#PRIME time to enter this fandom-

[mxtxfanatic]

Bing-ge and Victim's Entitlement as Portrayed by MXTX

I was thinking about Bing-ge’s journey as an abuse victim into an abuser and how much the creation of Bing-mei is a critique on both the writing trope that creates Bing-ge as well as the societal expectations that drive it.

In the world of PIDW, one of Shen Yuan’s main critiques was about how terribly the young Luo Binghe is treated by the narrative, so much so that he views it as torture porn. From being abandoned as a baby, to being abused as a servant and watching his adoptive mother wither from sickness and die, to finding his way to Cang Qiong Mountain and suffering under a cruel shizun who then pushes him into hell, Shen Yuan finds all this unnecessarily cruel. However, Shang Qinghua knows that the trauma Luo Binghe suffers directly correlates to the enjoyment readers are meant to get out of the second half of the protagonist’s life when he becomes overpowered and primed for vengeance. Shen Yuan knows this, too, as this is the trope he girds himself with as Shen Qingqiu to work up the nerve to push his disciple into the Endless Abyss, to “earn” his happiness. However, is this a true happiness? Does the trauma justify any and all of Luo Binghe’s actions?

On the surface, Bing-ge seems happy! He is able to enact revenge on Shen Jiu—and demolish Cang Qiong Mountain Sect who acted as accomplices to his abuse—and was given narrative access to any and every woman of marriageable age who crossed his path. He is even able to destroy his world by merging the three realms with no consequences to himself. Bing-ge has seemingly reaped the twisted “reward” that having survived unconscionable abuse and abandonment from the time of his birth had sown for him, and PIDW readers were able to enjoy and defend Bing-ge’s later megalomaniacal actions directly because they had read through hundreds of pages of his ill-treatment beforehand. The worse Luo Binghe’s childhood was, the more they were willing to accept of his actions in adulthood. We see a similar thing take place in the SVSSS fandom: the reveal of Shen Jiu’s past as a child slave is used to justify his later abuse of his child disciples—children who had no hand in his trauma but who he has decided to bear the brunt of it, anyways. But Shen Jiu lived a very unfulfilling adulthood due to his unwarranted actions until his untimely death. Is Luo Binghe any different?

Enter Bing-mei: the revised protagonist who abandons revenge in pursuit of experiencing genuine affection from the only person who gave it unconditionally. No, Bing-mei doesn’t get all the girls or all the power. He does not become the emperor of all three realms and he is not an uncontested leader that all conscious beings bow to. In fact, he is very tame and controlled in comparison to his PIDW counterpart despite not having complete control of his sword that amplifies his negative emotions. But when Bing-ge slips into the world of SVSSS and discovers that, despite all of this, Bing-mei has an intact world, platonic relationships, and a shizun who loves him, he’s willing to throw it all away to experience that same life. Bing-ge is revealed to be the unhappy, unfulfilled one, because the one thing he wanted—genuine unconditional love—was the one thing that he cannot earn or forcibly take. No amount of audience hype can change the fact that Bing-ge must leave behind the happy Bingqiu couple to return to his destroyed world in his unsatisfying reality.

This isn’t just a theme in SVSSS, either; it’s present in all of MXTX’s works in how people—both characters and the irl fandom—react to antagonists and asshole characters who have experienced trauma. In mdzs: a female cultivator tries to say that Jin Ling endangering other cultivators should be forgiven “since he’s an orphan.” Jiang Cheng throws his parents’ and sister’s death around to justify being an unrepentant serial killer. Jin Guangyao cries about how much his father hates him compared to the legitimate Jin heirs that he murdered. In tgcf: Qi Rong escapes discipline at every turn because his mother had to escape with him from his abusive father, and Mu Qing’s transgressions against the marginalized are ignored because “he was poor, once.” All of these characters have their actions whitewashed both in their stories and by their fandoms at large because their defenders believe that their trauma excuses any of their subsequent behavior.

Yet, MXTX does not prescribe to this idea. Notice the pattern of how the above characters end their stories. Jiang Cheng tanks his reputation and loses the respect of his only living relative. Jin Guangyao and Qi Rong die. But Jin Ling experiences setback after setback until he adjusts his behavior, and Mu Qing had to earnestly apologize under harrowing circumstances to be forgiven. It is not characters who seek justice for being harmed who are punished in these novels but those who persevere in their entitlement to do whatever they want because they were once harmed, thereby eventually destroy any goodwill others, particularly their loved ones, had towards them. The characters who are able to contain their actions to aim only at those who wronged them or else honestly reflect on their sense of entitlement in order to change for the better become well-liked by their peers. And as for Bing-ge: his inability to change within the narrative of PIDW may have “earned” him all the material things his world could offer and the affections of an unseen audience, besides, but he misses out on true human connection and love. These are the things he can never forcibly take, because in real life, no amount of trauma would entitle him—or anyone—to those things.

#human metas mxtx #svsss #mdzs #tgcf

[arepitademanteca]

Transformers Prime has a disappointing fandom

I have never been so disappointed with a fandom as much as now…

After being a part of fandoms like The Owl House and Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and having absorbed the endless anguish of their most tragic characters artistically reflected by their fandom, I can say that it is disrespectful to Transformers Prime that it is not made enough anguish.

Where are the Bumblebee fanfics, fanarts, analysis?

HE HAS ALL THE JUICY CHARACTERISTICS OF A TRAGIC CHARACTER WITH EXPLOITABLE ANGUISH:

1) In several chapters the other bots express themselves and refer to him as much younger than them. HE IS A CHILD SOLDIER.

2) He was interrogated and tortured by the leader of the enemy group, with whom he had to continue fighting constantly.

3) As a result of the torture his larynx was destroyed, and the level of damage was so brutal that his voice box could not be repaired for millennia.

4) He was forced to leave his home planet because it had been destroyed and he had to take refuge on another planet. Now he is not only a child soldier, but he is a political refugee.

5) One of his comrades in arms, friend and family member died without him being able to do anything to prevent it. Obviously Bumblebee has lost many more teammates and friends in the past, considering how small Team Prime is.

6) He had to watch his leader/father figure almost die from an infection and the only way to save him was by entering the mind of the guy who tortured and incapacitated him to obtain information.

7) He was possessed by that same guy (seriously, Megatron leaves the kid alone) and forced him to hurt two of his friends, and everything else Bumblebee went through in the middle of the possession is up for interpretation, FANDOM WAKE UP.

8) THE SAME GUY WHO INTERROGED, TORTURED, MUTILATED, INCAPACITATED AND POSSESSED HIM, attacked him for fun and on the spot fatally injured his best friend/protege/younger human brother. Then the child abuser made fun of him in his face for it.

9) Not even 24 hours had passed when the unmentionable went to his hiding place, his SAFE PLACE, in search of an alliance, which he then betrayed because he kidnapped Bumblebee's father figure in front of his eyes.

10) He is mutilated again, he temporarily loses his T-cog, his feelings of insecurity within the group deepen slightly and when he goes to retrieve his T-cog he sees how it is almost destroyed. No one talks about Bumblebee literally holding one of his organs in his hands, it's like you see someone hugging his lung or something.

YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN, that apathy towards oneself and dehumanization (?) has POTENTIAL, if the child did not mind having an organ of HIS in his hands, I can already imagine how he reacts and treats his physical and emotional wounds. He is the type of character who hides his injuries, jokes about his traumas and in doing so traumatizes everyone around him, has a terrible sleep schedule due to nightmares, frequently dissociates, and has zero sense of self-preservation (canon).

11) This is not a trauma, but it also has the potential to cause distress in the fact that he was probably used to getting more attention for being the youngest, but suddenly this guy, Smokescreen, the same age as him, appears, and Everyone expects Bumblebee to be the one to guide the rookie, so every time the rookie makes a mistake, it will be Bumblebee's fault. Also, the new guy who never actively participated in the war, compared to Bee, who was born and fought in it all his life, turns out to be the one chosen to be the next Prime. Actually?

12) The base where he lived most of his time on earth was destroyed. It may not sound that bad, but as someone who recently lost their home to armed conflict, I can tell you that it hurts a lot.

13) He was separated from his team for a few days and when he found one of his teammates, his second father figure tells him to go away, to stay away and discourages him. Bumblebee must have felt bad because the one who convinced Ratchet to help them was not him, but Raf.

14) Other traumatic things must have happened that I don't remember, the last time I saw the series was in 2022, okAY?

15) They kidnapped their second father figure.

16) THE SAME ONE WHO INTERROGED HIM, TORTURED, MUTILATED, DISABLED, POSSESSED, HARMED HIM AND HIS FRIEND FOR FUN, KIDNAPPED HIS TWO PARENTS AND DESTROYED HIS PLANET, shot him three times, almost four, in the chest and killed him temporarily.

17) Megatron deserved it and it was more than satisfying and well done that it was Bumblebee who killed him, put an end to his power and the war, but knowingly killing can be traumatizing. Bumblebee killing Megatron in retaliation is also an ignored trauma.

18) He had to see Megatron's revived body being controlled by a god of destruction, who seemed to have something personal against him. At one point during the chase, Bumblebee thought his friends were dead.

19) He became the team leader in Optimus' absence, he was inexperienced and as a result he had two anxiety attacks in the same scene.

20) Optimus, his father figure, sacrifices himself to revive the planet.

so whERE ARE MY FANFICS? If anyone has recommendations, wants to write something individually or wants to collaborate, please write to me. This can't stay like this friends, Transformers Prime is not going to return as we would like, we the fandom have to bring it back.

Pd: English is not my native language nor do I have command over it, do not judge me for any error or lack of logic

gracias

#transformers prime #Transformers #Tfp Bumblebee #Transformers Bumblebee #maccadam #Tfp Megatron #Megatron #tfp smokescreen #tfp optimus prime #Tfp Ratchet #I want the simulation of torture and the consequences of it #Fandom #you have to wake up buddy

[fluentmoviequoter]

Confident in Us

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x confident!fem!reader (single mom)

Summary: You're confident, you keep Tim on his toes, but he realizes that it's not enough. He learns that you have a son from a previous relationship while Angela is pressuring him to ask you out, but you beat him to it.

Warnings: misogynistic comments (not from Tim), fluff, flirting, Tim gets a little nervous around r, r's son likes Optimus Prime (bc I like Transformers)

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“C’mon, babe, wake up!” you call again, holding your phone away from your face. “Okay, sorry, Angela, how can I help you?” you ask into the microphone.

“Babe? Did someone spend the night?” Angela teases.

“You know he did. Early morning calls from you are new, though.”

“We’re infiltrating a money laundering scheme. The Metro captain said you’d be a good fit to lead the operation,” she explains.

“Yeah, I can do that. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Perfect! And I’d tell you to take your time getting ready, but you always look good.”

“Back atcha.”

You end the call and yell another wake-up call with more urgency. There’s a case to be worked on, and you know you can get it done. If you can get to work, that is.

“Sergeant Bradford,” you greet as you approach Angela’s desk. “Detective Lopez.”

“Morning,” Tim replies.

You smile at him before asking Angela where your temporary team is. She tells you they’re arriving shortly and meeting in the roll call room. There’s a case file spread open on her desk, and you lean beside her to look at it.

“When do you think your captain will just realize that I’d be a great permanent fixture on your team?” you ask Tim, looking up through your lashes. “I’d only distract you boys sometimes.”

“I think that’s the major concern,” Tim deadpans.

“Granted, we wouldn’t be able to work together,” you sigh.

“Why not?”

“We’d draw too much attention, Tim. Look at us.”

You smile again and Tim shakes his head. Your confidence reads as flirtation occasionally, but Tim has always been drawn to you. He’s constantly impressed by how good you are at your job, and how aware you are of what you are worth. Your strengths and weaknesses are well-known to you, and you use them to your advantage. Most importantly, you don’t let anyone walk over you. Being a woman in the police force is hard, but you make it look effortless and do it with grace.

“Why am I in charge of this?” you ask.

“You’ve worked a laundering op before, right?” Angela asks.

“I assisted in one when I was on patrol, yeah.”

“A very successful one, from what I hear. Since you’ve been on the ground for one, you were the best choice.”

You nod before you notice the Metro team enter. As you stand and move toward Tim, he wonders if you’re this confident outside of work, or if it’s something you’ve built up to maintain your sanity in a job surrounded by men.

“Think we’ll be done by eight?” you murmur.

“Why? Have a date?” he counters.

“Something like that,” you reply with a wink. “Let’s go catch some money launderers, Bradford.”

“We’ve got three Metro teams here for this op,” the Metro captain explains as you enter. “Work together or get out of my station, is that clear?”

Overlapping replies of “Yes, ma’am” mix as you lead Tim toward the front of the roll call room. A television screen shows the layout of the warehouse you will be infiltrating, but you have to explain all the minor details. Your previous success in a place like this was due to the precision of little movements, and this will be no different.

“So, what’s the plan?” a man in the front row asks.

You nod toward him and say, “Our goal is-“

“I was asking Sergeant Bradford,” he interjects.

You smile at him as you explain, “I’m in charge of this operation, so I can answer any questions you have. Our goal is to infiltrate the operation without breaching. Once inside, we can better understand the operation. Then, three different teams will breach from the locations marked on the map.”

“‘Scuse me,” someone calls from the back.

“Yes?”

“Why leave the front side open during the breach?”

“Excellent question. This unit backs up to a storefront on the opposite side. Patrol units will evacuate that store before the raid, so there will be no exfil points nor civilian interaction.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“No problem. You have your team assignments, and we will ensure each team is in location before the infiltration. In the case of anyone exiting the building before the breach begins, immobilize and detain as quickly and quietly as possible. Are there any other questions?”

Everyone shakes their head, and you hear the first man who cut you off mutter something under his breath.

“One more thing,” their captain adds. “If any one of you have decided to feel misogynistic today, get out now. I will not tolerate you rejecting orders for any reason. One more disrespectful comment toward another officer will get you benched. Indefinitely. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the men call together.

As they leave, she apologizes to you, but you brush off her concerns with a smile. You’re used to it, and she is too.

