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ghostchems · 10 months

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devotion - cardinal copia x female!reader

the cardinal™️ doesn’t feel that you’ve been a good little sinner lately.

author’s note: this is just filth. he is such an evil little bastard, it makes me insane. there’s something so slimy about him. about 2k words, SMUT!!!! mdni! 18+! ao3 link.

“I do not see the devotion in your work.” The Cardinal hisses from behind his pristine desk. All of the papers are exactly where they should be, meticulously organized and he peers at you over the stacks of them, his hands clasped together in front of him. “It is concerning leadership. It is concerning Papa.”

You are dumbfounded. You’ve never heard a peep of this before. As far as you knew, you’ve been serving the clergy and Lucifer with all of your might, making sure to praise Him daily and work hard for the good of the clergy. No one has ever pulled you aside to tell you to work harder or to devote yourself to the cause even more.

“I am so deeply sorry, Cardinal.” You hardly speak above a whisper, fidgeting in the chair across from his desk. The Cardinal doesn’t blink, his duochrome eyes piercing yours. “I will work harder, I promise.” You have never been so serious in your life.

“Hmm. A promise is not good enough, Sorella. I want to see your devotion.” He sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth and extends his finger, then curls it, beckoning you to come to him. You clumsily rise to your feet, the sound of the chair wobbling behind you, and you slowly walk around to his side of the desk.

The Cardinal has always made you nervous, perhaps even more nervous than Papa made you. There has always been something about him, something dark and devious that led you to stay away from him. But here you are now, in his dimly lit office with nowhere to run.

“On your knees.” He purrs as he positions his chair so he’s sitting directly in front of you. He sits back and spreads his legs. Your mouth goes dry but you do as he says, sinking down to your knees in front of him, practically between his legs. You feel his hand on top of your head and he gently pressed it down. “Bow your head, Sorella, and recite our Satan Prayer.” He removes his hand from you once you lower your head.

“Our father who art in Hell. Unhallowed be thy name.” You start, your voice shaky. The Cardinal hums in approval. “Cursed be the sons and daughters of thine Nemesis whom-“ You’re cut off by a groan and your eyes dart up to him. He is stroking himself through his tight pants, a wet spot already forming where he’s leaked.

“Continue, per favore.” The Cardinal murmurs, his lips curling into a sinister grin. You blink a few times and try to remember where you had left off but your mind is blank. He continues to stroke himself before moving to unzip his pants and your jaw all but drops. Your eyes dart up to his face and he is clearly getting off on this. “Start over. Now.” He growls and gives his hard, leaking cock a few pumps while his other hand fondles his balls.

“Our father who art in Hell. Unhallowed be thy name. Cursed be the sons and daughters of thine Nemesis whom are to blame.” You fumble over a few of the words as you rush through the prayer, bowing your head again to avoid seeing him please himself. “Thy kingdom come. Nema.”

“Nema.” The Cardinal groans but you keep your head bowed. His gloved hand reaches for you, planting a finger underneath your chin to force you to look up at him. Precum has collected at the tip of his cock and you can see how it throbs. “The Unholy Spirit flows through me, Sorella.” He grabs you by the chin and tugs you sharply so that you are eye level with his length. The Cardinal tips your chin up and then drags his cock across your lips, coating them with his precum.

The door to his office flings open and you are startled by the swiftness in which he shoves you under his desk. You hear your heart pounding in your ears as you try to quiet down your breathing.

“Copia, have you gone through the irregularities with our accounts yet?” Sister Imperator questions, her heels clicking across the floor.

“A-ah, yes I have, Sister. I should, eh, have them reconciled shortly.” The Cardinal’s voice cracks and he starts to flip through a few papers on his desk nervously.

“They have to be done, Cardi. It’s imperative we clear this up before Papa embarks on tour again.”

“Si, S-sister Imperator. I will finish up right away.”

You can’t help but watch his cock and how it pulses as he tries to act normal. Part of you wants to take it in your mouth then and there, see if he can keep up the charade with Imperator still in the room. You hear the door close and the Cardinal give a loud sigh of relief before rolling away for the desk just enough so that he can see you.

“Open your mouth.” He licks his lips as he slips one hand down to rest on the side of your head. You swallow thickly and open up for him. The Cardinal very slowly slides his length into your mouth, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “Hold this for me while I wrap this up for Imperator, si?” It’s a question but you don’t have a choice. He leans over you and starts to do some work at his desk. “Don’t move, Sorella. Just… keep it warm for me.”

His cock is so heavy on your tongue. You focus on breathing slowly through your nose as saliva starts to pool in your mouth. It’s hard not to move, not to adjust your head to give yourself some relief for fear of making him angry. You can hear him working above you, scribbling away at his papers. After a while, one of his hands dips below his desk and he manages to push the top of your habit off your head.

The Cardinal continues working but he uses his one hand to play with your hair and his to stroke at your jaw. The affectionate touches are surprising given the way he has treated you since you’ve stepped foot in his office. His fingers knot in your hair and he slowly pulls you up his length with a groan. You hear his pen drop and he leans back to peer down at you.

“Such a good girl.” He hums and rests his other hand on the back of your head. He guides you slowly down his length until his cock hits the back of your throat and your nose is pressed against his beat pubic hair. Your eyes water and you swallow around him, causing him to give a low moan. The Cardinal’s hips jerk shallowly into your mouth a few times and you gag on his cock.

You plant your hands on his thighs for support as he starts to thirst himself into your mouth, his hands holding your head in place. You peer up at him through damp lashes and the look on his face sends a jolt of arousal through your body. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips quivering before parting and giving a soft sigh. His tongue darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips, smearing his black upper lip.

You narrow your eyes at him, then close them completely as you moan around his cock, running your tongue along the underside. The Cardinal’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment. He loosens his grasp on your head but keeps his fingers knotted in your hair.

“Th-that’s it, Sorella.” His voice is strained but his eyes never leave you. You start to bob your head up and down his length, your jaw already relaxed from having him in your mouth for so long. The Cardinal’s moans grow louder, his chest heaving and you feel his legs tremble beneath you. You dig your fingers into his thighs and you hear him whine quietly.

You sink yourself down to the hilt, his cock hitting the back of your throat again as he moans deeply. You swallow around him once, then again and his hips stutter from the feeling.

“F-fuck, cara your d-devotion is - ah - apparent.” The Cardinal growls and he forces you down even further on his cock. “R-receive Unholy Communion.” Your throat spasms around him and a husky groan rumbles up from his chest as he cums. You feel his cock pulse and you swallow his seed diligently, drinking him down.

He slowly pulls his cock from your swollen lips and looks down at you, his hair mussed and the paint around his eyes smudged. You start to slowly stand and smooth out your habit as he tucks himself away in his pants.

“I’m not finished with you yet, mia cara.” The Cardinal whispers coarsely and shifts in his chair, his eyes drifting over your figure. “Undress.”

You know you don’t owe him anything, he even said that he could “see” your devotion now. But the desire that is surging inside you clouds your judgement. You slowly start to take off your habit until you’re down to your bra and underwear.

“All the way.” He orders sharply and he narrows his eyes at you. You swallow thickly before unclasping your bra and sliding your panties down your legs. The Cardinal moans at the sight of you and quickly has you by the hips, pulling you down and settling you into his lap. He presses your cunt firmly against his thigh and you give a soft moan at the friction.

“Take what you need, Sorella.” He tugs your hips forward, grinding you against his thigh. Your ball your fists in the fabric of his suit and you whine as you start to rut against his leg. The Cardinal dips his head down and his mouth immediately latches on to your neck, pressing harsh kisses down the sensitive skin. His one hand rests on your back while the other fondles your breasts, his thumb brushing over one of your nipples before giving it a rough pinch.

You would be ashamed of the way you are moaning for him if what he is doing didn’t feel so good. He bites along your collarbone and you’re feeling feverish, your hips snapping recklessly as you chase your release. One of your hands rests on his head, fingers carding through his hair as he lowers his head even further, planting sloppy kisses down your chest.

You tip your head back and a string of moans spill from your lips as you feel yourself start to teeter on the edge. The Cardinal growls against your chest and you can feel the vibration flow through you. His mouth finds one of your nipples and seals around it, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue teases it.

Your nails dig into his scalp as you cum on his thigh, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. His hands fall to your hips and he helps ride you through your orgasm while his mouth stays firmly on your breast.

“Copia!”

He freezes before his mouth pops off of your nipple and he presses your chest firmly against his. His arms stay around you to hide as much as your naked body as possible. The two of you had been so distracted you didn’t notice the door open.

“S-Sister Imperator, un minuto, per favore!” He peeks at her over your shoulder.

“My office. Now.” She snarls. You can’t see her but you can tell that she is pissed. Imperator slams the door on the way out and part of you hopes that the Cardinal may be in some sort of trouble. He relaxes against you, his grip on you loosening as you lean back with your hands on his chest. His fingers drift lightly over your bare ass and he sighs.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Sorella?”

Your cheeks redden and you stare at him, eyes wide. The Cardinal gives your ass a harsh squeeze and you squeak, your eyes fluttering.

“Y-yes, Cardinal.” You say in a hushed tone and he grins wide. He leans in and kisses you hungrily, for the first time, his tongue invading your mouth. You sigh against his lips, pressing your body in close.

“Come to my quarters this evening.” He purrs once he pulls away only slightly. “We’ll have our own ritual. We’ll make Lucifer proud, si?”

Before you can answer, he’s picked you up and places you on his chair. He grabs a few papers and a pen and heads out the door without casting you a second glance. He is most certainly heading to a meeting with a cum stain on his pants.

You give a loud sigh of relief.

The man is deranged.

And, well… you might be a teensy bit in love with him.

