’t have anything you want… why are you here?” You asked.

“I just wanted to see if you were alive. You, don’t look so good.” She responded, you noticed what she was wearing, a vault suit. It’s a dumb question but it was the only question you could muster. “You a vault dweller?” You said in disbelief, she dusts herself off, and actually stood up to shake your hand.

“Yes! I’m Lucy.” She smiled, you still in disbelief and probably losing blood, slowly put the bat down and shook her hand. “Are you here alone? I just need help looking for my Father.”

“Why are you.. telling me all this? I can’t even think straight.” You sit back down, holding your head.

“It’s probably hard to think straight with metal in your eye.” She said, and knelt down in front of you.

“You seem a bit, hurt.. but you also know your way around the place. I can help you with your eye if you can help me.” Lucy offered a deal you probably don’t have the luxury to deny. “Fine..” you relented. “How bad is it?” You asked her, Lucy leaned in to look at your eye, you saw her made a face that you didn’t particularly like.

“What?” You said.

“Damage mostly to the eye itself, your cornea is probably intact!” She said with hope for whatever reason, “thanks? Can you just take the metal out?” You replied. Lucy nods and begins to unravel her pack of shit she had. Small tweezers and bandage gauze. What proceeded was pain beyond belief as you tried to keep your eye open as Lucy, as gently as possible pulled shrapnel from it.

“MOTHER OF—“ you catch yourself before you can scream and bite your tongue.

“Sorry! Medical wasn’t my best, mine are nothing compared to my dad.” She drones on, and as the pain slowly began to subside you were interested. “You know… I always thought Vault dwellers were nutjubs for running into a hole in the ground but, fuck maybe I was wrong.” You admit, Lucy finishes your operation and patches your eye with gauze. “Our Mission is to repopulate the United States of course, it’s what we’re all supposed to do, to be a part of a better tomorrow.” Lucy said it as if it’s some slogan.

“Right..” you shrugged. And put the eyepatch on, but it’s just makeshift string with a patch of cloth. “I gotta ask you… besides wanting to find your dad, why help me? People don’t do this in the wasteland.”

“Well because it’s the Golden Rule.” She smiles, which made you, somehow happy. You smiled, but gave her a bit of brutal honesty. “You seem like a nice lady.”

“Why thank you—“

“So you’ll die a very horrible death.” You add in, and she tries to stay positive but looks a bit stunned by it. “Being a good person is gonna get you killed. The Wasteland doesn’t abide by the “Golden Rule” you aren’t gonna survive out there.” You warned her, but that dumbfounded look on her face.

“I really appreciate your concern for me, but I can’t.. a group of raiders went to our vault and, did a lot of bad things, I have to get my dad back.”

“A group of raiders… to our vault.. bad things.” You quickly came to the realization of just what happened. It seems That she went with the plan. You saw the hopeful look in Lucy’s eyes and, it made you feel hope in a world full of such evil. Were you, falling in love? Or is this her Lady Killer perk activating. You smiled, and hit your Idiot Savant perk and nodded.

“I’d be a real bastard if I just let you deal with all of this alone. Mind if I tag along?” You said, Lucy happily obliges.

“Of course! The more the merrier as they say!” Lucy turns and walks off, you shake your head and smile, following her.

“She’s gonna get herself killed.”

#male reader #fallout #fallout x reader #lucy maclean x male reader #lucy maclean #wasteland #Ornii #x male reader #fallout tv series #fallout tv show #male reader insert #Lucy Maclean x reader

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Survivor request is Rain for @poppinelle

Koboh changes in the rain. It’s quieter, duller, cooler. After five years on Bracca, Cal has done his best to avoid rain in the intervening years, and yet whenever it catches up to him, he remembers something.

He loves the rain. Or, more accurately, he likes what happens to places in the rain. Washed clean. Fresh scents. Thunder. Lightning. It’s a reminder of home.

Still feels weird to think of Bracca as home. Outside of the Temple on Coruscant, it’s the longest he ever stayed in one place… unless he counts the Mantis, but that was always more about the people than the ship.

He will not be letting Greez hear him say that.

Rain pelts his face. When he’s caught out in it, like he is right now, part of him misses his old poncho. The hood specifically. But Kata wanted some seeds for the garden, Cal knew where to find them, so off he went while clouds merely scudded the sky… and then proceeded to open over his head a few hours into his journey. BD suggested they find cover, maybe in the nearby Phon’Qi caves.

“BD, I know you like it down there despite the explosive acidic plant monster things, but you can’t smell it. I can. It is the worst. It is like Greez’s old sock drawer wrapped around dead fish left out in the sun. I don’t deserve that. No organic with a functional nose deserves it. We’ll just clean up when we get back to Pyloon’s.”

Hopping from foot to foot, BD insists they should get out of the rain because the incoming storm is bad. Really bad. Like storm of the season bad. Sighing, Cal glances at the sky. The Force churns, excited by nature’s dance.

His comm activates. “Cal, you there?”

“Hey, Greez. Everything okay?”

“The weather’s getting nasty down here. Where are you?”

Cal checks BD’s map. “We kinda went up the mountain a little way. We’re not that far from the foothills now.”

“Did you get the seeds for Kata?”

“Yep.”

“You got a nekko?”

“Nope.”

Greez sighs. “I’m gonna need you to find shelter. Like right now. You’re not gonna make it back here in time. When the weather turns like this, it gets real nasty fast.”

BD announces they could head into the Phon’Qi Caverns.

“I’m not heading into the caverns. There’s an old prospector’s shack nearby. I’ll take shelter in there.”

“You sure it’ll survive the storm?” Greez asks. “I don’t wanna hear about you getting blown away.”

Cal pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I get blown away, who’s going to tell you about it?”

Me! BD announces.

“No one’s getting blown away.” Lighting races across the sky, chased by a blast of thunder so loud Cal feels his heart miss a beat. “Whoa!” They had storms on Bracca, big, immense, work-delaying storms, but there was something reassuring about always having the wreck of a Venator overhead to protect him. This feels raw, and a lot more exposed.

“Call me back when you have a roof over your head,” Greez says. “And – hold on.” There’s a voice buzzing in the background. “Right, I’ll tell him. Merrin says if you do get struck by lightning and die, she’s resurrecting you.”

“If she does, tell her to leave my hair in whatever style it’s zapped into,” Cal replies.

He ends the call before Merrin can make any further threats and heads down the mountain, slipping and sliding in the rain. Soon, the storm is so loud he can’t hear anything beyond it, not even BD. He spots the large pool where he first met Skoova. Jumping into it with the very real possibility of being struck by lightning seems dumb, but if he moves fast, he’ll be fine. Totally fine.

“Hold on tight, BD!” he shouts over the storm and launches himself into the air. He hits the water a moment later, sinking deep. Kicking to the surface, it only takes a few strokes to see him across to the other side. There, Cal spots the hut nestled against the cliffs. He hurries over, uses the Force to shove the door open, and slides inside. It’s dark and dusty, but BD’s light shines and reveals a small bed and a stash of rations that are still edible. The layer of dust suggests no one’s been here in years, so Cal hopes no one will mind him helping himself.

The storm rages outside, the roof rattling. “I really hope that holds,” Cal says. He calls Greez, promises he and BD are safe and sound for the night, and swears he’ll be back at first light.

“Cal?”

He stops his rummaging for a heater – anything to dry out his clothes. “Yeah, Greez?”

“You sure you’re okay?”

He leans back against the bed, one hand resting on BD’s head. “Yeah.” He breathes. “I really like the rain.”

“Weirdo.”

“Hairball.”