“Thank you for letting me join this operation,” you tell her.

“Of course. I hear you and Bradford are the best,” she replies. “Prove ‘em right.”

You nod before following Tim out. There’s a bit of time until you have to change and prepare to infiltrate, and you have paperwork to do until then.

“Good work in there,” Tim says.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls, Bradford,” you joke. “See you in a bit.”

He watches you walk toward your desk. When Angela slaps his arm, though, he turns away quickly with wide eyes.

“What was that for?” he demands.

“Are you going to ask her out or not?” she sighs.

“Not.”

“Why not?”

“Um, I don’t have a death wish,” Tim says dramatically. “She does not like being hit on, you know that.”

“No, she doesn’t like being objectified. You asking her out – genuinely being interested in her – would get an entirely different response.”

Tim rolls his eyes and notices a man walking toward you. He lays a hand on Angela’s shoulder and turns her toward you.

“Hey, baby, you need someone to escort you home tonight?” the man asks, though his eyes are nowhere near your face. “No need to go home without a man one more time, right?”

“The only boy I’ll be taking home tonight is my son, so no thank you,” you reply easily.

“Son?” Tim whispers.

“You didn’t know?” Angela asks.

“No, I… Look, Lopez, the point is I don’t need her to stop talking to me because I asked her out.”

“Then don’t ask her out like that.”

“She doesn’t want anything!” Tim exclaims. “Drop it.”

You look up when his voice raises, and your brows furrow when you see him talking to Angela. They wave, and you shake your head in amusement before returning your attention to your paperwork.

“I didn’t even know she had a son,” Tim adds quietly. “She keeps me on my toes at work, and that’s enough.”

“Sure,” Angela agrees. “But what about when it’s not enough anymore?”

“So…” Tim begins as you walk down a street to reach the target location.

“Put your arm around me,” you say suddenly.

Tim doesn’t question your request as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. His eyes are on your face, and you smile as you look up at him.

“It’s busier than I thought it’d be,” you murmur. “Don’t need to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

“Not a problem. We’re going to a place that doesn’t exist anyway,” Tim replies.

“You seem… off. Are you okay to do this?” you check.

“Yeah, I’m good. Angela just pried into my personal life again. Made me question things, for some reason.”

You chuckle and shake your head against Tim’s forearm. “Trust me, I know that situation all too well. She’s been trying to get me to start dating since my son got old enough to be left with a babysitter.”

Tim hums and you realize he may not have known as much about your personal life as Angela. You don’t talk about your home life much at work for a couple of reasons, but the biggest is your concern about the comments you’d get. Being a cop is hard enough, but a cop who is a single mother is much different. The things that the men you work with would say require a level of patience that you don’t have, and your confidence can’t conceal that.

“We’re here,” Tim alerts as you reach the entrance.

He removes his arm from your shoulders and opts to take your hand as he opens the door and leads you inside. The false front, Coo-Coo Cash Checking, is tiny, though you suppose they need as much room as possible for their backdoor counterfeiting business.

“Welcome, folks,” a man says as he steps to the desk. “What can I help you with?”

“My girlfriend and I are looking to buy a house but can’t get approved for the loan we need. A friend of mine told me you, or your boss, Malcolm Dmitri, could help,” Tim explains.

The man nods at the mention of the code word and steps back. “Sure, we can. Mr. Dmitri is in a meeting right now but should be done in about five minutes. Mind waiting?”

“That’s perfect,” Tim replies. “Thank you, sir.”

The door closes behind him and you turn toward Tim.

“Something feels off,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

He looks around, but there isn’t much to see in the five-foot-deep entryway where you stand. You rise to your tiptoes and look over the desk, but there’s nothing back there, either.

“They’re going to do something unexpected,” you say. “Let’s just roll with it.”

“Within reason,” Tim argues.

“What if my reason is different than yours?” you ask, leaning against him and smiling.

“Then I’ll pull rank,” he answers, sounding breathless.

“And here I thought we were friends.”

You pout, and Tim looks away quickly. Just as you stand and prepare to apologize for going too far, the door opens again.

“Mr. Dmitri can see you now. The problem is his office is small, so it’ll have to be one at a time. He’ll see you first, Miss…” he trails off, waiting for your name.

“Walton,” you answer, making up a name quickly.

Tim squeezes your hand, but you run your finger over his palm as you step forward. He registers your signal but doesn’t like what you’re about to do.

“I’ll be right back, honey,” you promise as you walk through the door.

Tim leans back against the wall as he waits for your signal to breach. He will rush inside the moment he hears it. Not a moment before, though, because he knows you and you know what you’re doing.

As you and Tim walk out of the front door after a successful raid, you pull his hand into yours again.

“Ask me what you wanted to ask before,” you say softly. “I don’t keep my personal life a secret from you on purpose, it’s just that some of the guys at work… I know how they’d treat me if they knew I had a kid.”

“I get it,” Tim replies. “You said you’re a single mom. I guess I’m just surprised anyone would leave you.”

“I left him,” you admit. “I know what I’m worth and that didn’t always sit well with him. I wouldn’t change a thing, though, because I got an amazing son out of the deal.”

“What were you thinking?” one of the Metro officers demands as you near the rendezvous point. “Going in there alone was stupid!”

“I had the situation under control,” you reply calmly.

Tim drops your hand and levels his gaze on the man before you. He’s too close to you, but Tim won’t step in unless he has to. You can handle yourself, he knows that, but it doesn’t keep him from getting angry with people who talk down to you.

“Clearly! They could’ve taken you in a second!” he replies. “How do you deal with her, Bradford? You just let her waltz into a death trap.”

“She is good at what she does,” Tim answers. “And you would do well to treat her like the cop she is and not my assistant. This is her operation, so stop questioning her decisions.”

“Oh, she’s got you on a tight leash, Bradford.”

“That’s enough,” you interrupt, your friendly smile long gone. “I know what I am doing, and since you clearly have no trust in me as a member of your team, you can go.”

“That’s not your call, girlie.”

Tim steps forward, but his Metro captain approaches before he can say anything.

“She dismissed you, officer. That means go. Now.”

The officer rolls his eyes and stomps as he pushes against your shoulder to get past. You shake your head before you ask if all of the suspects are in custody.

“Every one of them,” the captain answers. “Excellent work in there.” “I appreciate that,” you reply. “Sergeant Bradford was a great asset in there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Reviews are coming up soon.”

She winks at Tim before she pats your shoulder and returns to the mobile command unit. You exhale and roll your shoulders back to stand straighter.

“I’m sorry,” Tim offers.

“I don’t let it affect me anymore. My confidence threatens their insecurity, so they try to knock me down. I’ve gotten very good at standing my ground. But I meant what I said, you were great in there; couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I wasn’t even with you,” Tim argues.

“Yes, you were. I knew that you’d be there the moment I signaled. That’s why I was okay going a few steps further alone because you had my six.”

“Always.”

“There is one thing I’d like to ask you to do, though,” you begin. Tim nods, and you request, “Whatever Angela wanted you to do, go do it. She looks out for our best, even when it just feels like pointless meddling.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure, you can.”

“No, I really-“

“Tim,” you groan, leaning back.