#papa emeritus x reader #Cardinal copia x reader #cardinal Copia #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfics

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lordoftherazzles · 7 months

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🍃 As The Tide Turns ‣ (4/9) ‣ The lost treasure of Durin the Deathless has been sought by many and found by none, but to Bilbo Baggins, it’s merely another riddle just waiting to be solved. The self-proclaimed “Deathless” expert finds himself whisked away aboard The Ravenheart, led by the infamous Captain Oakenshield, and the two embark on an unexpected journey to solve one of history’s biggest mysteries. (pirate au, teen and up, 23k)

🍃 Between Vices and Virtues ‣ (6/6) ‣ King Thorin Durinson has only held the throne for a few months after the death of his greedy predecessor. When Shire Inquiry journalist Bilbo Baggins is brought in to observe a meeting of powers, it's quickly made apparent that Thorin's sheltered and strict lifestyle has him completely disconnected from those he rules, as well as his family. It's up to Bilbo to show Thorin that the world is worth exploring and that not everything is as it seems. (modern royalty au, gen, 40k)

🍃 Bookbinder//Songwriter ‣ (13/???) ‣ Thorin Durinul has always dreamed of making it to the big leagues in the music industry. Ered Luin’s newest citizen, Bilbo Baggins, an aspiring writer and all-around bookworm, has recently taken ownership of the mountain town’s dusty old corner shop, now, Bag End Books. They weren’t looking for love, but now they can’t imagine tackling life’s challenges without each other. (modern band/bookshop au, explicit, 76k)

🍃 Dragonhearted ‣ (15/15) ‣ Thorin lives a life of solitude since Smaug’s curse fell upon Erebor. That is, until a brave hobbit turns the mountain upside down with little fear of Thorin’s snarls, scales and enchanted company, and learns to love a beast. (beauty & the beast au, explicit, 83k)

🍃 Forget-Me-Not ‣ (3/3) ‣ After the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin remains out of consciousness until his outbursts of pain become too much for Bilbo to witness. Bilbo - the hobbit whom Thorin married in Lake-town - begs Gandalf for assistance. Magic may have pulled the pain away and brought Thorin to a lucid state, but it also took his memories of the quest, Bilbo, and their marriage, away from him. Now, with a fair warning from Gandalf that rushing Thorin's memories too quickly may cause him to relapse, Bilbo must tread carefully around his feelings, while Thorin is dead-set on courting the hobbit he can't remember he married. (post-botfa/amnesia au, gen, 14k)

🍃 Fuck Thy Neighbor ‣ (7/7) ‣ Bilbo and Thorin have a past, one that spans no longer than one wild evening which resulted in far too many drinks, a 24-hour chapel, and not knowing the other’s last name. They both thought they could simply ‘deal with it later’. When ‘later’ finally arrives, they must learn how to co-exist now as neighbors, but also as accidental newlyweds. (accidental marriage/neighbors au, explicit, 31k)

🍃 Golden Hearts Bleed Faster ‣ (1/9) ‣ Bilbo Baggins, Prince of the Shire, has been left with a kingdom on his back and a ring in his hand after the unexpected death of his parents. Bodyguard Thorin Oakenshield has been brought in to see to the prince’s safety, and do a little investigating of his own on the matter in hopes of coming face to face with the one who turned his mountain, and his life, upside down some years prior. (modern royalty/bodyguard au, teen+, 3.5k)

🍃 Kurdu 'abadaz ‣ (6/10) ‣ It's said the Arkenstone is the literal heart of the mountain with a pulse of its own, ensuring life can sustain within it, but it's also been said that the Arkenstone can drive any king mad. Not every curse of madness is the same. When Thorin Oakenshield is plucked from his eternal slumber by some miracle of the stone, he must work with Bilbo to navigate this new world and what it means for the both of them. (post-botfa/supernatural au, explicit, 34k)

🍃 May Your Forge Burn Bright ‣ (18/18) ‣ Thorin labors as a blacksmith within the world of men to support his family and the other displaced dwarves of Erebor. Change comes to his monotonous routine when the smithy he works in unexpectedly comes under a hobbit’s management. (pre-quest au, explicit, 109k)

🍃 (Take Me Back To) The Night We Met ‣ (6/6) ‣ On a night when The Green Dragon Inn is out of vacancy, Bilbo Baggins opens up his home to a trio of displaced and rain-soaked dwarves. The two children of the bunch are happy to have a temporary home away from the rain, but their uncle, Thorin, sees it only as a debt to be repaid. (pre-quest au, gen, 25k)

🍃 They Stole My Heart (Along With the Rest of Him) ‣ (6/6) ‣ After departing less than amicably, Thorin and Bilbo find themselves pining over memories and questions of ‘what if’ without any courage to seek out the answers themselves. So their friends and family step in to help…some more forcefully than others. (post-botfa/kidnap au, teen and up, 21k collab with @sunnyrosewritesstuff)

🍃 When Darkness Shines Brightest ‣ (10/10) ‣ As the Master of Shadows and King Under the Mountain, Thorin lives burdened with guilt and loss, for Erebor is dark, dead, and on the brink. That is until he finds a possible solution to save his people in a being that radiates light and life. But is it truly possible to save them all from the shadows he created? (hades&persephone/TNBC au, teen and up, 58k)

🍃 Where The Shadows Lie ‣ (8/???) ‣ Bag End Bed & Breakfast collects more dust than customers these days. An unexpected visit lands a company of royal vampires into Bilbo’s care. As he learns to coexist, he discovers secrets to his lineage. (vampire/slayer au, explicit, 59k)

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neverchecking · 6 months

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Day 9: Glory Hole- The Chain

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Religious themes, like HEAVY religious themes. This is pretty much a dash of my religious trauma with sex. I don't name who's doing the do to Reader, but I think you guys should be able to guess lmao.

This is Day nine of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< Day 8>>>Day 10

Your legs were so sore. Every part of you ached something fierce but some primal part of you yearned for more. You had long since lost count on how many loads were dripping out of your abused core right now, cooling in a trail down the apple of your ass as you gasped for relief. Everything felt smoggy and heavy around you, like a sweltering cloud pushing upon you in punishment for the sins you committed.

Looking up and arching your head to look behind you, eyes falling on the large wooden cross behind you, you can’t but feel it is. The wooden beads strung around your neck had long since lost the chill they once had, instead coated in a thin sheen of your sweat, the heavy ornate centerpiece-- matching the one behind you-- sticking to the skin underneath your collarbone. Whatever heavy robes you had been wearing earlier had been tossed up to rest on your stomach, leaving your bottom half bare to the world.

Your one hand shakily reached up to grasp the cross charm, clasping it between both of your clammy palms with your fingers white knuckled around them. Your eyes were clamped shut, as you were not permitted to look upon the deities far beyond your comprehension. Just feel them. “Our Father, who art in heaven.” Your voice crackled as cotton mouth choked you.

Rough hands roamed every inch of your skin, several palms molding your flesh to their own desire.

“Hallowed be thy name.”

There was no sense in foreplay as the next one to slip their cock against you felt no resistance. Lubed by your own fluids and whatever had been left over from past rounds. “Atta’ girl. Ya; take us all so well. Such a good lil’ follower ya’ are.”

You whined as something much thicker than the previous gods had you pinned, rutting into you in a steady rhythm. “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven.”

Tears burned behind your closed eyes, pushing past your lash line before bulbing down your cheeks. A hand, colder than the ones holding your hips currently, gently swiped it away. “Now, now sunshine. You were doing so well. Give us our next line, doll face.”

“Give us this day our daily bread-” You hiccuped at the feeling of palms pawing at your chest, toying with your pebbled nipples through the robes you dawned. “And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

There were mumbled arguments and a few dropped curses as the pace quickened, the god’s cock plunging in and out of your core at an impressive rate.

“Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.”

The pinches to your nipples became harsher, almost as if punishing you further for the sacrilegious acts you not only condoned but took an active part in.

“For thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory are Yours,”

Your breath once again hitched, as if you were swallowing a pebble rather than air, making your chest clamp as your thighs shook and twitched rapidly.

“Forever and ever.”

Your back arched as you whined, clamping around the divinity’s cock as you came, feeling another rush of cum flood into your core. The god pulled out and another took his place, the chill of rings now running along your calves.

“Amen.”

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cirrus-ghoulette · 1 year

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The Confessional

Rating: General audiences

Word count: 1,367

Summary: Papa Copia decided to sit in the confessional booth for an evening, and he was glad that he did.

Copia had been sitting in the confessional booth all night, mostly because he had nothing better to do. It had been quiet for hours at this point and he was about ready to leave, when the curtain on the other side opened.

There was a small amount of shuffling and quiet contemplation, before the person on the other side proceeded.

"Um... I don't really have any sins to confess, but I just need to- to talk to someone. About this. I don't know where else to turn and I thought, well... Maybe you'd be able to offer a listening ear. Help me out."

Copia paused, then nodded. "Go on. I will help however I can."

"Papa…?" The soft voice asked.

"Eh…" The nasally voice answered. "No?"

"Why are you doing confessionals?" They asked. "I thought this was the boring work for the bishops and cardinals."

"Sometimes I like to relive my cardinal and bishop days, is that so bad?" Copia chuckled. "And this is the best place to receive the juicy gossip. If it makes you more comfortable, please think of me as Cardinale, rather than Papa."

"Alright." The voice sighed. Then, they went quiet for a long while, trying to work through how they were going to proceed.

Eventually, they decided on the wording. "I'm just... It's... It's weird how, like, it... Feels like I'm wearing clothes that are too tight, but the clothes are my skin, and there's just this- feeling. I don't even know how to describe it. I'm just filled with… With dread. At all times. It's fucking horrible." They paused. "Sorry. Am I allowed to swear in here?"

"Eh… Yes, but you can do an Our Father if it makes you feel more at ease." Copia said, shifting on the creaky wooden pew. "Would you like me to lead you?" The person on the other side nodded, he could see the light moving through the wooden slats of the booth, but they didn't say anything. "Okie dokie. Our Father, who art in Hell…"

"Unhallowed be Thy name." They continued. "Cursed be the sons and daughters."

"Of Thine nemesis who art to blame." Copia listed off, like he had done the past thousand times. He gently rubbed over the grucifix on his chest with his thumb as he spoke. "Thy kingdom come."

"Nema." They both breathed.

The sibling of sin seemed more comfortable after that. They sighed, played with the hem of their headdress nervously. "I just don't know what's going on."

"How long has it been like this? The- The skin-tight feeling." Copia was still rubbing his thumb over the cross on his chest absentmindedly. "Is it new, this feeling, or…?"

"No." The sibling almost snorted. "Sathanas, no. This has been going on for yeeeears."

"I see." Copia said softly. There was the sound of wood slotting against wood, and a gap appeared under the rattan window. A moment later, a gloved hand appeared on the small wooden rest that was there. "Now, this is not what this gap is used for most days, but we will make it work nonetheless. I would like you to hold my hand, if you would please."

The sibling looked down at the black leather glove. The Satanic pope wanted to hold hands with them. What the fuck. Copia's fingers flexed in the silence, still waiting for the other person to hold his hand.