#fic requests 2024 #star wars jedi: survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #cal kestis #bd 1 #greez dritus #merrin #rain my beloved #jedi survivor headcanon #jedi survivor minific

[project-sekai-facts]

emurui arc ender (shocked face)

do you have everything about all of their parents? i for some reason can’t find anything about ichika’s mom, rui’s dad or emu’s mother (i may be blind, pretty sure emu’s mother was mentioned and ichika’s mom was aswell. i know she was mentioned in ichika’s introduction but i haven’t seen her in story yet)

The parents who don’t have physical appearances are generally less important and rarely show up or are mentioned (with a few exceptions) but we do learn some things about them from card stories and such. Here’s some stuff I can remember about the faceless/nameless parents

Ichika’s parents met because they liked the same song. It’s where her name comes from.

also her dad reads manga

We don’t know much about her mother. she's nice though.

Saki and Tsukasa’s mother is a piano teacher. Considering that she’s friends with Harumichi, she probably used to play professionally

We don’t know much about their father, but he has a tendency to spoil Saki (mentioned in Tenma Hinamatsuri)

Honami’s mother is a beautician (mentioned in an area conversation iirc) and her father is a hairstylist (mentioned in Petit SEKAI Episode 6)

Shiho and Shizuku’s mother is a koto instructor and their father used to be a guitarist in a band

We don’t know much about Minori’s parents but they show up in STEP by STEP!. They initially had concerns about her switching courses and being a full-time idol, but after seeing that Minori was prepared and determined to be an idol they let her go ahead

We don't know a huge amount about Haruka and Airi's parents either. Similar to Minori, we know they are nice parents and supportive of their idol careers and that's about it.

Haruka's mother is a nail artist. She was worried about Haruka when she was younger because she rarely smiled.

Kohane's dad is a photographer. He's also the one who bought Count Pearl.

According to Kohane, he has a penchant for coming up with weird names

An mentions in MEIKO's 1* card story that her mother, Yuka, is not a good cook.

I think it's stated somewhere that Yuka is a teacher but don't quote me on that

Akito and Ena's mother makes them eat their carrots because she thinks they should at least try to eat the things they don't like.

She's pretty laid-back and thinks her kids should be able to do whatever they want to do. She's meant to be the polar opposite of Mrs Asahina.

In Ena's fes card it's revealed that she kept some of the old art that Ena threw away in case she ever regretted it

Toya's mother used to bake him cookies a lot and that's why he likes them

She was also very overprotective of him when he was younger and basically wouldn't let him do any recreational games or activities in case he injured himself and couldn't play piano.

She taught Toya to play the violin. I'm assuming that she used to play professionally and that's how she met Harumichi.

We don't really know anything about Emu's mother iirc. She's mentioned occasionally but I don't remember her ever appearing off the top of my head. In Smile of Dreamer it's mentioned that she's abroad doing volunteer work in Cambodia.

Nene and Rui's mothers are good friends due to being neighbours. Nene even used to call Rui's mother "auntie" when they were younger. Her mother recorded a lot of her performances from when she was little.

Beyond that we don't really know anything. I don't remember Nene's dad ever appearing but he is mentioned.

Rui's mother is a biologist, as mentioned in Revival my dream. I have a theory that she mainly works in entomology (study of bugs), or maybe more specifically lepidopterology (study of moths and butterflies), because Rui talks a lot about a moth at one point and has books on butterflies in that event. He talks about some other bugs as well.

His dad is a robotics engineer, also mentioned in Revival my dream. He doesn't actually appear though.

Rui's mother had a very similar background to Rui. She was often called weird and eccentric because of her interest in biology and didn't have any friends until meeting Rui's father, who was really into robotics.

We don't know a huge amount about Mafuyu's father. He does push her to achieve as much as her mother does, but he seems to have limits.

We don't know a lot about Mizuki's parents either, but they are very supportive of them and were worried when they started skipping school

#parents who are very plot relevant in like one event are the ones we know most about. even if they don't have Live2D #* looks at Ms Kamishiro / Ms Shinonome * #asks #project sekai #i'm fairly certain that everyone has two parents aside from Kanade and all of the couples are married #(i say that because it used to be pretty widely accepted fanon that the shinonomes were divorced because ms shinonome was never mentioned. #i don't think it's really a HC anymore due to a new wave of fans coming in since she was introduced #but so many fics/fanart used that HC back in late 2021/early 2022 when i was new to the game so i still feel obligated to point that out. #if you've read any of the old stuff in prsk's ao3 tag and it mentions that the shinonome parents are divorced then there's your explanation

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

🦐 to recognize my post

Am I the asshole for asking my grandmother if I can move in with her?

This’ll be one of your classic reddit-style family dramas, I think. Back in late 2019 just before COVID, I (freshly 18 at the time) had run away from home with my mom and moved in with my best friend (R, 17 in 2019) and her (60s, deeply depressed) dad. Her dad and I were on good terms for a long time, but respectfully, he has a tendency to repress any issues he has with someone until they build into a bigger issue. Near toward November of 2020, he kicked me out on account of ‘not keeping a job and not doing anything around the house’ (I washed stagnant dishes often, took care of their several animals, and took out trash whenever I could, R and I think he was projecting his shitty roommates from when he was 20 onto me), so I needed a new place to move.

My own beloved father lives ten hours away, and offered for me to live with him. For months, I was preparing to pick up my entire life from the hometown I had lived in since I was 2 years old to move to a new state, and in the last month, I got cold feet and said I couldn’t make such a large change like that. My dad completely understood, and I went to look for a new place to stay, still living with R and her dad at this time.

During this period, I was getting closer with my grandmother on my mom’s side again. She was one of the few family members I felt comfortable with, and we often went to Panera for lunch dates to catch up on things. I won’t go super deep into why I’m so anxious about the rest of the family, because that would require an entire several page google document to explain (especially now that we’re actively banned from holidays).

It was around this time I asked my grandmother if I could move into one of her five or six spare rooms upstairs. My grandfather had died in the last couple of months, and I was confident that if she needed any help (she’s in her mid eighties) moving things upstairs or cleaning the house, I would be beyond glad to do it for her. She then hesitated and said it may be a better idea for me to move in with my dad after all (which was odd, because she hates my dad’s guts, as does the rest of my family), and I let it go after that. I didn’t push, I would just need to find a new place. 

Well, word got around, and she told my aunts and older cousins in passing. I don’t remember if I got sent anything in specific, but one of my aunts (mother’s older sister who I'm genuinely terrified of) absolutely fucking exploded on my (54 at the time) mom, giving her a several paragraph long shitstorm of a message saying she was a terrible mother for letting me take advantage of my grandmother, calling her horrible things, slurs, and insulting her wife, and it got back to me somehow. I was fucking shredded apart emotionally.

Since then, I have moved back in with my mother out of necessity and we have totally reconciled our relationship in the three or so years I’ve been home, and my entire mother’s side of the family- aside from my grandmother- has completely cut contact and don’t invite us to holidays anymore, for significantly more ridiculous reasons than me asking my grandmother what I did.

My mother’s side of the family ostracized her, myself, and my sister since my mother first married my dad 25ish years ago, and has just never treated her the same since, which explains some of the hostility (I want to specify, I’m confident that my mother did nothing outright wrong for this, my family is extremely far-right and EXTREMELY judgemental, and my mom bore unnecessary vitrol for everything she went through), but I need to know if I was actually the asshole for asking to move in with my grandmother, who even now still cares about me as family and lives alone. I could give less of a shit what my aunt thinks now (she lives an entire day’s drive away, in a different state as well), but I can’t help but shake the fear that I was actually taking advantage of her kindness or something of the sort. Was this a wrong thing to ask? Was this actually too much, and should I not have bothered?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[tickly-tufts]

Once Bitten, Twice Teased

finally letting miguel be a ler after four whole fics dedicated to wrecking him

ft. lee!peter cuz he’s earned it, and ler!mj cuz i love that for her <3

—

“You paralyzed my husband.”