“She wants me to ask you out,” Tim blurts out.

You stand up to look at him, and he simply shrugs. Though you suspect why he doesn’t want to do it, based on how you usually respond to being hit on at work, you know that you would say yes before he even finished.

“I have a kid,” you remind him quietly.

“So?” Tim asks, furrowing his brows.

“That’s a non-starter for most guys.”

“Most guys are idiots, then.”

You smile as you agree. “But you’re not. So, what are you going to do?”

Tim shakes his head, so you sigh and do something for both of you.

“Tim Bradford, will you go out with me?” you ask.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m asking you out. Now, my son may have to crash the date because my sitter is supposed to leave early tomorrow, but he’s a good kid. Most of the time.”

“Okay,” Tim says. “Yeah, let’s go out.”

“See, that wasn’t so scary,” you tease. You lean toward him to whisper, “And I promise that I’m not just using you to be a good influence in my son’s life. He has all the father figure he needs in Optimus Prime.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Tim asks quietly.

“Which part?”

“The-“

You cut Tim off with a kiss on the cheek, and when your hands hit his shoulders to steady yourself, he knows that Angela was right. She can never know that, though, and it was a one-time thing. Tim pulls you into a hug before you can pull back.

“Thank you for defending me,” you tell him.

“You didn’t need it,” he counters.

“Yet you did it anyway. That makes it even better, Tim.”

“Thanks for asking me out.”

“Now that we did need. I can get another sitter so we can go on a real date.”

“No, bring your son. He’s important to you, so he needs to be a part of this. If he doesn’t like me, we go back to being work friends.”

“And if he does?”

“Then I guess I have to fight Optimus Prime.”

“Mm,” you hum, pretending to think. “I think you could take him with a little help from me.”

“A sentient robot who turns into a semi versus two human cops? You’re more confident than I thought.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, I don’t.”

You step away from Tim and smile. “Then it’s a date. Am I in charge of this operation or are you?”

“Well, you did this one so well… I’ll handle the date; you just look perfect as always.”

You gasp and point at Tim as you walk backward toward your car. “You can flirt!”

“I learned from the best,” he replies playfully. “See you tomorrow.”

“Twice!” you remind him. “And, Tim, don’t bother to brush up on your fighting skills. You’re better than Optimus, every day of the week. He’s going to adore you.”

I hope so because I adore his mom, Tim thinks. Maybe more than adore.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #the rookie abc #confident!reader #fem!reader #hanna writes✯ #requests

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

THE GOOD OMENS GRAPHIC NOVEL KICKSTARTER WILL BE LAUNCHED 1 AUGUST 2023 👀🥳🥰❤

The amazing @goodomenshq sent me an absolutely glorious ineffable package!!! 🥰🥰🥰 Whoa the absolutely beautiful and wonderful goodies! :) ❤❤❤ Thank you so much!

I am very happy to announce (with their permission) that the kickstarter for the beautiful upcoming Good Omens Graphic Novel adapted by the talented @colleendoran will be launched on the 1st of August! :) Wahoo! :)

The transcribed letter:

Good Omens: the official (and ineffable) graphic novel launching this August!

We're excited to share the news that Good Omens will be officially adapted into graphic novel form and will launch via Kickstarter on 1 August 2023, set to publish in Summer 2024. You can sign up to be notified when the project launches via bit.ly/GoodOmensGN.

Good Omens: the official (and ineffable) graphic novel follows the angel Aziraphale and demon Crowley as they find the apocalypse on the horizon, with one added problem: they seem to have misplaced the antichrist. Based on Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's 1990 novel, their story has been reprinted many times, adapted for audio, and the Amazon Prime and BBC series starring David Tennant and Michael Sheen. It has not been a graphic novel. Until now.

The graphic novel itself is being adapted by Eisner-Award-winning illustrator Colleen Doran, a long-time collaborator of Neil's, who has worked with him on projects including Chivalry and Snow, Glass, Apples. It will be published by Dunmanifestin, the publishing arm of the Terry Pratchett Estate, to ensure that the resulting book will come straight from the hearts and minds of team Pratchett, Gaiman and Doran.

We've got lots of plans, goodies, rarities and more to unveil around the project and can't wait to welcome the Good Omens fandom behind the scenes with us, We'd love if you could help spread the word about the graphic novel ahead of the Kickstarter, and can't wait to enter this new chapter of Aziraphale and Crowley with you. Join us at the end times, Team Good Omens x P.S. A sneak peek?

Good Omens HQ is the fan hub for Good Omens news and more from the Terry Pratchett Estate and Neil Gaiman. Keep up to date with GOHQ on Twitter, Tumblr and TikTok (@goodomenshq), and on Instagram (@goodomens_hq). For any queries about the Good Omens graphic novel or Good Omens HQ, contact: [email protected] Links: bit.ly/GoodOmensGN | kickstarter.com/projects/dunmanifestin/good-omens@neilhimself, @neil-gaiman, @terryandrob, @pratchettonline, @colleendoran

CAN I HEAR A WAHOO?

#good omens #terry prachett #neil gaiman #good omens graphic novel #graphic novel #colleen doran #goodomenshq #fuckyeahgoodomens #me #NGK I AM SOFT #thank youuu

[percentageweirdo]

Fantasy High stats

A summary of statistics from season 1.

I have only counted d20 rolls, and only by the players as it is pretty much impossible to track Brennan's rolls. I only counted nat 20s, nat 1s and "other rolls" since the players do not consistently announce what they got on the die. I also kept track of advantage and disadvantage but I am sure some of those slipped by me unannounced.

ALL ROLLS:

As you can see, the vast majority of rolls by the players are skill checks — just over 60%.

PERCENTAGE OF NAT 20s AND NAT 1s:

This chart is really the star of the show! It is why I started this whole godforsaken mission in the first place.

NOTE: This chart is tracking percentage of each player's individual rolls! It is not representative of raw numbers, but instead each column is relative to that player's total d20 rolls this season.

For this one I factored in the advantage and disadvantage rolls, and any way you slice it Zac still rolls the most nat 20s by far.

What surprised me was that Ally rolls proportionally the most nat 1s. That has somehow not entered into the consciousness of the fandom at all, maybe because they roll the fewest dice so the raw number of nat 1s isn't the highest. Conversely, Emily rolls the fewest nat 1s! Murph has rolled more nat 20s than Lou, but he also rolled the most dice so he rolls proportionally fewer 20s.

ATTACK ROLLS:

Gorgug and Fabian go toe to toe in most number of attacks made overall, and both get to make multiple attacks per turn. Riz shoots his arquebus a decent amount. Fig and Kristen barely attack, instead relying on spells that require saving throws. Adaine has some offensive spells, as well as an affinity for fisticuffs.

SKILL CHECKS:

The players roll perception checks more often than any other kind of check, followed by insight and investigation. They don't make any nature or survival checks. As a mystery that takes place in a large town, that absolutely tracks.

ABILITY CHECKS and SAVES:

Sometimes Brennan asks the players to make a check based on a prime ability score. Not very often though.

The saving throws the players make the most often are Dexterity and Wisdom. They don't roll any Intelligence saves.