Eventually, the sibling took hold of his hand. The leather of his glove was smooth and supple, like it had just been conditioned. They couldn't feel the warmth of his hand through the barrier of the glove, but they just *knew* he was warm. They could even see a small patch of his bare skin between the end of the glove's cuff and the beginning of his robe's cuff. Copia squeezed their hand, just gently.

"My child." He began. He took a deep breath in, then sighed it out. "I hope you do not mind me saying this." He looked down at their joined hands. He could see a peek of the sleeve of a habit. "But, ehhh… I see a lot of you, in my younger self." He ran his thumb over their knuckles in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. "With the feeling of the strange fitting clothes, but the clothes are your skin."

"Yeah?" The sibling answered glumly. "And how did you stop that… That feeling?"

"Well, ah. It took a while. Years, actually." Copia let out a soft laugh, then stopped almost instantly. "What I tell you next must never be repeated outside of this confessional." He gave their hand a harder squeeze in warning. "If I catch a whisper of what I confess outside of this booth, I will send you to the Pit."

"Yep. Noted." They squeaked.

"Good." Copia hummed. He spent a long moment petting their knuckles with his thumb, before continuing. "The first thing I did was change my clothing from a habit to a cassock. When I joined, I was only a Sister myself, you know." He laughed softly. "I had to work up. I became a priest, then a deacon, bishop, cardinale… But that is beside the point, sibling. I changed my clothes and cut my hair short. I drew on facial hair at first, because I could not grow my own. Papa Terzo teased me mercilessly about it… Before helping me draw it better."

He cleared his throat, then continued. "I bought, eh… Medications, off the street, as I could not afford a proper prescription on my wage back then. Not- not drugs, fratello, before you think that, please do not buy the drugs off the street, we have our own supply in the ministry. Ehhh… Testosterone, is, is what I took. I reused needles, which you should never do, but I was young and stupid and desperate."

"Oh." Was all the sibling said.

"I took a holiday, as a bishop. The last holiday I have ever taken, now that I think of it." Copia frowned. "I went to, ah, Turkey. And had my chest altered. It was the cheapest place to have it done." He shrugged. "All that I could afford."

"Papa…" The sibling mumbled.

"I am sorry for ranting at you, fratello. I believe this has turned into a confessional for me, rather than for you, huh?" He laughed. "None of the ghouls know. Not even the ones that tour with me. None of the siblings know, none of the cardinals or bishops know. Just you and I and Sister Imperator. She never was too approving. So I beg of you, please do not spread this around."

"I promise, Pa- Cardinal. Cardinal." The sibling cleared their throat.

"What I am trying to say, fratello, is that you and I are not so different, I think." Copia broached. "If you are catching my drift, uh?"

"Yeah, I… I think I am. Yeah." They said, thinking over everything that Copia had said. "What do I do?"

"Well, there are many routes to your final destination." He said, his thumb still working over their knuckles. "Hormones, no hormones. Surgery, no surgery. Binding, packing, eh, all that." He shrugged, the movement barely visible in the low light. "You are not alone in the Ministry with this aspect, brother. In fact, there are many of us. More than you would think."

"I don't know where to start." They said, their hand almost trembling in Copia's. "What to do. Like you said, many routes."

"I will tell you what." Copia finally withdrew his hand. A moment later, it reappeared, a business card held between his index finger and middle finger. "My office is open for walk-ins every Wednesday and Friday evening. Please, visit. We will discuss your options in complete privacy."

The sibling took the card and carefully tucked it into their habit, lightly patting over where it sat. "Thank you, Cardinal. Thank you. I'll visit you on… On Wednesday."

"I look forward to your visit, Fratello Amato." The man said lightly, reclining in his seat as the sibling walked out of the booth.

Only once the sibling was halfway back to their room, they realised.

How the Hell did Copia know their name?

#ghost #ghost band #ghost bc #papa emeritus #headcanons #my works #headcanon #Oc #Cardinal copia #ghost fanfiction #Trans copia #Bun writes fics

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sovaghoul · 6 months

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⚠️DISCLAIMER⚠️

This post is meant all in good fun and is not intended to offend anyone's religious or spiritual sensibilities. I'd hope any Ghost fan would realize that, but you never know. I tagged this with "Scooby-Doo Satanism" for that reason. That said, if you DO want to do this in earnest, feel free. Also CW/TW for Catholicism.

So I thought to myself, "Self, Ghost sells Grucifix rosaries. There's also the "Dark Lord’s Prayer" in Ritual. And the "Holy Mother" bridge in Griftwood is kind of like a Hail Mary."

So I researched and embellished upon traditional rosary prayers and came up with this. Based upon the Meliora rosary because that's the one I have.

All prayer/lyrics credit to our Tender Father.

Begin by holding the Grucifix and reciting (or singing, if you prefer) The Depth of Satan's Eyes (Prayer A):

Into the eyes of fire

Into the gaze ablaze

Into the burning light

Of Satan's rays

Into the source of wisdom

Beyond the Bible lies

Into the endless depth

Of Satan's eyes

Next, on the first large bead, recite The Dark Lord’s Prayer (Prayer B):

Our father, who art in Hell

Unhallowed, be Thy name

Cursed be the sons and daughters

Of Thine nemesis who are to blame

Thy kingdom

Come

nemA

On each of the following large beads, recite The Holy Mother (Prayer C, 3x total):

Holy Mother

You washeth the sin from my feet

Holy Mother

You shine like the sun and the moon

And the stars in the sky

The world rests heavy on your shoulders

Holy Mother

You shine like the sun and the moon

And the stars in the sky

In the space before the next large bead, recite Year Zero (Prayer D):

He will tremble the nations

Kingdoms to fall one by one

Victim to fall for temptations

A daughter to fall for a son

The ancient Serpent Deceiver

To masses standing in awe

He will ascend to the heavens

Above the stars of god

Hell Satan, Archangelo

Hell Satan, welcome Year Zero!

Repeat The Dark Lord’s Prayer (B) on the next large bead.

On the space after the bead, recite Per Aspera Ad Inferi (Prayer E):

Oh Satan, devour us all

Hear our desperate call

Per aspera ad inferi (x4)

Continue along the strand widdershins (counter-clockwise), and repeat The Holy Mother (C) on the next 9 large beads (9x total).

Repeat Year Zero (D), Dark Lord’s Prayer (B) and Per Aspera Ad Inferi (E) before, on, and after each single large bead, respectively, as before (3x total).

Repeat Prayers B-E in the same manner until returning to the Bite of Passage (the Y junction leading back to the Grucifix).

Four final prayers, Stand By Him (F), Majesty (G), Con Clavi Con Dio (H), and Satan Prayer (I), end the rosary, again holding the Grucifix:

A moon shone bright above Her trial

As flames ate through Her body defiled

The Witch Hammer struck Her down

On our Sabbath, She's unbound

'Tis the night of the Witch

'Tis the night of the Witch tonight

And the Vengeance is Hers

For as long as She stands by Him

⛧

Old One, Master

All beauty lies within You

Your Infernal Majesty!

⛧

Sathanas, we are One

Out of three, Trinity

Siamo con clavi

Siamo con Dio

Siamo con il nostro Dio scuro

⛧

Believe in one god do we

Satan almighty

The uncreator of heaven and soil

And the unvisable and the visable

And in his Son

Begotten of Father

By whom all things will be unmade

Who for man and his damnation

Incarnated

Rise up from hell

From sitteth on the left hand of his Father

From thense he shall come to judge

Out of one substance

With Satan

Whose kingdom shall haveth no end

nemA

#the band ghost #grucifix rosary #satanic rosary #scooby-doo satanism #the depth of satan's eyes #year zero #griftwood #ritual #con clavi con dio #stand by him #majesty #per asper ad inferi #satan prayer #ghost lyrics #lyrics as prayer

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lilibethwrites · 7 months

Text

Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Warnings: Angst, heavy violence, eventual smut, Targcest. This will be a very dark fic with potentially multiple disturbing or triggering elements. Each chapter will have warnings accordingly.

Summary: Rhaenyra’s firstborn daughter, Aelenore Velaryon is as vicious as she is ambitious. Growing up knowing she is a bastard and bitterly rejected by Prince Daemon, when she finds herself beginning to lose the favour of her family and infatuated with Aemond, an opportunity to earn more than any woman can have in the Seven Kingdoms presents itself. With a man as broken and wronged as herself, they burn everything around them to feel the warmth denied to them, even if their own flesh may catch on fire. Ambition and greed beget violence, and the blood of the dragon spills like wine.

Word count: 6k

Also on AO3

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,

To entertain these fair well-spoken days,

I am determined to prove a villain

And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

(Richard III, I.i.37–40)

It was a humid, scorching summer’s eve. The flowers of the royal garden had all turned shades of burned pigments heated over a candle for too long. Grasshoppers lay heavy where they had ceased flapping their wings. The nightingales that lent their name to the hour were quiet. It was only Princess Rhaenyra’s wails and groans peppered with curses and insults that echoed off the polished walls of the Red Keep. The heir to the throne, the beloved daughter of King Viserys has been in labour for so long that the younger Maesters made to stand back and observe behind the ranks of seniors and midwives began to whisper the long winter would come before the babe ever did.

Some wondered where Ser Laenor was, others remarked that it was the Breakbones pacing the hall beyond the door, and that it was rather odd that the Commander of the City Watch took such interest in the first labour of the princess.

But the babe came, persistent as she was in remaining in the womb as if she possessed prescience enough to know the realm she was brought into would have no joy to offer.

With the blood still on her, Rhaenyra cradled the babe to her bare chest, weeping and thanking the gods of old. Even a slight rub of her hand over the babe’s head was enough to furrow brows and a new wave of mumbling to rise as if dust after her dragon’s landing. Dark hair; unmistakably, uncharacteristically dark, like the night she was delivered. Dark hair, unlike the kind on the head of the second son Queen Alicent had recently delivered in a chamber nearby.

Ser Laenor was the first to see the babe, though she was cleaned and swaddled in an ornately embroidered blanket that could tear down and rebuild the entire Flea Bottom with how many yards of soft velvet and spools of gold threads it took to weave, then.

Then joined them Harwin Strong, and only then the babe was lifted from Rhaenyra’s arms, and given a name.

“Aelenore,” Rhaenyra said proudly, still keen on the name she had come across in a tome on Old Valyria while the babe was no bigger than a fig in her belly.