“He deserved it.”

“Probably, but I’d like an explanation anyway.”

“He was annoying me…” Miguel paused. “…and said I had fangs like a kitty cat.”

It took everything in MJ not to laugh. The mental image was simply too good. Miraculously, she managed to hold back, though she did smile at Miguel’s pout.

“So, you bit him to prove a point?”

“The fangs are no joke,” Miguel defended. Then, sounding just a bit sheepish… “The venom will wear off in an hour.”

Whatever he expected MJ to say next, it wasn’t what she actually asked.

“How much can he feel while he’s stuck like this? Does the venom cause any numbness?”

“He can still feel everything… but this is a punishment. If you’re planning to-“

“That’s not what I mean.” Leaning in with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, MJ made her proposition. “How’d you like to help me get some payback?”

—

Peter’s face lit up when MJ entered the room, and if he’d been able, she knew he would’ve rushed her. Beyond the change in expression, however, he didn’t move a single muscle. Miguel had placed him in the center of their bed, arms laid neatly at his sides. Noticing the pillow under Peter’s head, MJ smiled. What a softie.

“How ya feelin’, Tiger?” She sauntered over, taking a seat right beside her husband.

“Migs is mean,” Peter pouted. “I can’t believe he actually bit me.”

“Well, you did make fun of his fangs. Not your brightest idea,” MJ countered lightly. Peering at his neck, she soon spotted the bite marks. “Want me to kiss it better?” she offered sweetly.

Peter couldn’t nod but his gaze turned hopeful, and MJ leaned down to hover over the marks. Her breath puffed against them, and Peter would’ve shivered, but his muscles simply refused to respond. He smiled when he felt MJ’s lips, soft and warm against his skin. Then she began peppering small kisses along his neck, and he instantly remembered that kisses could tickle.

“Hmph!” Peter stifled the urge to giggle. The situation was already embarrassing enough. At least MJ would be pulling back soon. He just needed to control himself until-

“AH!” he yelped when kissing became nibbling, right where Miguel had bitten him before. “W-Wait, Em- Nohoho!” he cracked when he realized her true intentions.

MJ paused a few seconds later, shifting to whisper in his ear. “Do you remember that time you strung me up in the living room, then decided to tease me until the webs dissolved?”

Oh. Oh no. Peter did remember. He remembered that evening quite fondly, actually. MJ had collapsed into his arms afterwards, thoroughly flushed and swearing revenge. Of course, Peter had laughed it off at the time, doubting she’d ever catch him that compromised. It would be another decade before Miguel found them… and now, he’d served Peter right up for MJ.

“You’ve got to tell me the full story later,” Miguel interjected, done hiding his presence. Peter gawked as MJ patted the other side of the bed, giving Miguel a peck once he was close enough.

“Have you two been plotting against me?!”

“No, I specifically bit you for being a nuisance. The plan was to leave you in here alone… but MJ came up with a better idea.”

MJ beamed at Miguel, then focused her attention back on Peter. “Now, let’s find out where you’re most sensitive…” Peter cringed as his past words were echoed back at him.

Her fingers grazed across his ribs first, nails easily felt even through his shirt. It really wasn’t that bad a spot, but Peter’s breath still hitched at the touch. He had no chance of resistance, mouth curling up as nails dragged down. The fact he couldn’t even try to turn away made him overly aware of his own nerves.

MJ went from his uppermost left rib all the way to the bottom, then wiggled her fingers on the way back up. It was ticklish enough to earn a few snickers, but nothing too dramatic yet. That was until Peter felt a dig on his right, squawking when the tickling crept between his ribs.

“Wait- Wahahait!”

Miguel did not wait, fingers burrowing in without hesitation.

Peter’s mind demanded he move, but all he could physically do was laugh. It only spiraled when MJ switched spots, pinching at his much more ticklish side. The squeal he couldn’t quite suppress didn’t escape either tormentor’s notice.

“Shitshitshit! Thahat’s sohoho unfahahahair!” Peter swore when Miguel’s claws traced down his other side.

Claws and nails… it was a deadly combination. Peter couldn’t say which side was worse. If he’d been able, he would’ve been wriggling from one to the other, indecisive and frenzied. Unfortunately, as things stood, he had no choice but to endure both together. Miguel scratched carefully along his right flank, while MJ raked ruthlessly at his left.

“Mehehean! You’re bohohoth so mehean!”

“Pobrecito,” Miguel replied.

“Oh, babe, you think this is mean? Just you wait,” MJ promised.

A nervous thrill shot straight through him. How wrecked would he be by the end of this? He’d never felt so uniquely defenseless, safe from real harm, but not from this. His sides were bad, but not terrible. What would happen when they found his actual weakness?

All these thoughts were quickly halted by MJ poking around his waist.

“Nonono- Dohohon’t!” Peter giggled uncontrollably.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re helpless,” MJ cooed, kneading his love handles. Her hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, bypassing his only means of defense. It tickled so much that Peter’s laughter pitched higher, which didn’t escape Miguel’s notice.

“Que precioso,” Miguel teased, knowing it was a phrase Peter would understand. Right on cue, Peter blushed, and Miguel smirked in satisfaction. It was the exact reaction he’d been seeking, after so many instances of Peter flustering him.

Revenge garnished with extra affection, easily shared among three.

Peter flushed even further when MJ proceeded to lift his shirt. She pushed the hem all the way to his chest, exposing his pale abdomen. Just like that, he was on display for his equally gorgeous wife and boyfriend… and then insecurity reared its head, reminding him of his current physique.

Objectively, it was absurd. They'd both seen his gut before, and he was hardly one for bashfulness nowadays… but still, to have all their attention focused right there, while he couldn’t even cover his face? Apparently that was just a bit too much. Peter didn’t tense up, mainly because he couldn’t, yet his partners still noticed the shift in his mood. Of course they did... observant as ever. He shut his eyes to avoid examining their expressions.

There was a beat, then finally movement, but not from the direction he'd been expecting. Instead of MJ, sweet and familiar... it was Miguel whose lips brushed bare skin first. Peter's eyes shot back open and MJ caught his gaze, understanding reflected in her own. Then she glanced at Miguel, her lips quirking, and Peter’s attention jumped to him.

His heart skipped when he found Miguel staring, intense and analytical. Then it dropped as Miguel inhaled deeply, before blowing the most devastatingly ticklish of raspberries.

Peter screeched, barely calming when Miguel ultimately switched to nibbling. The tips of Miguel’s fangs grazed against his belly, pressing down too gently to break any skin. That was when MJ joined back in, too, peppering tickly kisses wherever Miguel wasn't. Peter giggled, then released a squeak when she poked at the softest part of his stomach.

If Peter had been a luckier man, the pair might've concluded around there. He rarely was, though, so of course they weren't done. MJ's next statement sealed his fate.

"We should lift his arms," she suggested to Miguel, and Peter nearly broke into a cold sweat. He didn't say a word as they guided his limbs. Miguel raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic silence.

"Hold on, are you nervous?" he had to ask, curious amusement coloring his tone.

"Wha- No! I'm just... getting tired?" Not entirely false, but not convincing either.

Indirectly calling his bluff, MJ reached out a hand, watching Peter's eyes. He anxiously tracked her slow approach, worsening the suspense for himself. Abruptly, Miguel inched forward, and Peter would've flinched if he'd been able. There was no way to track both of them.

Not that it mattered, once the tickling restarted.