DEATH SAVES:

There is not a single nat 20 death save in Fantasy High season 1.

OTHER ROLLS:

It is probable that Siobhan made 14 portent rolls — however, she only uses 13 of them. In the house party fight she rolls a d20 three times to see if she is able to use Blink. (Two succeed.) Lou and Emily each make a luck check this season, and in the finale Murph rolls to see if the police get there a total of 10 times. During the fight on the Bloodrush field Emily makes one joke roll to see how gross her spit is. And of course, Ally rolls an absolutely wild nat 20 in part 1 of the finale.

That's it for now! Follow for more Dimension 20 stats, and stay tuned for Bloodkeep.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #d20 fh #d20 fantasy high #dimension 20 statistics #d20 stats

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

T-48 hours to Armageddon (when we watch me finish GO Season 2), I want to make a statement. and a will.

I've been getting a lot of ominous statements from the fandom. They've become increasingly concerned for my mental stability and even survival post the season two finale (thanks guys). I feel like as mascot I need to make some kind of statement, in case I do not survive the Final Fifteen. Maybe a will. Don't worry, this contains no spoilers (?) and no speculations or fanfiction about season 3. It is simply My Dramatic Outpouring of Poetic Emotion.

Firstly, @neil-gaiman, good day to you, Neil, this is the first interview (?) I have watched of yours. And I see you said "quiet, gentle and romantic" which until now I was kind of assuming was a fandom inside joke. I'm glad I know what to expect going into the second half of season two. In case I do not survive, thank you very much for this journey, you have created a masterpiece. I think I will watch Coraline in the next 48 hours since I am living on borrowed time and I do very much want to watch that before it all ends.

Secondly, to all the maggots, thank you very much for kidnapping me and dragging me into this beautiful pain with you. I do not think I will survive the Final Fifteen. I fell for Crowley and Aziraphale too deeply. But all my love to you, and I hope you will ensure my memory lives on. Take my posts and my meagre contributions, for they are yours. Maybe @1800ineedshelp, Lina, you can ask the maggot choir to sing Eleimon Aegovoskos (for those unaware, that is a hymn I wrote for Crowley) at my funeral, if my body is found and not discorporated. @queermarzipan I need you to mention my love for Drarry.

I have already put a POTC post in queue, maybe I'll add a few more so I linger painfully on this site even after my mortal remains are resigned to the stardust that Crowley once created.

Thirdly, @howmanyholesinswisscheese, please make the funeral arrangements and pay for them, thank you. You can play Someone to Stay if you like as you cry over your beloved late son (me). I hope I was your favourite (only) problem child and family disappointment.

Those who made art for me, @ivory--raven, @1800ineedshelp, @madfangirlontheloose, @arkytiorlecter, my deep thanks, let it be displayed in lieu of a photo.

Lastly, OFMD fandom, I'm sorry I entered so late. Make sure the show is renewed. Fly your gay flag high for me.

I still have two days, but I'm taking precautions because I'm very organised like that. Take my love, maggots, all of you, I couldn't tag everyone though I want to. May the nightingales sing again.

Your mascot and prophet, very, very dramatically yours,

Asmi

#IM SORRY GUYS I'M A DRAMATIC LITTLE SHIT #good omens mascot #good omens #good omens fandom #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #crowley #maggots #lgbtqia #aziraphale #neil gaiman #aziracrow #azirowley #ineffable fandom #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable idiots #good ineffable omens #shit post #but make it #emOtiONAl #good omens funny #if my pain is fuNNY TO YOU ALL #which it apparently is #david tennant #michael sheen #ineffable divorce #final fifteen #good omens 2

[neil-gaiman]

TW: Self-harm, slight mention of suicide, eating disorder, sexual stuff, drugs, etc.

I don't know how to start this, so I'll just write it down (I put a TW, in case you reblog it).

In 2019 just a few days before Good Omens premiered on Prime Video, I started self-harming, I was about 10/11 years old, I started doing it because of problems with my identity, problem with my family and the bullying I received.

I started watching the show and I must admit that from there I started to be your fan, I was not good at searching for information so I just read Coraline and watched GO.

In 2020 I had one of the worst moments of my life, I was 12, I started having problems with food, my weight and appearance, and I hadn't accepted that I was trans yet.

Everything that had happened last year came back stronger, I found even more series that I liked and finally I could read Good Omens in physical (i mean, physical book).

In 2021 was literally the worst year, I was raped by a teacher at 12 (in December, about 17 days before my birthday), a few days after I turned 13, I started getting high, sexualized to get male affection from men much older than me, and my eating disorder and self-harm were much stronger.

The only thing that calmed me down from all that situation for at least a while were your books, movies and series.

Then, in 2022, my vids improved a little, I got off drugs and bulimia, self-harm was getting regulated, and at the end of the year I stopped self-harming, I also stopped caring what people said and started to enter the English community of my favorite fandoms (I learned more English with that, than with my private lessons lol).

And today, in 2023, at the age of 14, I'm happy to be your fan, I'm proud of your work, and very excited for the second season.

Thank you for saving my life, I love you. (I'm not afraid to admit that you saved my life from committing suicide 6 times).

I’m so glad you are here. Well done!!

[rosie-kairi]

I don't think I've ever really spoken in depth about how much I love Lauriam as a character, which is honestly a crime because out of all the Union Leaders I'd probably have to crown him as my number one favorite.

I love Lauriam not only as a character (pink, sibling plotline) but also as an example of how much prequels can recontextualize an entire character. While Ventus is also an example of this, I think we all knew that he probably had some sort of messed up past that landed him in the clutches of Old Man Xehanort. Marluxia, on the other hand, had absolute zero background to infer from his screentime. He was the villain, you're not really meant to think too hard about him and how he became who he is because he sucks and you hate him.

I don't think there were many people chomping at the bit wanting to get info about his past. Like, it would've been cool to get, but I don't think a background for Marluxia was necessary for the story at that point in time. His role was to establish the organization as a threat to Sora and the other guardians, and that was pretty much the extent of it.

And then Union X happened, and Lauriam entered stage right into a tragedy where his fate was already sealed. You look at Lauriam with his polite little smiles and cute little chibi animations and immediately think "what is this man up to" because you are already primed to distrust him on principle due to COM. Did not help his case that he was introduced in the cutscene immediately following the death of Strelitzia, painting a huge target on his back. Fandom reaction was hostile towards him before he was even fully on screen. Occam's Razor, the most obvious answer is the correct one. Lauriam is the obvious suspect because of his actions in the future, so he must be the killer. Literally him just existing in a scene caused more ire to build against him.

But then the Shift Pride cutscene happened. Then it was revealed that Lauriam and Strelitzia -the girl who so many thought he killed- were siblings, and that he was quite worried for her wellbeing, actually.

Every cutscene a clearer picture of who Lauriam is a person was painted, and soon you stopped looking at him with distrust, and it's replaced with the question of "What happened to you?". What happened that caused Lauriam, someone who has been shown to care deeply and immensely about the people he loves, someone who is willing to do anything for those people, become Marluxia? It became increasingly obvious that they were incredibly different people, even though Marluxia came from Lauriam.