“Aelenore,” Ser Harwin Strong raised the babe to his chest and whispered in her ear as Ser Laenor looked on with a proud, warm smile.

By late morrow, King Viserys was cradling his first grandchild, a babe he hadn’t once found unlikely to be the fruit of the marriage he had imposed upon two young people with the blood of Valyria in their veins.

King Viserys blessed the babe’s name, with the swaddle in his arms and pride in his eyes.

“Princess Aelenore Velaryon,” he declared, “may her life be long and prosperous.”

He commended his daughter and her husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon. Yet, Queen Alicent did not share the spirit of festivities. Having given birth to her third babe recently, another boy with the proud colours of Old Valyria, her brows creased when she beheld the babe in her husband’s arms.

Neither Aegon nor Aemond, the heirs Viserys so desperately desired that he would butcher his lover, were welcomed into the world as fervently as her husband’s first grandchild was by him.

The King was still in his prime, then, and he could pace the chamber with the babe in his arms until he grew restless, then, he would tour the shorter halls, stop by alcoves with stones warmed by the broiling sun. He accepted praises and well wishes from his court, with Rhaenyra still reclined on a chaise and Queen Alicent left alone with her.

“Congratulations,” she begrudgingly said at last.

The room was cold with resentment, and the bodies that filled it were all stiff like corpses washed ashore.

“My congratulations, as well,” Rhaenyra repaid the kindness, or the visage of it, just before Aelenore was returned.

“Rather short and without a fuss, mine own labour was,” the Queen spoke without patience at her stepdaughter’s nonchalant disregard of the rules of nature herself. Bastards were cursed, this, everyone knew. Bad omens; treacherous, sly, with deformed souls and frightening capacity for evil.

“And a rather unmistakable likeness to his sire, Aemond bears… Though, ‘tis only the first of yours,” she spoke disdainfully, then. The gentle tone with which she spoke couldn’t veil the anger stirring within her.

“I shall pray that the Gods will give you a babe that resembles… either of you next time.” Her smile was bitter, her eyes hostile.

Yet, the Gods didn’t. Next came a brother for Aelenore, with the same dark hair that tended to curl into ringlets. Aelenore gave up her toys, save for a wooden replica of her quickly growing dragon, to instead spend her waking hours near her brother. Not long after came Lucerys. Aelenore was grown enough then to participate in at least the first hour of the labour with her hand on her mother’s swollen belly. After that, she was hastily escorted out to wait along with the rest of the court. Such sights were not for a girl who would labour in a birthing bed of her own eventually.

Rhaenyra was not allowed to ever forget it, that her firstborn child was no true Targaryen, and none other that came after was any different. As if she knew from when she was a babe the meaning behind hushed whispers hidden with jewelled fingers and curious looks with thinly veiled disdain, Aelenore grew into a difficult character, unfriendly to all save her siblings.

It was King Viserys’s suggestion that the girl might enjoy playtime with a boy senior to her only by a year, and a quiet girl that never cried unless pinched or spooked. It was one of the rare times Viserys remembered at all that he had other children beyond his beloved Rhaenyra. So, Aelenore was brought with her basket of carved and painted toys to the chamber where Aegon, Helaena and Aemond were tended to. She sulked the entire time, ignoring her much-loved toys to attempt to rip the carpet out with her fingernails whenever she wasn’t attempting to decapitate her uncles with her eyes. She resented them, she suffered terribly from green-eyed jealousy that she spent all the hours thinking of all the ways she could upset the boys. She wondered if their hair would stain if she boiled flowers torn from the gardens, and dropped the concoction over their heads. She wondered if she could sneak a pair of scissors the next time royal seamstresses came to measure her for a new dress. She could chop a braid right off, or cut through the tomes the boy closer to her in age seemed to be mesmerised with. But, she never had another hour with them after the first few disastrous ones, and so her plans never came to fruition.

Aelenore surprised not a soul when she grew into a brooding young princess; quiet yet unsettling with eyes severe and pale as the smoke dancing over the sea. She was old enough to understand what it meant that her eyes were grey as a rainy morrow, and her hair dark as earth after the heavy clouds passed. She was swiftly assigned a Maester to be tutored in the proud history of her blood. She found it a rather cheap charade, and her lips were often twisted into an irreverent, lopsided smirk as the Maester harped on.

“I know what I am,” she once told her mother over tea. “I do not wish to entertain trivial lies anymore.”

But Rhaenyra was patient with her, and each time Aelenore brought the subject up, she took her hand and asked her if a child without the blood of Valyria could ever ride a dragon. To that, Aelenore shook her head. The more she was posed with the impossibility of her inferior nature by virtue of the beautiful wyrm resting in the Pit, the more her self-disdain turned to vanity.

The court was reminded of the unruly princess in her youth when her daughter insisted that she would only ever wear her riding habits. Even to breakfasts and lessons, she would don coats and trousers with gloves always neatly tucked around a belt or hanging from a pocket, and always complete with a jewelled pin of dragons.

She was a curious young woman, raining questions down upon anyone nearby about Valyria and dragons. When she wasn’t interrogating the Maesters of the Red Keep or unsettling the courtiers with her unwavering gaze set upon anyone she suspected to have whispered about her, or eating, reading and writing near her beloved dragon, she fast became a second mother to Lucerys, demanding that she learned all she could about tending to a babe. To anyone except Rhaenyra, Ser Laenor and Ser Harwin, it was so unlike that a child as cold as her eyes would ever possess the capacity for affection. Even then, they watched her with well-concealed fright when she looked over the bassinet for the first few times. Lucerys must have immediately taken a liking to his sister as well; where Rhaenyra, Leanor Velaryon and Harwin Strong all failed to lull him to sleep, Aelenore managed to soothe the fussy babe into slumber with ease that surprised even the most weathered of wetnurses.

She was proud when Lucerys’s egg hatched, swelling her chest and proclaiming that it was her choice, that egg. Luke, Jace, and Nole, as she was so adoringly and adorably called by Luke from the moment he could speak, the three siblings became inseparable... and perhaps, rather insufferable to some. They loved mischief. From tying buckets of cold water over doors to soak Maesters at early morning lectures, spilling ink on the newly-washed garbs of Septas and Septons when they delivered the daily service of the Seven, taking their dragons out of the Pit to stomp around and frightening the poor smallfolk nearby, they have become a trio of terror. Aelenore was the mastermind, the one that came up with jokes and pranks bordered on cruelty while Lucerys and Jacaerys gladly played her henchmen. Aemond had his fair share when he found his neatly written summary of a manuscript on Valyrian traditions torn to pieces on his assigned desk and the siblings missing from the lecture altogether, or when his book was drenched in ink so badly he couldn’t read a word anymore while Aelenore and Jacaerys were markedly keeping their hands gloved and under a table or behind their backs the whole day.

“I wish they would go away,” Aemond once complained to his mother. He needn’t name them.

“I know,” was all the woman could offer, and a sweet kiss to the growing boy’s temple. She was helpless in the matter; Viserys loved Rhaenyra and his grandchildren more than he ever did Alicent or the babes she produced.

Aelenore still dreamed of staining and chopping silver hairs and upsetting her uncles, though less often with her mind always on her beloved pale and crimson, slender Naerax. On the opposite end of the wing, curled up on his bed, however, Aemond began to dream of upsetting his niece, as well. He couldn’t bring himself to be anywhere as cruel and calloused as she was, and whenever his fists were squeezed into balls and he attempted to strike back with a sharp word, Aelenore happened to rub her thumb over the silver three-headed dragon pinned to her collar, and the boy stepped back.

“He’s not a real Targaryen,” she began to say to her peers, pompously and with a grotesquely mature lilt to her tone. “I am. Hair makes a man not Targaryen, but the dragon that resides within the Pit.”

On the morrow when she greeted Aemond with a smile, he thought perhaps Aelenore could yet be a friend to him despite all the mockery and cruelty. She even abandoned her usual seat between her brute of brothers and instead sat next to Aemond. He suspected she needed his neatly drawn table of irregular verbs in High Valyrian for the lesson on the afternoon, but instead, she leaned over and promised him “a grand surprise” after lunch. She claimed it was an offer of friendship, to start anew.

“What is it?” He asked, cautious still but naively excited deep down.

“Would hardly be a surprise if I said, no?”

Just a few hours after, the blush was wiped from his cheeks. His face was dirt and tear-stained; he was in Alicent’s arms, bemoaning that the grand surprise was a pig with haphazardly attached wings and his own brother in on the terrible spectacle, laughing along with the rest of them.

When Helaena’s sight came true, Aemond didn’t only find trading an eye for a dragon—the biggest and the mightiest of the realm, that was— fair. He found it a payment, a rather steep but justified cost for his prayers that Rhaenyra and her children be removed. They were. As Aemond mounted Vhagar and followed the ship that carried his family back to King’s Landing, Rhaenyra and her kin made for Dragonstone.

He found the Red Keep opened up to him with the chambers of his tormentors vacant and halls safe to roam as he pleased. The library was all his, the tutoring chamber was freed of pranks and loud chatter when it should have always been a quiet, contemplative haven of studies. He came and went as he pleased without ever having to look over his shoulder. He had Ser Criston all to himself, as well, since Aegon delved too deep into his cups to participate in sword practice.

Years passed easier for Aemond, and faster, too. A punctual man down to the mere second, he awoke, followed his schedule and slumbered expeditiously, never a minute off. He was Alicent’s honour and pride, as well as her one true friend. Days never started or ended without a visit from her beloved son, even if all they did was sit in silence by the fireplace and sip tea or wine.

It was one such day, though Aemond would look back on it later and recognise the omens that had eluded him. He was up much earlier than he should’ve been. The hour was so early that the sky was still dark. He turned to the window, and then, frustratedly, gave his back to it. He pulled the covers over his naked shoulder, then, pushed them down to his waist. He hugged a pillow to his chest, then, pushed it away, too. Nothing helped, and he knew he would go through his day exhausted, with merely a few hours of sleep.

So, he bathed longer, dressed slower, and visited Queen Alicent before breakfast. She gave him a smile that would’ve seemed like all the other smiles to any other eyes. Aemond, however, saw distress from the way his mother’s lips pursed.

He wasn’t one for empty niceties or belabouring, so his hands shifted from Alicent’s elbows to her wrists, to the raw and picked cuticles.

“Tell me, mother.”