"NOHOT THEHEHERE!" Peter screeched after a swear unbecoming of the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman. MJ's nails scribbled at his left underarm, while Miguel's thumb massaged his right hollow. “DOHON'T- I CAHAHAN’T!" He wanted to thrash, but he couldn't even manage a twitch. "PLEHEHEHEASE!” It was a maddening experience. Being tied up had nothing on this.

If only he could lower his arms, or twist away, or struggle at all. It didn't help that he was just too damn ticklish in that spot. Miguel and MJ exploited his weakness in distinctly different ways, and thus it didn't take long at all for the contrasting sensations to overwhelm him.

As soon as tears rolled down Peter’s cheeks, they both pulled back to let him breathe.

“Alright there, Tiger?” MJ pet his hair, a hint of worry entering her voice.

“…Could I get some water?”

His partners relaxed, and Miguel nodded. “Be right back.” He returned a minute later with a bottle and towel, first wiping Peter’s face, then sitting him up on the pillows, then carefully lifting the bottle to his lips.

“Thanks,” Peter said after a long drink. “You two are weirdly diabolical.” He glanced at MJ. “Especially you.”

“Just means you have a type,” MJ countered smoothly.

"Hot and sadistic?"

"You said it, not me~"

And then before his brain could stop his mouth-

"Just as ticklish, too." Why would he say that.

Miguel's eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You know, we’ve still got time before the venom wears off.”

“Doesn’t seemed like he’s really learned his lesson, huh?”

Peter squeaked when something soft caressed his ear. MJ had a feather… no, make that two.

“W-When did you get those?!” He watched helplessly as she handed the second feather to Miguel.

“Aww, did you think I came unprepared? I knew you’d talk back enough to earn this~”

And then both feathers were twirling inside his ears, and he could only squeal for mercy.

#also happy ATSVersary to those reading the day im posting! #tickling #a tickly fic #peter b parker #miguel o'hara #mary jane watson #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #spiderparents #spideysjane

[littlecactiguy]

A short writing exercise on John Doe from Malevolent, roughly based on a short video from I want to say late last summer/fall where Harlan voiced over them doing a farming game (I think? It's been a while, but I'm fairly certain that was a thing. Anyway, it's been sitting as a draft that long).

Let me know what you think <3 I'm considering signing up for the big bang as a writer, but want to get a feel for this fandom space before I commit to anything.

.

Of the three horses in the pasture, only the one John himself has now learned to ride comes over at his approach to the fence. Arthur’s gelding’s ears rotate in his direction, but the creature doesn’t seem to consider John more important than his grazing. The big, old draft horse who came with the small farm, and is enjoying his retirement immensely, continues to enjoy both the sunlight and his nap.

John isn’t so self absorbed as to believe his mare has any specific allegiance to him. She’s a horse. She’s intelligent, but he’s not been convinced that she has the capacity to understand the finer points of reasoning on why she shouldn’t ally herself with a former horror from beyond human comprehension. She’s simply learned to associate him with certain things.

Slowly, John takes the apple he’d snatched from the kitchen table fruit bowl out of his pocket.

Like treats. Mostly treats.

John holds out his hand, the apple carefully balanced on his palm. His mare sniffs. Her whiskers tickle his hand. Then, she accepts the offering. The mare’s lips rub against John’s hand as she takes and crushes the apple between her powerful teeth.

It’s a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one. John has found he rather likes it. Touching a fellow living creature, feeling its warmth and its life beneath his fingertips is…

It’s hard to describe. Despite his attempts to do so in a journal he has firmly told Arthur he’ll murder him for if he ever comes close to reading, John still doesn’t know how. His relationship to sensation while in Arthur’s body has become a hazy dream he can only half-remember, but the parts he does…

Those are…

They weren’t all bad, John often convinces himself. The cold and the chill, the empty, simply all haunt in a way warmth, true warmth, not the burning heat of freshly spilled blood, do not. It makes their memory sharper in his mind’s eye, easier to recall.

John’s mare steps closer, reaching her head over the fence to nuzzle at his pockets.

“I’m afraid that’s all I have today.” John strokes her mane. Focuses on the softness. Allows the thought of its comfort to wash the fragments of dark doubts back into the deep ocean from whence they came. “Arthur may have a point about too many treats, but we won’t tell him that, will we?”

This mare had never been afraid of John, or growled at him like various dogs he’d met, whose eyes told John they could see him in ways others could not. He’d attributed her lack of fear, at first, to her perhaps not being all that smart, but the mare has indicated otherwise (largely through pasture escape attempts, which John can’t truly fault her for, being able to go where you want when you want is quite nice).

He doesn’t believe she’d ally herself with him if she knew any better, but horses, even the dim ones, are also notoriously, instinctively, jumpy creatures.

John’s mare’s calm around him makes him feel something he refuses to put to words in fear it’ll be chased away.

Even if it’s only, obviously, most likely only due to the apples.

#john doe malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent #john malevolent #character study #a little cactus wrote this

[gwenboucharddidnothingwrong]

i think we can all agree that it’s not gonna be as simple as ‘arthur gets his daughter back, john and arthur get to live separately’ right? but what if it was? (well not quite but hear me out)

kayne has shown that he’s able to interact with faroe in other timelines, and also transport people (john and arthur atleast) between those timelines, but would he really be capable of creating a whole new faroe for arthur even if he is telling the truth? or of giving john his own body? i don’t think so.

i reckon that, for kayne to bring back faroe in the ‘middle c’ universe, he’d have to take her out of another timeline, which would cause all sorts of problems elswhere. (although tbh i wouldn’t put it past kayne. he doesn’t seem all that bothered as to what effects his actions have on other timelines). even if arthur got faroe back, would he just be forced to let her go/have her taken away from him because of some interdimentional reasons beyond his control?

also, what’s so special about the arthur in our timeline? i mean, kayne is most likely not even from the ‘middle c’ timeline, and the whole ‘darkthur’ thing shows he’s been following what’s been going on in the other timelines. who’s to say he’s not been making empty promises to every other arthur and john? AND IF HE HAS WHAT WOULD THAT MEAN (does he need the same thing from multiple timelines?? tbh i don’t think this point is particularly likely, but just putting it out there)

and as for john getting his own body - he wouldn’t be getting his own back. unless kayne is planning on reuniting him with the king in yellow, where the hell would he be getting that body from? would it be human? would it not? (OR HE COULD JUST PUT HIM IN PARKERS DEAD BODY SSJSJDJGJKFJGG)

the promises he made them are really vague which makes me think he’s definitely not giving them the full picture of the deal they’re making (i mean considering it’s kayne we’re talking about i guess that was a given but still).

also i get that, considering the threats that kayne has made, they don’t have much of a choice but to do what he’s told them to, but what about the repercussions of giving kayne what he wants? it’s clearly not gonna be anything good, and now i come to think of it we know next to nothing about his actual motives. so far he’s pretty much just showed up, killed people, and caused problems.

i’m gonna be real i wasn’t paying that much attention at this point in the episode so i can’t actually remember exactly what he wanted arthur and john to get, but considering the threats he made to make sure they didn’t have any option but to do what he wanted, it’s gotta be really important to him.

and tbh, i’ve got a feeling kayne is working for someone, or atleast being made to do this. he went to some pretty big lengths to prove to john and arthur not only how much power he had, but to make it clear what he was willing to do with that power. i don’t actually have much evidence to back this point up tbh but IVE GOT A FEELING ABOUT IT OK

and also why does he need arthur to do it? is it arthur specifically that he needs for whatever reason? i mean that would make sense, why else would kayne be forcing him to do it, and why else would he have gotten john to try and make arthur get that stone (was that what it was? again, i’m bad at following for the whole hour) in new york.

but has he made them do whatever it is because he knows something will happen? has he made all those promises to john and arthur knowing it won’t matter either way because they aren’t going to make it back?

tldr, even if kayne were to give john and arthur what he said he would, there’s no way it would be as simple as he says it is

(wow, didn’t expect this post to go on for so long, well done for reading if you got up to here, have an unrelated doodle i drew in my physics book below the cut and go drink some water or something)

(his name is jumbo!)