And this isn't to say that there was no connection between the two. Lauriam seemed to be incredibly self-confident in his abilities, enough to be pretty steadfast in his resolve to square up with goddamn Maleficent of all people (even if he did get his ass kicked). There's also his very intense anger, as seen in the cutscene where Ventus confesses to being the reason why Strelitzia "vanished", as well as a bit in the scene where he's at Ventus's bedside.

This is all to say that Lauriam was not a necessary addition to the khux cast, he very well could've been swapped with a random new character and the plot probably would've worked fine, all things considered. But because it's Lauriam -the somebody of a character that has already been established to be a prick- it gives his whole plotline a hell of a lot more punch. If it was a new character, people probably wouldn't have been as distrusting of him right of the bat, the sibling plotline would be sweet, but because it's Lauriam and we know how he ends up in the future, it becomes a hell of a lot more tragic. How did the change happen? He's tragic because we know that whatever he does will lead to the outcome of him losing his heart and falling to darkness, something that is essentially the exact antithesis of the keyblade wielder mission statement.

Lauriam is someone who was made to struggle against the destiny that was written out for him with a neat pen and ink, and someone who was doomed to fail in every regard. He could not save his sister, he could not defeat Maleficent, he could not help Ventus, he could not keep his memories when thrown into the future. He couldn't do anything about it.

I realize this is all rounding back around to "the inherent tragedy of prequels" but it's true.

...and yeah that's basically it. I have a lot more thoughts about this guy but I feel like if I write anymore I'm just gonna sound completely incomprehensible bc I'm very tired. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to sparkle on

#Rosie rambles #lost the plot a bit but I think it's decently comprehensible #kingdom hearts union x #khux #kh lauriam #lauriam #kh marluxia #marluxia #character analysis #meta #i think

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Taking Care

Papa Emeritus IV x Nanny/Sister of Sin!Reader

TW: smut obviously, cheating, mentions of alcoholism and drug use, child does get hurt at one point but they are okay!, mentions of pregnancy, breeding smut, mentions of condoms in case that makes you uncomfy. Let me know if there's anything else I need to add, things get a little heavy in this one.

Word Count: 10.4k

This started off as a dirty little scandalous idea, actually based on a previous fandom I used to write for, and it turned into a big thing... As all of my fics do. I don't think I'm capable of writing anything short anymore. Also @sweatandwoe came up with the title 😉

Anyway! Papa IV has a horrible Prime Mover who is never present at home, and it leads to him developing some feelings for the nanny. Enjoy!

𝘓𝘢 𝘢𝘮𝘰... Copia thought to himself as he fondly observed the sight before him, framed by the paned glass door leading to the balcony: his little one bouncing on your hip as you cooed at him, trying to get the bambino back to sleep. The antipope had returned home late from the ministry offices, as he often did, entering his suite completely exhausted, kicking off his shoes to let his aching feet relax, perking back up a bit upon laying eyes on you.

Eyes glossed over as a cheery little smile came to his face, he simply watches as you saunter back and forth, his progeny lulling back to sleep in your arms. Before he even realizes, his sore feet carry him right out to the balcony, making his presence known.

"Oh! Good evening, Papa!" you whisper, not wanting to rouse the little one.

"No need for such formalities, 𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢..." he mocks you with a wink.

A faint blush colors your cheeks; always so charismatic, even when he's as tired as he looks. Luckily before you can put more thought into it, baby Giovanni stirs a little, sitting back up and eyes popping open.

"Sh, sh, shhh..." you hum pressing a kiss to his little head.

"D-deh..." he whines reaching out towards Copia.

Letting out a little shocked gasp, you feign, "Who's that? Who is he, huh? Is that Daddy?"

With the sweetest giggle, the little one exclaims for his Da-da, reaching out again.

Copia swoops right over, playfully bending down to smooch his only son, getting a bit of black face paint on the soft fuzz of the little one's head. "Whoopsies, we'll have to wash you up, piccolino," he runs a finger delicately over his little cheek.

As Copia stands up straight again, and his baby stretches right back out for him.

"I think someone wants Daddy, yeah?" you try to urge your boss to take the bundle in your arms.

Instead, he does the unexpected. Wrapping an arm around the small of your back, he pulls you flush to him, cocooning his son between you. You and Copia both have an arm supporting the baby, as he holds you both close to him.

"Someone wants Daddy, sì?" he asks, and you're not sure if that was for you or Gio. Either way, it draws another blush to your cheeks.

Copia looks you over, eyes softening now that his little one is safe between you. In your avoidance of eye contact, you didn't see him lean in, only feeling his lips press softly to your forehead; surely you would have a mark as his child did. The softest gasp escapes you; it isn't lost on you that things had not been well for some time between him and his Prime Mover...

Maybe you were reading too much into it. Perhaps he was just being affectionate. You knew he could be handsy, and he'd had a long day; he was probably just seeking a moment of comfort before bed.

"Let's go put him down for the night, eh?" Copia motions to his baby boy.

You were so lost in thought, you hadn't even noticed he drifted back off. Snapping back into action to take him to bed, Copia stops you, scooping the bundle from your arms, giving you a warm smile as he disappears back inside to the nursery connected to his bedroom. You trail behind the man to make sure he won't need help with anything.

Laying the little one in his basinet, Copia offers him one last goodnight kiss and jokingly promises not to disturb him again. The man turns to see you standing in the doorway, illuminated by the soft glow of the night light in the room.

"I should retire to bed before he wakes again in a few hours," you dutifully remark, eyes cast down and thumbs twirling together.

Gloved fingers brush your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, "It's a blessing having you here." Softly he cups your jaw, while his other hand grips your waist, effectively pinning you to the door frame. "May I kiss you, cara mia?"

Wide eyed, you stare up at him as about a million thoughts race through your mind. 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘱𝘢? 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶... 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬? 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯... 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬. 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦? 𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘯...

Copia inhales and starts to straighten up, "It's quite alright if you don't want to, cara. I do apologize if I made you uncomf-"

Snapping out of your thoughts, your arms snake around his neck and your lips crash into his. Immediately, his hands cradle the back of your head and your waist, keeping you flush against him. The way his mouth moves against yours is sinful to say the least; he's quick to use his tongue, tracing it across your bottom lip before giving it a quick nip with his teeth. It was masterful really.

Within seconds, your mouth was giving him access, his tongue desperately wanting to meet yours, which drew a small whimper from you. While he moved excitedly within your mouth, you were more hesitant. Stupid as it may sound, you weren't sure you wanted to tempt him more; you had already totally crossed the line and disrespected your Prime Mover.

You know Copia isn't the kind to cheat, but he's been so miserable lately, always arguing with her, only for her not to remember a thing because she's so intoxicated. She was always out at parties and hardly ever home, and when she was in his suites, she was practically out of her mind. He's been trying so hard to get her the help she needs, but she won't take it. She likes the money, the power, the drink and drugs her position can afford her more than the life she's made here in the Abbey. It's sad really, especially with the baby involved.