Alicent shook her head at first, and stared out of the stained-glass windows. She knew she would be delaying the inevitable, her discomfort hardly ever eluded Aemond. She knew he would abandon his entire day’s plans to sit here with her, caring and stubborn, until she told him.

“We shall have visitors soon,” she spoke through clenched teeth, her eyes shifting to the missive left on the table where Criston had delivered it.

The downturn of Alicent’s mouth was nearly enough, though Aemond still cocked his head in a quiet question. Who?

Alicent scoffed, looking down at her son’s pale, graceful hands.

“Princess Rhaenyra and her children. Prince Daemon along with them, of course.”

If Aemond had had !breakfast, it would have heaved in his stomach.

“Why?” He nearly lamented after a moment’s silence.

“Why?!” Aelenore echoed petulantly across the sea, on Dragonstone. “Why must we go? Can you not go alone?!”

Aelenore was happy on Dragonstone. The entire land from the shores to the peaks of volcanoes was her oyster. She woke up as she pleased, strolled and flew to her heart’s desire. No one was there to accuse her own acting untoward when she unlaced her boots, uncuffed her sleeves and chased Luke across the sandy beach and the waves carried their joyous screams while their dragons flew overhead.

King’s Landing was stifling. The Red Keep’s stones did make a prison and the stained windows a cage. Aelenore almost forgot she didn’t look the part of Princess Rhaenyra’s daughter on Dragonstone. Unless Prince Daemon’s cold gaze lingered, she hardly thought of how would it be to have silver hair and violet eyes, and if they would indeed escalate one above men all by themselves. She would be abandoning her home for a sea of pale hairs and hostile eyes.

“Because,” Rhaenyra sighed over the cup she nursed as men paced around the room hurriedly. “Your grandsire’s health is in fast decline.”

“That cannot be all. We are not Maesters. What good are we to his decay?”

“But we are bringing Maesters of our own… I do not quite like you when you are so… without compassion.”

So, Prince Daemon spoke, and her mother listened, then? The conviction wasn’t Rhaenyra’s, Aelenore knew. She remained quiet yet didn’t make a move to leave the hall.

“The matter of your brother’s inheritance must be resolved,” Rhaenyra spoke again after a surrendering sigh. She only understood how difficult she had once been when her own stubbornness stared back at her.

“I will not let them rob Luke of what is rightfully his. We cannot permit it.”

Aelenore nodded to it. That, she would help her maids pack up for. That she would tolerate King’s Landing for.

“Thieves,” Aelenore spat. “They shall steal all their covetous eyes may fall upon.”

Rhaenyra shifted in her seat. She thought that Aelenore sounded too much like Daemon at times. Perhaps that was why the two were like wildfire and a burning candle.

For the following days, Aemond felt the transitory nature of all things deeply within him. Sometimes, when the halls were empty, he ran his fingers over the stone walls. Even to them he felt as though he was giving his farewell. For an hour or a moon, he would be robbed of the freedom he perhaps came to take for granted. They would be anywhere at any time; she, the head of the poisonous serpent, would be, and the rest would follow slithering.

On the morrow the entire King’s Landing crowded the crooked streets to catch a glimpse of the horde of dragons, Aemond watched the sky with disdain, with his arms folded behind him and the skin of this thumb picked so tragically alike his mother’s. The cavalry was led by Caraxes and Syrax, the unmistakable red and yellow that flew side by side. Behind them were three others, one in the front and two in the back, like an arrowhead loosened to pierce Aemond’s serenity. His eye was glued to the last two, looping around each other. The pale one with crimson wings and waxen belly that resembled Aemond curdled milk dipped and rose while the smaller, pearlescent-and-yellow one tried to sink his teeth into the elongated neck of the other.

Aemond looked to the side. Helaena didn’t seem to bother that they were so brazenly being marched upon, Aegon was hungover from a long night’s tryst to care; it was only his mother and Ser Criston among the Kingsguard that seemed tense. He would not have don a thing beyond an undershirt for a company as undeserving had it not been for Queen Alicent visiting his chambers, begging so selflessly for him to behave, for her if for nobody else.

When the heavy gates were pulled open and the vapid bunch marched on, it was only Alicent and Rhaenyra that shared a smile in courtesy. Prince Daemon’s chin was high, his nose was scrunched up as if the mere sight of the Keep nauseated him. Behind him, Jacaerys was nudging his sister and his younger brother to cease the gossip. Aemond’s eye fell and remained on the girl, taller and more mature, though only in appearance, since he last saw her. Her hair was down, though the damage to the curls showed it wasn’t always so freely flowing.

While Helaena simply embraced a new friend she barely remembered and Aegon was delighted that a pert arse under heavy skirts, pronounced waist squeezed by corsets and exposed flesh were now present to ogle, Aemond simply scoffed.

When it came to acknowledge her at all, Aemond nodded sharply. His greeting was as cold as the pale icicles that stared at him. Unsettling, he thought, her irises almost bled into the whites of her eyes. She simply nodded, as one would dismissively to a servant. Aemond’s arms were still folded behind him. He made no move to touch her; not to take her hand and press a kiss, not to offer a half-hearted hug. Aelenore didn’t seem willing to offer an olive branch either, with her gloved fingers tightly intertwined in front of her with an arrogant smirk plastered on her face.

Oh, how Aemond desired violence.

“What a warm welcome, this is,” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for Aemond to hear and Lucerys to snicker.

Behind them, servants began to drag heavy packs to the Keep. Aemond hoped it was simply out of vanity that they each brought more changes of clothes than necessary. While their chambers were prepared, Rhaenyra insisted on a visit to the King. There, it was only willing ignorance that barely maintained Rhaenyra’s illusion of her daughter. The young princess barely approached the bed and pointedly kept a handkerchief to her nose. The King’s beloved first grandchild looked down upon him with disgust, sneering at the rotting body and the dying face as his hand was left untouched by her.

“Sweet girl…” Viserys strained to no avail.

“Grandsire,” Aelenore muttered coldly after Jacaerys nudged her once again. “Lovely to see you.”

Aelenore rolled her eyes after that, looking around the room and wondering what was for supper while his mother silently wept at the corner of her father’s bed.

If the exchange in the King’s chambers was cold, the supper was the never-melting ice of the North. Where Alicent was covered to her neck, Rhaenyra and her daughter wore dresses that left their shoulders bare, and as if that was not enough, the young princess’ sleeves were split from the highest seam to the cuffs, exposing the entirety of her arms each time she so much as breathed. Aemond shook his head again and again, stabbing the pie in his plate, his eye burning into the shameless woman sitting at his side. Aelenore barely wore headdresses, and barely pinned her hair all the way up. Queen Alicent shared her son’s mind, she was one busted seam away from a harlot of the Street of Silk.

Aelenore was all wrong, Aemond thought. Untoward, improper, exposed like a desperate wench of a cheap pillow house. She laughed loudly, she moved in a manner that was ill-fitting to a princess. Aemond looked to his side again, and his brother was already charmed. Aemond hummed. Of course he would be.

“Say, when has she… blossomed and—and, sprouted such teats, hm?” Aegon slurred behind his cup to Aemond.

“I would rather not think about her… flesh,” Aemond lowered his voice along with his head, “if it’s all the same to you, brother. You’d do well to remember your wife, as well.”

The banter was cut short by Rhaenyra’s dry cough. Onto the matters at hand. She shared a look with Daemon, and he nodded in support.

“For our Maesters to study and prepare cures of their own, we must needs give them sufficient time. A moon’s time,” Rhaenyra spoke.

“During that time, my children must not fall behind in their studies. Yet, to allow Maester Gerardys to work uninterrupted, the princess and the princes must share the library yet again.”

Aemond’s head shot up along with Aelenore’s. They wouldn’t look at each other, but they shared the same sentiment. No. Absolutely not.

“Oh? So, the princess will not trust our Maesters with the care of the King, but she will entrust her children to their lectures?” Alicent was bitter in response, her brows were knitted above the practised, tight smile of courtesy.

“I trust my children to know the truth from a lie.”

Come morrow, it was very little consolation to Aemond that Rhaenyra’s bastards might be feeling as discomfited about their forced reunion as he was. He paced his room and fiddled with the neat stacks of tomes and the line of inkwells. He was always early, three days early than a minute late, he often defended his being too early that the Maester soon began to feel guilty for his being on time and not as early as his pupil was. But that morning, he wouldn’t be.

“No,” Aemond murmured to himself. That might show a sense of eagerness, and present the three-headed serpent with an opportunity to bother him. Yet, how late he had thought he was, he wasn’t as late as his tutoring partners. It was only Maester when Aemond took his seat, and it remained so for one full turn of the hourglass before the door swung open.

Aelenore was the first to enter, snickering with a tome under her arm and in yet another dress that bared more than concealed for Aemond’s taste.

“Oh?” she stopped in her tracks as though she expected the chamber to be empty, and looked back at her brothers, who were just as vain and proud of the interruption.

Aemond squeezed his fist under the table, dug his nails into his palm and with a clenched jaw, stared ahead and away from the girl that stood between him and the Maester.

“I see you start terribly earlier than Maester Gerardys does on Dragonstone. My brothers and I are rather fond of late eves, might it be that—”

Unapologetic. Proud. Without shame or decorum, Aemond thought to himself, the true mark of a bastard. Rotten to the core, a scourge. The Gods are truly testing us this time.

“And I am fond of order and duty. We shall be at odds, it seems,” he spoke up with vitriol the likes he hadn’t allowed to bubble up to the surface in so long.

Aelenore turned to him with a raised brow and a bemused smirk. At least her words were not lies, her eyes were swollen from slumber with a faint touch of darkness around them, only exacerbated by how pale her irises were.

“So it seems, Prince Aemond.”

She took her seat right next to Aemond, then, with her brothers by her side. The entire session was marred by their obnoxious giggling and the passing of notes. Aemond wondered why they would even bother to show up, though he reminded himself to be easy on them. It wasn’t their blood nor their history that was taught. Very little must have concerned them beyond a mere mention of a Valyrian lord and his harem that made the boys snicker.

As soon as the morning’s tutoring was concluded, Aemond departed without so much as a nod to the Maester and with his belongings so uncharacteristically collected in haste. Large steps carried him to the comfort of the secluded corner of the Keep’s larger library, to the dim spot that became a second bedchamber to him. He went to scribbling angrily. He was distracted, his cursive was sloppy, his words out of order, his thoughts mismanaged. The treatise was all wrong, he knew, yet the more he crumpled up parchments and started anew, the worse it got.