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #kayne malevolent #john malevolent #arthur lester #faroe lester #long post #malevolent meta #excuse my spelling cba correcting it #malevolent spoilers #like i said i didn’t pay proper attention to the whole episode so do let me know if there’s any incorrect information in there #wrote this whole thing while listening to hamilton soundtrack lol #txt

[acourtofladydeath]

TTBW Chapter 2

Cassian's healing journey beings, and Emerie tells her story.

New tags include discussions of cycle/period discrimination.

Start reading under the cut or on AO3!

Tensions were high outside Cassian and Nesta’s room at the House of Wind. Emerie, Azriel, and Rhysand had been sitting in the hall over a day as Madja and a team of her best healers worked on their friend’s mangled wings. Nesta refused to leave his side. Madja allowed her to stay in the room only as long as Nesta agreed to follow all instructions and stay out of the way, which she had. There was no time to fill anyone in on his status. While the camp lords had not intended to kill Cassian, the combination of the paralytic, faebane, and the shock to his system from trauma and blood loss had caused his body to shut down quickly. 

Rhysand had never seen Madja call for so many extra healers. Typically she brought along an apprentice or two to train. On particularly bad occasions, like after the King of Hybern had shredded Cassian’s wings and Azriel had been stabbed by Jurian, he and Morrigan had lent a hand. Madja called for six additional highly trained hands, and specifically refused the help of any apprentices or the Inner Circle. Such a thing was unheard of. 

As they waited, Emerie leaned against the wall, arms folded and one leg kicked back. Rhysand had slid down the wall several hours ago. Now his legs were bent up to his chest, elbows rested on his knees, and his head hung heavy in his hands. Azriel stood rigid by the window, unable to break his stare from Cassian’s door. Emerie watched him flex his hands and knew what ran through his mind. She knew what he must be reliving after what Cassian had endured because she was reliving it too. Their scars ran deep.

Loss, damage, physical, mental, and emotional pain that no amount of training could prepare anyone to live through. This was trauma in its purest form, and Cassian was not the only one injured. Emerie shut her eyes tight as she tried to push away the memories that had threatened to consume her from the moment Nesta had recognized the agony in Cassian’s wings through their bond the night before. The images and phantom pains that Emerie still fought back daily had only gotten stronger after what she’d witnessed in that tent.   

Hours later the door to Cassian’s room opened and Madja, exhausted and flecked in more blood than anyone was comfortable acknowledging, entered the hallway. Rhysand was instantly on his feet. Azriel remained still, but Emerie took a step off the wall, arms still crossed and wings held in tightly to stave off the pains. Rhysand quickly approached the healer, expectation written across the wrought lines of his face.

Madja stared down at the floor. This healer, a female whose skills went beyond all others, one of the only people in all of Prythian who could order the High Lord around, could not meet his eyes. Rhysand’s eyes bore down on her. Emerie tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, tried to remember that he was in pain, but she did not like the way he looked upon his master healer. 

With a deep breath, Madja raised her head and squared her shoulders to address Rhysand. Her face was schooled in a practiced calm as she began to speak with a steady voice. “We have stopped the blood loss, and managed to prevent amputation. His organs were shutting down and we almost lost him, but I am now sure that physically he will survive this.” 

“His wings,” Rhysand cut in, voice hoarse from lack of use and water. As he continued to speak his tone was harsh as he asked the question Emerie already knew the answer to. “Will he fly again?”

“No,” Madja said, voice firm and sure though it sounded like she did not want to be. “His wings were too damaged and there was noth-”

“You have to do something. He can’t not fly,” Rhysand said, voice rushed and angry as he took one step toward the healer. “He has to fly, Madja. You have to do something. His wings have been bad before, and you’ve always fixed him.” 

Emerie watched as some small part of the healer permanently broke, and she stepped forward to try and prevent the crack from growing further. “Thank you, Madja, for saving his life. We are so thankful. Is there anything that you need us to do?” 

Madja looked gratefully at Emerie for a brief moment before she responded. “No, thank you dear. Nesta has all the instructions and we will visit again soon. He needs rest before we work again.” 

Emerie smiled warmly at the female as she kindly nodded her response. Madja ushered the healers, all in various states of dishevelment, out of Nesta and Cassian’s room before they left the House of Wind together as one with Morrigan as their guide. Em watched them leave as she used her body to create a barrier between the healers and the High Lord. Azriel still had not moved from where he stood, eyes locked on the door that was once again shut. When they had gone and she was certain they were out of ear shot, Emerie turned angrily upon the males behind her. 

“Are you proud of yourself,” Emerie spat at the High Lord, who was still fuming mad about the now undeniable fact that his friend would no longer be able to fly. 

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Rhysand retorted as anger rolled off of him in dark waves. 

Emerie cocked an eyebrow at the High Lord, her hands on her hips. “Oh yeah? Nothing wrong? You do know that your words have an effect on people, correct? You had no right to guilt her like that.” 

“I did no such thing. I simply asked-”

“No,” Emerie said back. She wanted to shout, but she knew that Cassian and Nesta did not need to hear this right now. To try and preserve their peace, Emerie worked to keep her voice low, yet strong. “By bringing up the past times she was successful, you just confirmed to Madja that you believe this was likely her biggest failure to date. And it’s not. There’s no way to recover from the wounds he received. He’s lucky to be alive right now.” 

Continue reading on AO3.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #cassian #nesta archeron #emerie #TTBW #LD writes #helpmehurtyou #graphic depictions of violence #whump #physical assault #mental trauma #disability #sexism #ptsd #wing clipping #canon typical violence #eventual healing #angst and hurt/comfort #post-canon #post ACOSF #acosf

[humbledragon669]

S1E3 – Hard Times Write Up P1 – The Garden of Eden (4004 BC), Mesopotamia (3004 BC), Golgotha (33 AD), Rome (42 AD) and the Kingdom of Wessex (537 AD)

Neil himself tells us (in the Introduction to the Script Book) that he wrote these historical scenes specifically for the show to ensure that the third part of the story was not entirely absent of our hero couple. Personally I think the sequence is one of my favourite parts of the show, not least because we get a pretty much uninterrupted set of Aziracrow conversations. They’re really rich in back story and I don’t think I’d be the only person to say that I’m really delighted they (mostly) made it to the final cut. Let’s get started – the plan is for this part to take us up to the end of the scene that takes place in 537 AD before I take a little break from write ups and dip my toe into fanfics again (I realise that might seem like an odd place to break, but it will make sense when I’m done).

So we’re back at the Garden of Eden, sans Crawly this time. The script version of this scene has Aziraphale locking up the gates to the Garden at this point. Instead, we see him putting a final brick in the Garden’s surrounding wall. I have seen some people say that this is him sealing the Garden shut, and that would fit with the script, but I just can’t help but feel like he’s hiding something inside the wall - the shape of the stone he’s using is irregular compared to everything else, and he seems at pains to keep its outline hidden during his conversation with God (which, interestingly, takes place directly with God and not through the Metatron). If he is indeed hiding something, I would very much like to know what it is.