The heat of the kiss had simmered down a lot and Papa slowly pulls away from you, searching your eyes for what went wrong. "I'm sorry, Papa, I shouldn't have- It was completely inappropriate of me to-" You try to pull away from him, but you only manage to slide your hands down to his chest before his grip on you returns, holding you close.

He swiftly pulls you outside the child's nursery and lightly clicks the door shut, so as not to disturb him.

"Papa, I'm- I'm so sorry..." It barely comes as a whisper.

"For what, tesoro? Giving me the kiss that I offered to you first? Now that's the real slight against me," he quips playfully, giving you a warm smile.

You hated to admit it, but it felt so nice being held so close to him. He always smelled of expensive cologne, it was heady getting to take in the scent at such proximity. All that consumed your mind in that moment was laying your head on his chest, so you did. Forehead in the crook of his neck, your eyes flutter closed and take in the soft moment.

Rubbing gentle circles into your back, his voice rumbles against your ears, "You're probably sleepy, piccolina. Let's get you to bed." Without another word, he leads you right down the hall to the guest room that was all yours. You never really returned to the Sisters of Sin quarters since you were the full time caregiver to the Emeritus heir.

It could get lonely at times, so you were grateful for the days when other Siblings would be assigned to work with you, whether to give you a break or to take Giovanni on an outing like a picnic or to the beach. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘢𝘱𝘢 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳... Sleepily, you yawn as you arrive at your door.

Copia opens the door for you, stopping at the threshold. A gentleman even in his own home. "Goodnight, cara mia."

"Goodnight, Papa," you mumble, hands returning to his chest.

He couldn't help himself; he leans in pressing another kiss to your lips, fingers tangling in your hair for a brief moment before pulling away again. You may have whined at the loss; you aren't sure in your sleepy state. Looking up at him, the man bites his bottom lip, and only then do you realize how smudged his face paint is, especially around his mouth. Copia simply nods at you one final time before closing you in your room, and you let out a groan, knowing you should wash all the black and gray off of your face before bed.

• • •

The next morning you emerge from your room a little earlier than normal and in a bit of a tizzy, because Giovanni is already crying and that's not like him. Turns out he just needs a diaper change, but of course he's hungry afterwards. 𝘐 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘋𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺.

Baby in tow, you head to the kitchen to warm up his bottle. You pass Copia in the living space, adorned with a little couch and TV, as he's having his morning coffee and reading the newspaper; he really could be a stereotypical old man sometimes. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴.

"Up so early, you two?" He sets his mug down, promptly following you to the kitchen.

"Yes, he was extra whiny this morning, so I couldn't put him off any longer," you explain.

It was pretty rare to see Copia before he left in the morning. He was always up so early and home so late. This morning he was already dressed and face painted; you were sure he was getting ready to walk out the door any minute.

As you reach for the kettle to warm some water for the baby's bottle, you feel a large hand on the small of your back, and suddenly you're acutely aware of the fact that you are only in your silky nightgown. You hadn't had time to put on your habit this morning.

"Let me help, Stellina, I don't get to do enough for the little guy," Copia chuckles at the little one, pinching his cheek before moving to warm up the water.

You turn your attention back to keeping the little one calm, as he could get quite cranky when he's hungry. The antipope stops to admire the sight before him as the kettle heats up: your undivided attention on his child, the curve of your hip holding him, the bare skin of your collarbones and shoulders. It has his mind drifting to all the places he'd like to mark on you; you were just so motherly, even though you had none of your own... He'd like to be the one to give you one, or many.

Just as the pot starts to spit and sputter, before it can reach boiling, Copia quickly pours it into a large bowl, submerging one of the many bottles you kept ready in it to warm the formula up.

You lightly press a kiss to baby Gio's head as he laughs at his father for some unknown reason.

"What's so funny, huh?" he turns and gets right in the baby's face, eyes wide and smile big.

"Who's that?" you coo.

"Da... D-" he babbles; he was still learning his first words.

"Close enough, eh?" Copia giggles before gasping and covering his face with his hands.

"Oh no, where's Daddy?!" you feign looking for him.

A burst of laughter comes from the little one when Copia reveals his face again. Peekaboo always did the trick.

By now the bottle would be warm enough, so the man slides an arm under his child, taking him from you. Quickly tossing him up in the air, the baby squeals happily, as he settles into his father's arms. As Copia reaches for a towel and the bottle, the infant points at you, "Mama!" It was the clearest word he'd ever said.

"Oh no, sweetie, I'm not-" you start, but Copia finishes it.

"Sì? She is kinda like your Mama, yeah?" He bounces the baby and gives him the bottle.

"Copia... I'm not his mother. She'll be pissed."

"She's never here. You're all he knows. Satanas, 𝘐'𝘮 not even here as much as I'd like to be. You'll be the only reason he turns out right," he ponders out loud, face looking forlorn at the thought.

"Well... Maybe we should plan something? Give him a Daddy son day, yeah?" you suggest.

"I shouldn't only be around for the fun times. You deserve more help, and he deserves for at least one of his parents to be here for him," Copia asserts, leaving no room for argument. "I'll go in late today. I want to help you get him ready this morning. And tomorrow, I'll come home early."

You weren't sure how Sister Imperator was going to like that, but it seems he's made up his mind, and you certainly weren't going to complain about seeing him more.

• • •

Copia kept to his word and stayed through the baby's entire morning routine, burping him, getting him washed up and dressed for the day. And of course he didn't leave you without a kiss.

The next day, he arrived to his papal suite early, just as he said, and helped you fix dinner. Normally it was just you and the baby, so you ate whatever was around; you weren't above eating sliced up hot dogs and applesauce. But since Papa was home and wasn't used to eating that way, he helped you cook, making pasta, alfredo sauce, and some broccoli and zucchini for a side.

You spoon fed Gio a jar of baby food while Copia worked his magic at the stovetop. Sleeves rolled up and apron donned, he checks every pot and pan diligently, tasting and adding ingredients where necessary. He really was built for this; it's a shame he isn't able to be home more.

Once he was done, your Papa insisted on you taking it easy for the evening. From pulling out your chair at the dinner table to fixing your plate, you weren't doing a thing. It felt unreal, like you shouldn't even be there if you weren't doing your job, but it also felt nice to have him doting over you, even if it was wrong. Copia even chopped some noodles really small for his son to try; Gio was going to be a mess later, but he needed a bath anyway.

Which after the delicious meal, Copia handled that too. He was perhaps a little inexperienced and ended up covered in water himself, but he was so happy to kneel next to you on the bathroom tile and take care of his little one. And seeing Copia holding a bundle of towels afterwards was probably the cutest thing ever.

"Go wash up yourself, Stellina. I'll put il bambino down, I picked out his pajamas and everything. Meet me back in the main room for a movie, hm?" The man softly grabs your hand, kinda like he was asking you on a date.

"Oh, o-okay," you bite your lip.

"You do not have to if it would not make you happy, tesoro." You were both treading new waters.

"No, no. I'll be there." You offer him a smile.

He returns it, happy you accepted his offer. "Bene. See you then," he gives you a wink before heading off to the nursery.

• • •

After your respective showers, Copia relaxed on the sofa in nothing more than a pair of silk pajama pants that left little to the imagination. You try to avoid eye contact with a certain... outline, as you enter the room, donning a few more layers than him. He didn't wear a stitch of paint and his hair was still damp.