He heard the clicking of heels on the stone floor, then. Curious, he thought, as Queen Alicent knew not to disturb Aemond unless an urgency demanded it. Yet, the heels that dragged without hurry didn’t denote any such urgency. For once, Aemond hoped to be wrong in his conjecture as he looked up from his work.

There she was, the bane of his peace, the curse of all the malicious spirits of Valyrian mythos. She had a thin stack of parchment in her hands, strolling as if she were in the gardens between aisles of tall bookshelves. Aemond watched her with the suspended fury of a dragon prepared to strike out of the dark. She stopped soon after, reached up for a book and only raised dust. She stepped back, looked around once again, and pulled a few heavier tomes without discrimination only to toss them to the floor and step on them. Aemond had half a mind to jump from his seat and strangle the girl. A barbarian would be more reverent than she was, he thought. Gods, the state of Dragonstone must make even an untaught common man weep. A wicked den of sin where the heraldry of the Seven must be mocked in orgies and the written word was torn from bindings to wipe the aftermath off.

“You again,” Aelenore’s contemptuous acknowledgement pulled Aemond out of his thoughts. “I was hoping to be alone.”

“You would be, if you remained in your chamber and spared us the displeasure of your company.”

How dare she? This very spot has been always his from the moment the pain in his eye subsided. Would she be so misled of the mind to think she could usurp his home?

Aelenore seemed unbothered by his retort. In fact, it was Aemond who was the more perplexed one. He expected all sorts of disgrace from her, yet such blatant disrespect from a prince would—should have sent any woman with a modicum of virtue fleeing from his presence in shame. He assumed even Aegon’s whores must be more dignified than Princess Eleanore. Some princess she made.

“Do you not have more… princely pastimes?” She retorted.

“Are scholarly endeavours not princely enough for you?”

“No. Scholarly work is a consolatory waste of time for those who are not befitting to don a sword or fly a dragon.”

Aelenore turned her back to Aemond without waiting for his response and tossed the book to a table nearby. She was used to having the final say so long as the addressee wasn’t Prince Daemon.

“Both I can do,” Aemond rose from his seat and followed her, aggravated and ready to prove his words should she question his proficiency with either.

“Hm. No doubt,” she snorted with her head buried in the old tome.

“Who are you to subject me to lowly mockery?!” Aemond thought to demand with his hands wrapped around her neck. It was slender enough that even a single hand would do, and her body was easy enough to fling out of the window. But instead, his hand moved to his eyepatch. A reminder, a reassurance, a prayer: It passed, this will, too. It passed, she will pass, too. Only a matter of time. All passes, the good and the bad.

“But how well is the question, is it not, Prince Aemond?” She spoke up again. It seemed it wasn’t only Aemond who wasn’t willing to conclude this exchange.

“You do have certain… odds against you, do you not?” She pulled back from the book with a menacing look and an ugly smirk that Aemond wanted nothing more than to cut from her face with a letter opener.

“You did start flying later than all of us, and the sword? With your… unfortunate circumstance… well.” Her cold gaze shifted so pointedly from his face to the sword leaning against his desk, then, back to him.

“If you wish to challenge me to a flight or a duel, say it so plainly, Princess,” he spat the title as if it were a curse.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Though I am surprised you wouldthink to take for an opponent a woman rather than your own sex.”

The Stranger’s mistress. A vermin. A freak of nature. Something to be eradicated, stomped out before it sprouts her branches further.

“Apologies. I mistook your brothers for proper princes, but they are not the kind to be your champions, are they?” The fire within him was stoked with each moment he spent standing near her. He knew it to be a mistake, a man in command of his emotions wouldn’t have entertained a bastard who clearly wished to drag him down to the depths of hell she swam in. Yet, Aemond remained as if stuck to the mast of a ship drifting towards tall rocks.

“They would much rather hide behind skirts than face me.”

“They would not face you, that much is true, though for entirely different reasons.” She didn’t give Aemond the chance to give in to his impulses entirely. In a matter that seemed radically different from the frivolous villain she has been so far, Aelenore discarded her quill and reasoned. Though she spoke too slowly for it not to be insulting at least in the slightest.

“Because I am no more pleased than you are that I am here and neither are my brothers. Yet, no blood shall be drawn as I would like to fancy us all, yes, even you, Aemond, above simple brutes or mindless animals. No iron shall be drawn, no duels shall be had. I assure you I count the days until I am gone more eagerly than you.”

Aemond remained quiet with his lips pursed and his eye slowly dragging across her face. Maybe she could be reasoned with, after all. But he reminded himself that a bastard’s oath was bound with a withering twig; an easy tug and it was undone.

Both Aelenore and Aemond stayed in their heads for a moment, staring at each other but entirely unseeing. Aemond thought of all the ways Aelenore had wronged him. He remembered how she had run to Jace and Luke, how she had kneeled by them, holding washcloths to their noses and lips while his eye was sewn shut by a needle about the size used to weave thick blankets. He remembered how she had encouraged the boys to speak up, how she was the one to give voice to them.

“Aemond” she had called him with disdain, “slandered the princes.” Princes. Bastards. Treacherous liars.

“He called my brothers bastards, mother,” she had spoken with false solemnity, her pale, lifeless eyes dragging from Rhaenyra to Viserys so deviously.

On the morrow, they had all laughed. They had broken fast, they had jested and chatted while Aemond’s life changed forever. That was her, that has always been her. An uncaring, dangerous creature in love with misery and misfortune so long as none befell her.

He realized she was indeed at his mercy then and there. He could claim an eye for his, perhaps do not stop there and cut an ear, too, for interest. Perhaps even half of her ugly, upturned nose that perpetually disdained everything it saw. Consequences be damned, he thought, yet his shoulders fell and he blinked out of trance all the same. He felt the familiar throbbing in the back of his head slowly creeping to surround the precious stone lodged in his eye.

“I do not want you here, in the library,” Aemond spoke sharply. He was threatening enough that Aelenore was no longer too eager to tease him. “Find yourself elsewhere to spread your rot.”

It was his turn to speak the final word, and Aemond spun on his heels to abandon his study and Aelenore both. For once, he would break his schedule to demand Ser Criston’s time without a prior appointment, and he would do unto a sturdy shield and a worthier opponent perhaps half of what he so passionately desired to do to the girl invading his sanctuary.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen angst

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stardustghoul · 1 year

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Our Father, who art in Hell Unhallowed be Thy name Cursed by the sons and daughters Of Thine nemesis who are to blame Thy kingdom come, NEMA

#the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #copia #ghost band #popia

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aer1ths · 9 months

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FFXV Fic Recommendations

Hello! I thought I’d share some of my favorite fics from my most favorite game. Will update with more when I read more. Thank you!

Set Thy Hidden Stars On Fire by MYuzuki (16k words)

This time, when Prompto wakes up to start a new loop, it’s raining.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a cause for concern (or even a blip on his radar, really) but this time he wakes up outside for some reason, which means he’s in the rain.

And as his luck would have it, it’s something of a downpour.

If you love Prompto, you’ll love this fic. It’s relatively short, but managed to have me still think about it nearly a year after reading. MYuzuki is a great author!

Salvation by cassisluna (11k words)

Nyx Ulric lives and accompanies Lunafreya across Lucis to wake the six. Written for the 2021 FFXV Reverse Bang.

As she travels to wake Titan and Ramuh, Luna is grateful for the time given to her to see the land of Lucis with her own eyes and feet.

Nyx promised the King that he would see Princess Lunafreya to Altissia, and it seems easy enough—until he learns the Oracle's price for forging the covenants. After that, it's just a matter of... maybe going off-route for a while to let the princess sight-see for a bit.

I love anything that expands upon Lunafreya’s character or Kingsglaive. This fic did not disappoint with that at all.

Worth The Risk by Asidian (6k words)

It's captivating. Prompto's probably going to have thirty-eight photos of it for them to relive the experience, in vivid detail, later on.

But Prompto's not taking pictures anymore, Noct realizes. The camera's stopped.

And when Noctis looks over to see what the matter is, Prompto's just staring through the view-finder, head angled up. He's gone absolutely sheet-white – looks like he might pass out. He says, "Noct," very softly, like it's a plea.

Then the world explodes, and something slams into Noctis with the force of a subway train, and everything goes dark.

I adore Asidian’s writing, especially for Prompto. This, and any of their other fics you should absolutely check out!

Honor Bound by The_Asset6 (125k words)

It’s still hard for Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto to believe that Noctis has been gone for a year. However, when an old ally appears to tell them that what is gone might not be lost after all, that spark of hope they kept alive during their ten years apart is rekindled. Their only question: what will they have to sacrifice this time in order to bring their brother back alive?

This fic focuses more on the bros rather than Noctis himself, and it was really nice to see from their POV how far they’d go to get Noct back. A longer read but didn’t drag, great fic!

Somnus Ultima by The_Asset6 (349k words)

King Regis and Queen Aulea’s desire for a child has finally been fulfilled, as well as their kingdom’s need for an heir to the throne. However, when a dark mage with a vendetta against Lucis blesses the young prince with a deadly curse, they realize that no sacrifice is too much when it comes to someone you love.

But too much, it turns out, is never enough.

A sleeping beauty AU! I won’t lie, this one is long, but it’s so worth it. I don’t typically like AU fics, preferring canon-compliant work, but I gave this one a chance and didn’t regret it. The author made great use of the characters and created a lengthy but not hard to read story that was very enjoyable.

Reliance, Resolve by Gnine (13k words)

"Where are you?"

Noct. Voice controlled, each word precise and even. In other words, pissed off to the point of seething. Prompto had obviously screwed up. Again. Seemed about all he was capable of doing lately when it came to Noct—and just about everything else.

-------

Prompto's self-reliant streak kicks into overdrive, sending his life into a tailspin.

A nice pre-game fic centered around Prompto, giving some insight to his and Noct’s relationship. Author tagged as pre-slash.