God’s questioning of Aziraphale in this scene, enquiring as to where his flaming sword is (which it turns out he was specifically given to guard the Eastern Gate of Eden), is in all honesty pretty lacklustre - she leaves without getting any sort of answer from him (not that he’s likely to be able to give one with his beyond half-hearted attempts to find said sword) or giving any indication of her feelings on the matter. Bit odd if you ask me.

Crawly’s opening gambit of the conversation in this scene indicates to us that this is the first time Aziraphale and Crawly have seen each other since the Garden of Eden when he enquires as to the outcome of the angel giving his sword away. Despite 1000 years passing, Crawly recognises Aziraphale and they both remember each other’s names. Not only that, but Crawly still appears to be pretty enraptured – he watches Aziraphale’s face attentively during his attempt at small talk with a sort of doe-eyed flirty expression you might see on a teenage girl talking to their inappropriate (and usually doomed-to-failure) crush:

From this light-hearted adoration, we’re drawn swiftly into an interesting display of humanity of both of their parts. They’re both clearly very uncomfortable with what Heaven has planned.

Crawly makes it clear that there’s a line being crossed as far as he’s concerned here – the killing of innocents is very much NOT OK with him. And Aziraphale agrees with him, but we can see how painful he finds this dilemma: being torn between God’s plans (which must, he believes, be inherently good) and the morality of Heaven’s actions. He tries so hard to toe the company line, but the struggle is written all over his face and in his body language. As a last-ditch effort to prove which side he’s on (because as Crawly points out, this sort of thing is really more his side’s sort of thing), he even resorts to touting the old propaganda about the ineffable plan, but Crawly calls him out on that before he can even say it and Aziraphale knows the argument is lost.

I don’t doubt that we are meant to be reminded of Aziraphale’s actions the last time the two of them got caught in a rain shower when the rain starts in this scene. Unfortunately on this occasion, neither of them are in the position to whip out their wings to shelter one another.

In this scene we discover that after some 4000 years, our demon has changed his name to the one we are more familiar with. Interestingly the second of Aziraphale’s suggestions for some potentially appropriate names he could have adopted (Mephistopheles and Asmodeus) is the name of the king of demons according to Jewish legend. Whether this is a nod to Crowley’s perceived position in Hell’s hierarchy or the pedestal that Aziraphale has mentally placed him on is unclear. What is clear is that the angel seems quite taken with the demon’s actual choice.

Crowley shows his true colours here with the admission that he showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world. This is an absolutely lovely thing to do for a young man who was tasked with carrying the burden of the sin of all of mankind and shows a level of compassion that most human beings wouldn’t be able to match – any doubts that this demon is truly “nice” at heart go out of the window with this revelation.

Let’s address the elephant in the room with this scene – what bug crawled up Crowley’s ass and died? He is in an absolute shitter of a mood here and we don’t get an explanation why. Despite Aziraphale’s clear delight at bumping into him (not surprising really, he looked bored as hell sitting at the table on his own), he seems decidedly unimpressed at the angel’s presence. I’m sure Aziraphale forgetting his newly adopted name (which suggests he was very accustomed to using the old one) and his ridiculous question about whether or not Crowley is still a demon doesn’t help matters, but Crowley is in a pisser before both of those things happen. Despite that, he doesn’t object to Aziraphale sitting down to drink with him, even if his face looks like he would rather be left well alone.

And there’s another, somewhat subtler, pachyderm lurking here too. This is the first time (chronologically) that we see Crowley wearing glasses to hide his eyes. In the scenes we have already seen in Mesopotamia and Golgotha, Crawly/Crowley wanders around, amongst humans, without the trademark sunglasses that we have become so familiar with. I consider this to be an interesting development on two fronts:

I have no doubt that Crowley wears sunglasses, in part, for practical reasons. I don’t think I’m being offensive in saying that if I saw another person walking around with eyes like his, it would definitely strike me as unusual. Some people, particularly at this time in history, might even be frightened by them. My question around the practicality side of this is when and why does Crowley decide to start hiding his eyes from humans? Does he do it to stop them from being frightened or more because he starts to become conscious of people being judgemental? Perhaps it’s a little of both, but mostly I’m keen to know if there’s a particular incident that brings his change of costume about.

We come to discover throughout the series that Crowley typically only removes his glasses in situations where he feels (or wants to make himself) emotionally available. What was it that caused him to start feeling that his eyes were a source of weakness for him? Did something specific happen that made him feel like he needed to start guarding that aspect of him?

I don’t think we are ever given any Clue towards when and/or why Crowley chooses to start wearing sunglasses, but I do feel like both of the above considerations provide hints to his ever-obvious inclination towards “human” qualities.

This is also the first time (chronologically, and at this point in the series) that we see both Aziraphale and Crowley imbibing anything. We’re also about to have confirmation that both of them also eat human food during Aziraphale’s terrible attempt at flirting making small talk.

Note Aziraphale says Petronius (who historically was a novelist, not a chef) does remarkable things to oysters, not with them, which would be more linguistically appropriate. I am also not ignorant of the fact that oysters are almost universally considered to be an aphrodisiac, so Aziraphale’s offer to take Crowley to an oyster restaurant is pretty loaded with subtext, and that sexual tension is about to get ramped up a notch with his offer to tempt the demon into dinner. The knowing look on Crowley’s face at this offer makes it clear that he doesn’t have an issue with that though:

I actually find myself wondering whether Crowley’s statement that he’s never eaten an oyster was really more of a hint for dinner invitation in the first place.

Crowley’s entrance into this scene intrigues me because it appears at first that he doesn’t recognise Aziraphale, despite his visor being open. I’m more inclined to believe that he does recognise him and decides to have a little fun pretending that he doesn’t, just to see if he can get away with it, seeing as he doesn’t look in the least bit surprised when he raises his own visor.

We start to get an idea of just how little Crowley believes in Hell’s ideals here. He’s also starting to realise the futility of sticking to their agenda, pointing out that wherever Heaven and Hell send agents to work against one another, they might as well not do anything at all, or at least that’s the case where he and Aziraphale are concerned. The whole of this conversation is very “work-related” in nature but very importantly it’s the first time we hear of any plans for the angel and demon to work together. It’s no surprise that, what with Aziraphale being the goody-two-shoes he is (no judgement, I am myself one of that tribe), he vehemently rejects the idea of lying in any capacity, not least to his superiors, despite the fact that he agrees with Crowley about their efforts to work against one another being pointless. According to the book, it took them another 500 years to act on this suggestion of working together – the “Arrangement” was first put into action in 1023. Ultimately, Crowley’s idea can only work if they both contribute so for the moment it looks like they’re both left hanging around in “damp places and just cancelling each other out”.

And so that brings me to my planned breakpoint. Again I realise that it might feel an odd place to stop, but I promise it will eventually make sense. And if you’re still with me after all my waffling so far, I commend you – I mostly did all this writing as a way to get the words and thoughts to stop chasing each other around my headspace but if someone else is getting some pleasure out of it all then that makes me happy. I am planning for the next write up to be a little different; covering ONLY the 1601 scene from Hard Times (any hopes that it might be shorter as a result are, I think, ill-conceived) as well as a meta-theory I have based on what happens in that scene. I’m hoping to have a fanfic based on that meta-theory written that I will be releasing at the same time, and there is some historical research I need to do before I can do that so there may be a small delay before I have everything ready to go. I hope you’ll humour me with patience, and that what comes out is worth the wait. See you on the other side!

#good omens #episode analysis #good omens season 1 #aziracrow #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #god is a woman #crowley's sunglasses #crawly #aziraphale loves food

[nestaismommy]

some people are saying that the ic belongs to the found family trope. that made me laugh so hard im legit crying bcs how is that dysfunctional group a family? if we can even call it a group. amren is a cunt to everyone. shes not close to any of them. mor is there manipulating cass and az. only feyre and the batboys act like a family if were going this far. you want found family? the valkyries. my queens

Literally!!