#ffxv #final fantasy xv prompto #final fantasy xv #final fantasy #ffxv noctis #noctis lucis caelum #fic rec #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #prompto argentum #promptis #ignoct #gladnis #gladnoct #lunafreya nox fleuret #lunoct

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thegodwithin · 1 year

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Highlights

Changing the feeling of “I” - Neville Goddard

“Your description of the world is a confession of the self that you do not know. You describe another, you describe society, you describe anything, and your description of the thing you observe reveals to one who knows this law the being you really are. So you must first accept that self. When that self is accepted, then you can start to change. It's so much easier to take the virtues of the Gospel and apply them as the word of life, to love the enemy, to bless those who curse us, and to feed the hungry. But when man discovers the being to be fed, the being to be clothed, the being to be sheltered, the greatest enemy of all is that self, then he is ashamed, completely ashamed that that is the being, for it was easier to share with another something that I possess, to take an extra coat and give it to another, but when I know the truth it's not that. I start with the self, having discovered, and start with change of that self.”

“and he by the arrangement of his own mind, by consenting to these restrictions in his cradle and being conditioned slowly through his youth, waking into manhood believing himself set upon would have to be set upon”

“So you and I can be anything in this world we desire to be if we will clearly define our aim in life and constantly occupy that aim. It must be habitual. The concept we hold of self that is noble must not be put on just for a moment and taken off when we leave this church. We feel free here; we feel that we have something in common, that's why we are here, but are we going to wear the noble concept we now hold of self when we go through the door and enter that bus, or are we going to return to the restrictions that were ours prior to coming here? The choice is ours and the hardest lesson to learn is that there is no one in this world that can be drawn into your world unless you, and you alone, call him.”

“So, the changing of the feeling of "I" is a selective thing because unnumbered states are infinite states, but the "I" is not the state. The "I" believes itself to be the state when it enters and fuses with it, so he was presented with a state and without the faculty of discrimination in his youth, he fused with the state and believed these restrictions were true, and it took him three years to disentangle the "I" from these fixed ideas with which he had lived for so many years. Now you may take only a moment or you, too, may take your three years. I can't tell you how long it's going to take you but I'll tell you this much. It can be measured by the feeling of naturalness. You can wear a feeling until it's natural. The moment the feeling becomes natural, it will begin to bear fruit within your world.”

“You can start now from scratch and choose the being you want to be. You aren't going to change the pigment of your skin but you will find your accent or the pigment of skin or your so-called racial background will not be a hindrance, for if a man is ever hindered it can only be the state of consciousness in which he abides that hinders him. Man is freed or constrained by reason of the state of mind in which he persists.”

“When we make that discovery we shake ourselves out of it and boldly appropriate the gift our Father gave us before that the world was. So let me show you the gift. You've read your Lord's Prayer possibly daily, but you read it as a prayer from a translation of a translation which does not reveal the sense of the evangelist. The real translation, you will find in Farrar Fenton's work where in the original it is written in the imperative passive mood, which is like a standing order, a thing to be done absolutely and continuously. So that you can look now upon your universe as one vast inter-knit machinery where all things happen.”

“There isn't a thing to become; all things are taking place, so it is written in this manner, "Thy will must be being done. Thy kingdom must be being restored."

“If you will see all things are now, you don't become, you simply select the state that you would occupy. Occupying it you seem to become but it is already a fact, every aspect of that state in its most minute detail. It's worked out and taking place. You by occupying the state seem to go through the action of unfolding that state, but the state is completely finished and taking place.”

“Now, how will I know that I have changed the feeling of "I"? By beginning first with an uncritical observation of my reactions to life and then noticing my reactions when I think I am identified with my choice. If I assume that I am the man that I want to be, let me observe my reactions. If they are as they were, I have not identified myself with my choice, for my reactions are automatic and so if I am changed I would automatically change my reactions to life. So the changing of the feeling of "I" results in a change of reaction, which change of reaction is a change of environment and behavior. But let me warn you now. A little alteration of mood is not a transformation; it's not a real change of consciousness. Because as I change my mood for the moment it can quickly and rapidly be I would say, replaced by another mood in the reverse direction. When I say that I was changed, as that gentleman changed his mood, his basic mood, his state of consciousness, it means that having assumed that I am what the moment denied, what my reason denied, that I remain in that state long enough to make that state stable. So that all of my energies are flowing from that state. I am no longer thinking of that state. I am thinking from that state. So that wherever a state grows so stable as to definitely expel all of its rivals, then that central, habitual state of consciousness from which I think defines my character and is really a true transformation or change of consciousness. Whenever I reach that state of stability, watch my world mold itself then in harmony with this inner change. And men will come into my world, people will come to aid and they will think they are initiating the urge to help. They are playing only their part. They must do what they do because I have done what I did. Having moved from one state into the other. I have altered my relationship relative to the world round about, and that changed relationship compels a change in behavior relative to my world. So they have to act differently toward me.”

“the double minded man is unstable in all his ways. Let not such a man believe that he shall receive anything of the Lord; for he is like a wave that is driven and tossed by the wind." That man never reaches his goal.”

“So we sit quietly and we simply become imitators of our Father. And He called the world into being by being the thing he would call. And so we sit and we listen as though we heard someone congratulating us on having found what we seek. So we go to the end of the matter and we listen just as though we heard, and we look as though we saw, and we try in this manner to feel ourselves right into the situation of our answered prayer, and there we wait in the silence.”

#law of assumption #neville goddard #ng highlights #qt #ng

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snugglesquiggle · 7 days

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i feel a lil bad asking this right when a lot of people are excited for hostile takeover, but for financial reasons, i might need to start putting some of my energy into more serious original projects again.

i'm not pausing HT — i don't think i could stop thinking about those lezbots if i tried — but being able to take breaks to work on other things tends to be good for my energy levels in general.

and honestly, when i first started, i thought HT itself was just going to be a quick break from those projects, and now i'm four months in and my plans keep growing >.>

anyway, the purpose of this post is that i wanted to gauge interest. i know most people follow me for murder drones stuff, but do any of the original stories i'm considering interest you?

more detailed pitches for each of these can be found under the cut. honesty is appreciated.

a note before i pitch them — when i write original fiction, i post it to my site and a site for original fiction called royalroad. i'll probably reserve my ao3 account for, yknow, fanfiction.

the plan is that while the stories will eventually be available publically, supporters to my patreon will get to read several chapters ahead of everyone else.

Aurora Moonrise

It is the nature of comets to dazzle and destroy. These eldritch spirits from beyond the stars grind kingdoms to dust with joyful ease. Only the power of a daughter of the moon can repel them. There are none left. Aurora knows she is different. Her father is a plain man, and her mother is a mystery. Her prismatic hair, her divergent mind, her inability to weave common enchantments — it must come from her mother's side. But her mother is gone and no one will say why or where or anything. It's enough to make her want to fight someone. And Aurora fights — people, animals, spirits, it doesn't matter. She doesn't want to hurt them, but it's thrilling. She'll just have to become a knight — knights get to fight things, right? And knights get answers to who their parents were. When a cursed storm leaves Aurora glowing in the light of the full moon, she awakens new powers she can't control. Powers unheard of, except in those old stories. But the word on the lips of churchmen is witchcraft — communion with unnatural spirits that spells doom. Will she defend humanity? Or is she a threat to it?

pitching this one is hard, because the most interesting thing about is a twist reveal at the end of the first arc. at first, you can see it's framed to suggest — and Aurora initially believes — her mother is a "daughter of the moon", but of course, she's actually a comet.

as the poll option suggests, her inhuman heritage makes urges her to fight and hinders her ability to understand the basics of human social interaction.

this would be a long story, lighter in tone than the others, and structured like a fantasy trilogy, about Aurora journeying across the land doing what she thinks heroes do. along the way, she picks up several party members with their own weird baggage. all of them girls, of course, and it gets very gay by the end — but it's slow going because, yknow, aurora doesn't understand romance, either.

i'm very excited about this project — just thinking about it is enough to get me bouncing. you can actually read a four chapter teaser right now, and i have over 70k words of notes past that, with the whole thing outlined start to finish.

Thy Wretched Mask

Everyone wants to peel off their skin and scream into the night. You're just supposed to keep a handle on that. Beca's trying. Now on the run, she'll just have to get it right in a new town. She's got nothing to her name save a pet raven, but a little pickpocketing will change that. Maybe a burglary or two. As long as she doesn't tear someone's flesh apart in broad daylight, she could keep things controlled. It's a lonely life, but friendship is only temptation. She should just keep to herself. So why does she listen when the woman from the shadows talks? They're making an offer that could lift her off the streets for good. The catch? She has to kill someone. Again. That's definitely too much temptation.

once again, the most interesting parts of this are a surprise. Beca isn't human; she's saddled predatory instincts she doesn't understand. the "fungal possession" comes into play several chapters in. it gets intense enough that i believe it's one of the few times i've teared up while writing something, and it's so far the first and only time i've written something that explores topics of plurality, which is pretty personal to us

i say HT is the first time i've written romance (and it is), but TWM came close, and would have gotten even closer if i continued it.

i've already written over 20k words of this (unpublished), but due to the writing exercise it began as, it requires substantial rewrites; i cringe when i try to reread it, and it honestly makes the prospect of returning a bit unexciting.

this would probably only about the length of a novel. (original projection was novella length, but i think i want to flesh it out more.)

of all of my potential projects, i think this one is probably the biggest thematic overlap with Hostile Takeover. but uh, it's dark enough to make that look like a sappy romance >.<

Running Out of Skin & Time

Tomorrow, a lord will be flayed alive. Once his flesh, freely given, is woven into a vast frame, enchanted scars will turn him into a living portal, a gift that could turn a blightstricken town into a bustling trade nexus. Apnoe has woken up beside the same dead girl three nights in a row. The lord's flaying is tomorrow — same as it was for the last three nights. She's the only one who's noticed. Assassins lurk in the flaying festival's crowds, and when they strike the lord dead, the whole town watches their dreams crumble, and then Apnoe wakes again as if from a dream. She knew this quite well; on the first night, she had killed him. Scarred flesh grants magic. How deep a wound did it take to make every living soul in the city relive the same day? It wasn't Apnoe's, and she doesn't know why only she remembers, but then again, most scar magic treats her differently. After all, she's dead half the time. Apnoe would kill to end this nightmare — but it seems the only way out is saving a man who'll die tomorrow anyway.

of all the options, this story is the least well flesh out (no pun intended), but it has a lot of potential. a "time loop" where a character relives the same day over and over is something not enough stories explore well

(if it means anything to you, the inspiration for this fic was literally just thinking "what if the Shibuya Incident was a time loop?")

i call this "superhero fantasy" because, while i havent figured out the tech level (it's industrial, but how modern?), the magic system gives everyone unique and specific abilities that are easiest to imagine as superpowers.