Rhys likes to act as if they are family and then goes and betrays Mor by having her meet with someone who is involved in the trauma she had experienced, and her damn abuser. And while she was crying her ass off, literally hitting Rhysand, he just stood there, with no emotion on his face. And same with Azriel. How can someone be this cruel to their own family? He didn’t even comfort her. He didn’t do anything but stand there and watch her break because of something he did. And Azriel knew, and he didn’t fucking tell her. It’s disgusting. Not just this, but right after that, Amren realizes they went to the prison and that they lied to her so Rhysand forces her to tell him about what happened to her. She said no and he straight says “it wasn’t a request” I was so damn disgusted when I read that. What’s even more disgusting is the way all of them just backed away from Amren, and fucking Azriel got behind her, with truth-teller, as if she was about to attack them all. The fact that he was ready to attack her. I hate Amren & Mor but they are part of that “family”, and the way they were treated in that specific chapter was beyond disturbing.

“Call off your dog,” Amren said with that lethal tone.

Because the shadow in the corner behind Amren … that was Azriel. The obsidian hilt of Truth-Teller in his scarred hand. He’d moved without my realizing it—though I had no doubt the others had likely been aware.

Family my ass.

Anyways the Valkyries though>>>

Remember when they comforted Nesta??

A knock sounded on the door an hour later, and Nesta stopped crying when she saw who stood there.

Gwyn threw her arms around Nesta. “I heard you might need us.” Nesta was so stunned to see the priestess that she returned the hug.

Emerie was the one to say to Gwyn, “I can’t believe you left the library.”

Gwyn stroked Nesta’s head. “Some things are more important than fear.”

Or this scene!!

Her friends regarded her curiously, and Nesta swallowed. “Let me make a wish for all of us,” she explained, gathering the three charms. A small gift —for the friends who had become like sisters.

A chosen family.

Nesta squeezed the charms in her palm, closing her eyes, and said: “I wish for us to have the courage to go out into the world when we are ready, but to always be able to find our way back to each other. No matter what.”

I hope we see more of the Valkyries

#anti inner circle #anti rhysand #pro nesta archeron

[kikiofthevast]

In planning Slay the Archivist I’ve been having a lot of Jon thoughts (below the cut because it got long)

Jon Sims is a character driven entirely by fear. His fear of spiders and trauma of his youth further isolates him from people, his fear of rejection and being known isolates him from his peers and Georgie, and his fear of the forces beyond isolates him from his coworkers (manifested in his short-fuse prickly skeptic persona).

Jon is a character who pushes people away before they can do it to him and cannot conceive that anyone can care about him.

Which is unfortunate, because his assistants do care about him!!! Not on an intimate level, but Jon and Tim at the very least are friends, and Jon respects Sasha!!!

Jon’s actual opinion of Martin in s1 is a bit cloudy, because it’s clear that Jon does not respect him or like him very much, but that mostly comes from the fact that Martin doesn’t do his job very well, or at least by the standards Jon expects based on his CV.

But on the other hand, Jon never expresses anything other than professional disdain, not necessarily personal disdain. Of course, it’s likely that Jon does truly hate Martin, but outside of the recordings in S1, Jon is significantly more generally relaxed (as shown in the tape about ostriches) and his professional academic persona is very much a mask that he puts on to alleviate his own nerves about the job.

That’s not to say Jon likes Martin very much in S1, but it says to me that he doesn’t outright hate him.

Then the worms happen.

Everything falls apart for Jon. His skeptic act isn’t keeping him safe, not like he thought it would, and Jane Prentiss is after him specifically.

Jon starts unraveling after the Prentiss attack.

Something is watching him. Someone killed Gertrude. He can’t trust anyone.

Most of his paranoia is Stranger-induced but it’s also equally a natural response. Of course, he takes it too far, and he neglects his relationships because he doesn’t think they mean anything to the people in question.

Jon is right to be paranoid, and his paranoia is validated by the fact that one of his assistants was replaced and Elias is passively manipulating him (and also killed Gertrude), but the issue is that stalking is a bridge too far.

He has a very strong connection to the Eye even early on because he needs to know everything and gain new knowledge especially about people.

Because Jon is bad at connecting with people, and he typically barely has the self-awareness to avoid sticking his foot in his mouth and he is NOT forthcoming about his trauma or struggles to any extent (we’ll come back to this) and therefore doesn’t really understand how relationships WORK.

So his breaks his slightly tenuous friendship with Tim, realizes that Martin is not as knowledgeable than he thought, and realizes that there’s a creature in his Archive that should not be there.

So he destroys the table, realizes that was also a mistake, gets chased, meets Leitner, and then is IMMEDIATELY framed for his murder.

So Jon is now on the run from the law, so he goes to the only person in his life he actually confided in to some degree, Georgie.

Georgie asks questions, but not many, and accepts that he won’t answer. She lets him stay with her and the Admiral and Jon tries not to get her involved, because he doesn’t want someone else to realize that he’s doomed everyone around him, and he doesn’t want Georgie to be doomed.

He talks to people, gets scars, tries to get away from Daisy, nearly dies to Daisy, learns that GEORGIE had an encounter and feels guilty that she gets involved, and then he gets kidnapped from Georgie’s house.

Nikola finds him and kidnaps him and he is there for a while. I don’t remember if the length of time is specified, but it’s a while, enough time for him to be missed.

Then Elias shows his true colors, Melanie and Basira are in the Archives, and Jon doesn’t know what to do.

He’s lost and doesn’t feel like he can trust anyone, and oh yeah, Tim hates his guts.

Jon goes to America, meets people, meets Gerry, burns Gerry’s page, goes to China, comes back to the Institute, and still has no idea what’s happening to him but he knows it’s bad, but feels good.

Because knowing puts him in control of a situation. Having that advantage alleviates some of his fear, and it gives him power.

Jon, who has not felt in control of anything since he picked up a Leitner as a child, craves that power.

And then there’s the Unknowing.

The Unknowing is a turning point for Jon, because arguably, the human Jonathan Sims dies in the explosion.

But his brain continues on, his consciousness continues on, and he exists in the dreams of people he watches fear and hurt over and over.

Martin spends time with him in the hospital, before he starts working in the Lonely, working to save his friends that aren’t functionally dead in a hospital bed, or already dead.

Oliver gives him a push to accept his Becoming, to wake up and live in his new existence.

And when he wakes up, everyone wishes he hadn’t.

Jon is functionally changed as a person. He wants to confide in people, wants to be someone people trust, and uh …

Yeah that’s not happening.

Elias may be in jail, but Melanie and Basira (and presumably also Martin, but it’s unclear) are still tied to the Archives due to Jon’s continuing life.

Jon is at a low point this season, and Melanie and Basira have complicated relationships with him.

Georgie has also accepted that Jon isn’t going to change, which is a shame for Jon, but well within her right as someone who has been trying to help Jon for years and never actually got through to him.

Melanie projects a lot of her blame onto Jon, when she can’t take it out on Elias. A lot of her rage is being amplified by the bullet in her leg, but the impromptu surgery doesn’t make Melanie any less wary of him.

And Jon pulls Daisy out of the Buried too, and the tapes become his anchor, his connection to the Archives and the Eye strong enough to pull him out.

The Eye is also strong enough to make him need live statements. Like Daisy needs to Hunt, Jon needs to Know.

It’s treated like an addiction in the show as much as it’s treated as a necessary thing, but the important thing is that Jon now needs to hurt people in order to survive.