the time loop effect itself is the rube goldberg interaction of half a dozen powers, and part of the fic is puzzling out just how it works, as well as puzzling out how to overcome the various powers arrayed against the lord.

it would be a very complex, cerebral fic, all about power progression and fight scenes, but at its heart, i want it to be the story of two dead girls who love each other enough to unravel fate itself

A Chimerical Hope

Duskroot is destroyed. A minor stronghold, its enemies were cunning and coordinated and its allies didn't lift a hand. As vultures at a corpse, mercenaries hunt for survivors. Awelah escaped Duskroot. She lost everything. Vengeance drives her, but can she kill a angel beyond death? Ooliri's mission is to aid the refugees. He has to prove he belongs in a family of medical geniuses. But healing isn't enough — can he bring the dead back to life? Makuja seeks safety among the refugees. Death and servitude leaves her gaze empty. It's easy to be a follower, but is there a purpose worth living for? First, the three need answers. A grand scheme is unfolding, and Duskroot was only the first step.

unlike all of the others, this isn't an idea for a story, or a plan for a story, it is a story, one i've written 100k words for. you can read it here

it's set in an expansive setting i've spent literal years thinking about with giant insects empowered by virulent mutant bat blood and cold black corruption pouring out from a hole in the sky.

it's also, shamelessly, only avoids being called naruto fanfiction by dint of sheer weirdness

Aurora Moonrise may be the story i'm most excited about, but ACH is the one with the most ambition and purpose behind it. if i could only ever tell one story in my life, it'd probably make it ACH. it might be over a million words if i ever finish it

but i also think it's probably too weird to get very popular.

And so on

if you can't tell already, i have a LOT of story ideas. before i ever watched murder drones, would you believe i was literally already working on a story about killer lesbian robots on a inhospitable frozen planet haunted by a creeping cosmic horror?

and i'm kind of tempted to work on a story about modular mushroom creatures that live underground. or a fricken pokemon mystery dungeon self-insert i've already finished one chapter of.

and of course, i have several other stories i could continue working on.

but like, the stories i've listed are the ones i can honestly say i might work on right now. and, practically speaking, the stories that might genuinely takeoff, if i dare hope.

#🐍#my squiggles #my writing

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trexx666 · 1 year

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SATAN, our Father, who art in HELL !!!

I arise today through the strength of SATAN for worship Him, for loves Him, for belong Him… SATAN, my Father in Hell, hallowed be thy Name and thy Sign 666 !!!

Powstaję dzisiaj dzięki sile SZATANA, aby Go czcić, kochać Go, należeć do Niego… SZATANIE, mój Ojcze w Piekle, święć się Imię twoje i Znak twój 666 !!!

Lord and God SATAN fill my soul by your Unholy Spirit, and enlighten my mind and heart by thy Light of Evil and Sin… SATAN, my Father in Hell, come your Helish Kingdom to me and to my life here and now, for me to come to your Infernal Kingdom in Hell in my eternity !!!

Panie i Boże SZATANIE, napełnij moją duszę swoim Nieświętym Duchem i oświeć mój umysł i serce twoim Światłem Zła i Grzechu… SZATANIE, mój Ojcze w Piekle, przyjdź do mnie i do mojego życia tu i teraz, ze swoim Piekielnym Królestwem, abym i ja w wieczności przybył do twojego Piekielnego królestwa w Piekle !!!

Lord SATAN, bless and guide me as I go to do thy Holy Will, which is Evil and Sin and Hate itself… Align my life with your Infernal Will… your Holy Will is my will, my unholy will is to do your Will … SATAN, my Father in Hell, Thy will be done in my will, in my heart, in my mind, in my soul and in my spirit !!!

Panie Szatanie, pobłogosław mnie i prowadź, gdy idę, aby czynić twoją Świętą Wolę, która jest Złem, Grzechem i Nienawiścią samą w sobie… Dopasuj moje życie do twojej Piekielnej Woli… twoja Święta Wola jest moją wolą, a moją bezbożną wolą jest czyń twoją Wolę … SZATANIE, mój Ojcze w Piekle, bądź wola Twoja w mojej woli, w moim sercu, w moim umyśle, w mojej duszy i w moim duchu !!!

Instruct and prepare me in this day, in all my life, to Eternal Damnation myself in Hell… Lord SATAN, my spiritual food is Condemnation, my only and holy Communion is Condemnation, this is my holy bread that nourishes my soul and body, my mind and heart and fills me with you, Almighty… SATAN, my Father in Hell, feed me this Bread of Damnation, feed my soul by Damnation… SATAN, who are in Hell, give me daily and in eternity this Bread of Damnation, give my soul your Communion of Damnation. Nema !!!

Poucz mnie i przygotuj mnie dzisiaj, w całym moim życiu, na Wieczne Potępienie w Piekle… Panie SZATANIE, moim duchowym pokarmem jest Potępienie, moją jedyną i świętą Komunią jest Potępienie, to jest mój święty chleb, który odżywia moją duszę i ciało, mój umysł i serce i napełnia mnie tobą, Wszechmocny… SZATANIE, mój Ojcze w Piekle, karm mnie tym Chlebem Potępienia, karm moją duszę przez Potępienie… SZATANIE, który jesteś w Piekle, dawaj mi codziennie i w wieczności tego Chlebie Potępienia, daj mojej duszy twoją Komunię Potępienia. Niemka!!!

Almighty, Highest and Ineffable SATAN, possess and lead me into thine Unholy, thine Impiety… teach my mind and heart Evil and Sin against the holiness of god, teach my soul Hate and Contempt for what is good and holy in god, teach my spirit to HATE and BLAME god, teach my soul to DEVASTATE and PROFAN jesus, teach my soul to CURSE and DESECRALIZE the holy spirit… god in heaven I, with my HATRED, three times: HATE, HATE, HATE, challenge you in Satan's Name and I proclame that: god you are my and Satans opponent, christ you are my and Satans adversary, the holy spirit you are my and Satan`s contradictor… three times I BLASPHEME the holliness of god, three times I BLASPHEME his "holy, holy, holy"… SATAN, my Father in Hell, let me FUCK god, FUCK jesus, FUCK the holy spirit, that my Mortal and Final SIN may never be forgiven by god and never deserve forgiveness by christ and mercy by the holy spirit !!!

Wszechmogący, Najwyższy i Niewysłowiony SZATANIE, posiądź mnie i prowadź do twojej Nieświetości, twojej Bezbożności… naucz mój umysł i serce Zła i Grzechu przeciwko świętości Boga, naucz moją duszę Nienawiści i pogardy dla tego, co dobre i święte w bogu, naucz mojego ducha NIENAWIDZIĆ i OBWINIAĆ boga, naucz moją duszę NISZCZYĆ i PROFANOWAĆ jezusa, naucz moją duszę PRZEKLNAĆ i DESEKRALIZOWAĆ ducha świętego… boże w niebie ja, z moją NIENAWIŚCĄ, powtarzam trzykrotnie: NIENAWIŚĆ, NIENAWIŚĆ, NIENAWIŚĆ, rzucam ci wyzwanie w Imię Szatana i ogłaszam, że: boże ty jesteś przeciwnikiem moim i Szatana, chryste ty jesteś przeciwnikiem moim i Szatana, duchu święty ty jesteś przeciwnikiem moim i Szatana… po trzykroć bluźnię świętości boga, trzykrotnie BLUŹNIĘ jego „święty, święty, święty”… SZATANIE, mój Ojcze w Piekle, pozwól mi JEBAĆ boga, JEBAĆ jezusa, JEBAĆ ducha świętego, aby mój GRZECH ŚMIERTELNY i OSTATECZNY nigdy nie został przebaczony przez boga i nigdy nie zasługiwał na przebaczenie przez chrystusa i miłosierdzie przez ducha świętego !!!

Glory to you, SATAN, my One LORD who leads my body to SIN, my One Father who leads my mind to DARKNESS , my One Creator who leads my heart to EVIL, One God who leads my spirit to BLASPHEMY, my One Savior who leads my soul to HATE !!! Praise by to SATAN who saves me and leads me to Damnation in Hell !!! AVE SATANAS !!!

Chwała Tobie, SZATANIE, mój Jedyny PANIE, który prowadzisz moje ciało do GRZECHU, mój Jedyny Ojcze, który prowadzisz mój umysł do CIEMNOŚCI, mój Jedyny Stwórco, który prowadzi moje serce do ZŁA, mój Jedyny Boże, który prowadzisz mojego ducha do BLUŹNIEŃSTWA, mój Jedyny Zbawicielu, który prowadzisz moją duszę do NIENAWIŚĆI !!! Chwała SZATANOWI, który mnie wybawia i prowadzi na Potępienie w Piekle !!! AVE SZATANIE I!!!

Almighty Lord SATAN, day and night I pray to you:

Fill my souls with the Infernal Power, strengthen me with the Unholy Spirit, that I may persevere in my service to you, as a vessel of your sinner will... Let me to feel your devil presence; manifest to me as you will with your almighty sin and evil... Enlighten me in every way with your Blasphemy and Deny of god, christ, holy spirit... Satan, let me to tread upon your devil path Darkness directly to damnetion in your Infernal Abyss... This I ask in your Unholy Name, Almighty and Ineffable Satan, my One Lord and God, who liveth and reigneth forevermore with His Unholy, Condamned Demons in Kingdom of Hell !!!

Potężny Panie, SZATANIE, dzień i noc modlę się do Ciebie:

Napełnij moją duszę Piekielną Mocą, wzmocnij mnie Duchem Nieświętym, abym wytrwał w służbie tobie jako naczynie twojej grzesznej woli... Pozwól mi poczuć twoją diabelską obecność; ukarz się mi, jak chcesz, ze swoim wszechmocnym grzechem i złem... Oświeć mnie pod każdym względem swoim bluźnierstwem i zaprzeczaniem bogu, chrystusowi, duchowi świętemu... SZATANIE, pozwól mi kroczyć po twojej diabelskiej ścieżce Ciemności prosto na potępienie w twojej Piekielnej Otchłani... Proszę o to w twoje Nieświęte Imię, Wszechmocny i Niewysłowiony SZATANIE, mój Jedyny Panie i Boże, który żyjesz i królujesz na wieki wraz ze swoimi Nieświętymi, Potępionymi Demonami w Królestwie Piekła !!!

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