The issue is that he likes it, he likes causing the fear and not experiencing it. He likes witnessing and knowing and archiving it, but he hates that he likes it because it means he’s not human.

(I personally think Jon can do whatever he wants forever but that’s just me)

Jon tries not to take live statements, but he cannot resist it forever. He knows so much but it’s never enough and he wants more.

(Mr. Spider always wants more.)

Jon also clings to the last bit of the normal past he has left in Martin, who he has learned to appreciate far too late for it to mean something to him, but even when Jon is in danger, he still goes for Martin, because Martin doesn’t deserve to get hurt.

They don’t know each other well beyond a surface level, but they are also the last thing that connects them both to the Normal, the Before.

They latch onto each other and clearly care about each other, but in S5 their relationship is far from ideal even though it’s the only thing keeping them both together.

They are in love, but they’re also missing a lot of development in their relationship.

(Arguably this makes it more realistic, but that’s a whole other post)

Causing the apocalypse weighs on Jon. He damns the world to horror and fear until the End and it’s not even his fault. Of course, it was preventable, but like many things in this show, it just didn’t happen that way.

Jon Knows the new world much better than the rest of the cast. He knows there’s no hope, that there’s only the perpetrators and the victims.

And he wants to be the one on top, over Jonah. He doesn’t tell anyone that, but based purely on his previous expressions of the apocalypse feeling right to him and the way his powers and knowledge make him feel, it stands to reason he would harbor that desire even if he wouldn’t express it.

And that’s why he inevitably kills Jonah and attempts to take his place, because if they’re going to continue living in this world, he wants to Know Everything and be in the Panopticon.

It’s selfish, but Jon does it anyway, because that’s what he wants. If the world is doomed, he wants to be king of it, if only to drink in the fear until the End took them all.

But he’s also grateful when Martin stabs him, on some level. He doesn’t want the Entities pulled into different worlds, but he also to some degree doesn’t want to go beyond his current state. Becoming on par with a god does scare him, to some degree.

And so Jon dies in Martin’s arms, and with love on his lips.

He’s a complicated man, one who cares but doesn’t ever know how to show it and is an insufferable asshole who doesn’t know when to stop.

Curiosity killed this cat, but satisfaction brought him back.

#kiki talks #tma #the magnus archives #meta #jonathan sims #jarchivist #reducing jon to either solely a victim or solely a perpetrator is faulty #hes just jon yk

[princesscatherinemiddleton]

What do you think about Kate not going to Earth Shot?

So, I very much did not have an opinion on the whole “Kate doesn’t go to Singapore” thing beyond the fact I thought it was fine and moved on with my life but since I am nothing if not opinionated, I’ve decided to get an opinion. Also, this is very long.

1. We quite literally, if not already knew, already had a very strong inkling she wasn’t going. How is this shocking to people? Even the very original press release is entirely focused on Earthshot, rather than William and Catherine (which I checked when the rumours first surfaced) so - unlike with London and Boston - it hasn’t been a given that she’ll go.

2. Also, she doesn't need to go. Earthshot is nothing to do with her, beyond the fact she’s married to the founder. Ngl, I get really frustrated when William goes to Early Years engagements so I can’t be upset Kate isn’t going to Earthshot. I get that there's not really a need for her to be at most things but this is different than Trooping, which is a celebration of the monarch because - in a way - she does need to be there on the one of the most significant days of the BRF each year. She doesn't need to go to the Duke of Edinburgh awards, she didn't ever go to Invictus, she is not essential for Earthshot.

3. Saying Earthshot needs Kate is laughable. The most popular royal is William. He’s always been the most popular (bar the Queen). Earthshot is his thing. If anything, Kate being there takes away from the event. I also think Earthshot is phenomenal and is almost strong enough to stand independent from the royals entirely so this point is moot. Don't get me wrong, there would be more press coverage with Kate there. There would be a lot more fan coverage with Kate there. But doesn't that just take away from the coverage of the 15 incredible nominees?

4. I don't know who chose the date for Earthshot. But I don't think William could just change it because of George's exam (also, these aren't Eton-specific exams because the dates for these things are readily available and there aren't any Eton-specific exams in November.) The date had to suit the Earthshot council, Singapore, the nominees, the Earthshot trustees. The fact it's in November at all, not December, makes me feel like the date was out of their control.

5. George having exams is not “an excuse”. I’m not a parent but I am a teacher and I know that if a child in my class has a big thing coming up in their life - maybe a show with their drama club or their mum has gone on holiday or it’s their birthday - you check in more and give them more attention. Remember being 10? Imagine sitting exams - a really big stressful exam, when previously the only exams you will have taken will be phonics screeners and times tables checks and in-school tests - for the first time and both of your parents are not only not there, but are out of the country in a different timeline. This is fundamentally different than them wanting to do school drop offs and pick ups (they need to get over that but I’ve accepted they won’t). You don’t know how George will react to doing an exam but his parents do. This is a non-negotiable for me.

6. Controversially, I don’t think it’s the 11+. I think it could be the Stage 2 admission test for Tiffin School - even if he doesn’t go there, I know that if you’re aiming for grammar schools, some families choose to do a range of entrance tests, since it lessens pressure. These tests are independent from the 11+, which - if George is doing - he has already done.

7. If she didn’t stay home, the three scenarios are: George does the test and everything is fine; he does the test and struggles immediately, whether due to the test or to his parents not being there, which will have a huge impact on him; or he does the test, feels fine, and in 30 years releases a tell-all book about his mother - known child mental health campaigner - abandoning him to wear fancy dresses. If she does stay home, she can support her son. I know which I prefer.

8. “It’s sexist because why does Kate stay home and not William” - he can’t skip Earthshot, Kate doesn’t have to go to Earthshot, they can’t pick the date of the exam. Next question.

9. The lack of royal tours is an issue. I don’t think it’s a royal issue - it’s a FCO issue (I will call them the FCDO over my dead body). There’s a reason there have only been 4 official overseas FCO visits this year and two of them should have been one state visit. I would also like to see more overseas working visits but a) if the FCO have been explicitly against it, I would not recommend working against parliament and b) if we’re not doing a tour, I’d rather they focused on doing UK- and Commonwealth-based visits first. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that official Commonwealth visits (even if not tours) are up in the air since there was a Commonwealth world tour last year and no one knows whether Charles is supposed to go there first. TLDR: they need to sort out overseas visits and do more, they need to get out into the commonwealth, the FCO need to get over themselves and start planning official tours again.

10. I will be really annoyed if she doesn’t do any engagements that week but we don’t know that she won’t! It’s different to work in the UK while the kids are at school and take off the day of George’s exam, being available in the evenings, than being in Singapore for the whole week. (I am going to rule out her being at the State Opening of Parliament because the Waleses would never have been there this year - the fact William was there last year and that Charles went as Prince of Wales are moot and she won't go without William - and I hate this rumour). Also, my last anon helpfully pointed out about the fact it coincides with Remembrance Week so...

11. Yes, I would have loved her to be at the Earthshot prize ceremony and I would love to see her in a new gown. I like seeing Catherine’s clothes but honestly her recent gown track record is poor so maybe it’s for the best. There are people who won't watch because Kate won't be there. But also my mum and dad watched Earthshot because it was on TV on Sunday night after the Strictly results; lots of people watched it because it's on TV, on BBC, near Christmas; people watched it because it's about the environment and has a royal in it. It's not all about Kate, as much as I'd like it to be.

So, essentially, I had far more opinions than I thought I did and everyone complaining is being an idiot. I would have loved to see Kate in Singapore - the South Seas tour was incredible and we're overdue an Asian tour - but, since the circumstances are what they are, this is the best option. Can we all please just stop talking about it now?

#anon #answered #kate