He admires your look of cozy pajama shorts, a tank top, and a short robe loosely tied over top. Moving to lie on his side, Copia pats the spot in front of him, meaning you need to squeeze in right next to him on the little seat. It seemed especially small now at the thought of having to share it with him.

And it's not that you don't want to. You just knew what it could lead to, and that makes you hesitant. The thought of cuddling up next to your boss, your Papa, and his Prime Mover could walk in the door at any moment, although it was unlikely.

"Is okay, tesoro, I'm nervous too," the man admits to you, "but I desire to be closer with you." Apparently, he means physically closer as he slides an arm around your waist as you sit next to his lounging form. He quickly catches your hand, kissing your knuckles. "C'mon, cara, get comfortable," he urges you, "Lie down with me if you'd like."

You oblige him, laying on your back with him still on his side beside you, faces mere inches from one another. "Hey," you greet him, a nod to the nearness.

"Hi," he replies, looking over the features of your face that he adores so much.

You'd never really gotten to look into his eyes like this before and take in the lack of pigment in that white iris; it's fascinating the way it nearly glows, and so well balanced by the warm golden hues present in his green eye.

"You're a good dad, Copia." You're not sure what prompted it, but after all the work he'd put in this evening, he deserved to hear that. And you could tell the work wouldn't end there; he wanted to be more present in his child's life.

"Grazie, Stellina," he gingerly lays his arm across your waist, "I couldn't do it without you."

Between his praises and his fingers tracing shapes along your side, your cheeks betray you and blush a deep shade. Scanning your face for any indication he should stop, he slowly presses a few small pecks to your jawline, and he catches you in a passionate kiss before asking what movie you'd like to watch.

After settling in on a classic you'd both seen before, you turn to your side, so Copia is spooning his body against yours, propped up just so that you can both see the large screen. With his warmth settled all around you, worry crossed your mind that you may not make it through the entire movie...

He was just so soft and warm... inviting... His breath at the nape of your neck soothing your heavy eyelids-

𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵- 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦... 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸?

Keeping your eyes glued to the screen, you subtly arch your back, pretending to stretch, feeling out the... 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 behind you. When you receive a stifled groan from your Papa, feeling his erection pressed tight against your backside, your inquiry is answered.

His arm draped around your waist tightens its grip, keeping you oh so close to him; you feel him let out a hot shaky breath before pressing a kiss to your neck. The feeling immediately sends a spark running through you as his mouth warms up your sensitive skin.

Your fingers lace with his as your ass wriggles against him again, earning a wanton moan from your Papa.

"Dolcezza... Look what you do to me," he whispers next to your ear.

"Papa," you breathe out, turning to catch his lips in a fierce kiss, the movie long since forgotten about. Quickly into the kiss, you're shifting onto your back, fingers tangling in his hair, to give him better access to your body.

His fingers delicately trace your jaw and neck, a sharp juxtaposition to the way his lips attack yours, needy and starved for attention. His lips deserved to be kissed like this every day; you couldn't understand why his Prime Mover would throw away the opportunity. Speaking of...

"Copia," you pull away from him suddenly, chests heaving as you both seek to fill your lungs again.

"Sì, bella mia? What is on that pretty little mind?"

Between the way his words make your heart swell and the shaft trapped against your hip, what you need to tell him fumbles on your lips. "We, uh... Copia, we- we shouldn't."

"Mm..." he grunts, "we shouldn't." He leans up to kiss your forehead, "But I want to. I want you. What do you want, cara mia?" He caresses your cheek again.

"I-" you look up for a minute, taking a deep breath, "I want you, too," you whisper, looking right into his eyes, like you were afraid to admit that you wanted your boss. But you do. He's damn near perfect! He's your Papa. He's the one you swore your vows to when you became a Sister of Sin. He's so devoted to his work, to the church, to his followers. He's a good dad. Damn it, you can't understand how she doesn't want him.

If his Prime Mover wasn't going to take care of him, then you would.

Your lips crash back into his, fingertips raking along his scalp harshly, causing him to rut his hips against you, desperate for your touch. As you moan against each other's mouths, his hand explores your body, sliding down your side, your hip, your thigh. Fingers trail up inside your shorts, teasing at the fabric of your panties.

You nearly whine in anticipation, only just now realizing how much you wanted his fingers inside you. Taking your little noise as a good sign, Copia slides his hand between your legs, urging your thighs apart and fabric out of the way as he runs two fingers through your slick folds.

Just to accentuate his actions, he draws your bottom lip between his, nibbling at your swollen flesh, which leaves you room to let out a breathy moan. "Cara..." he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes blown wide with lust for you, "so wet for me..." He bites his lip, pushing those two fingers deep inside you. Gasping loudly at the feeling, your hands roam his bare skin across his neck, collarbone, chest. He ruts into you at the same pace that he pushes his fingers in and out, eyebrows furrowed, clearly fighting the urge to rush right into things.

"... feels so good, Papa. So good," you praise him, fingernails scratching at him.

"Sorella... I could say the same to you," he pants, brows softening as he presses a kiss to your cheek. How he managed to be so soft yet build such a fire between your legs made no sense to you, but you revel in the dizzying feeling of it all. You feel your walls petal around his digits thats he works in and out of you, thumb frequenting your clit, making you arch for him. "So tight, so warm, Sorella. I can't wait to feel you fully, amore."

"Copia," you drag his name out, "Copia, I need you." His duochromatic eyes search yours, and when your hand snakes down to grip his hot girth, he doesn't have to be told twice.

He curls his fingers sharply one good time, making you mewl out his name again, and pulls them out of you. Quickly, fingers rush to shove your too many layers off to the floor; first the robe, then the shorts, before he pulls you up off the couch, walking you backwards towards his room, lips never leaving yours.

Upon the back of your knees hitting the foot of the bed, the antipope shoves you back on the lofty mattress. Immediately he's on top of you, moving you back onto the pillows. After throwing your tank top across the room, his mouth latches onto your collarbone, sucking a sizable love mark there, fingers tangling into your hair. His other hand found your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as his eyes flicked up to yours to make sure he wasn't going too far.

Your fingers grant him permission with a gentle scratch on the head, and his mouth moves to suck on the soft flesh of your bosom. Toying with the waistband of your panties, he tugs them down, sitting back on his haunches as he flings them off. He leaves you on the bed to free himself from those devilish silk pants, erection springing free, heavy with lust, as he reaches into the bedside drawer to pull out a condom.

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦...

"Are you ready, cara mia?" he prompts, almost like a nervous teenager doing it for the first time.

Scanning over his body, completely bare to you from his messy hair to his flushed chest, bushy happy trail, and leaky shaft, you nod your head, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "Please, Copia."

Without another word, he ripped the little package and rolled the protection onto himself before climbing back on top of you. It felt good to have him there, like he belonged this close to you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, he lined himself up with you. He worked gently, as if he might break you if he did what he really wanted to do. Really, it was romantic the way he rocked his hips ever so slowly, cradling your head in his hand, his eyes fluttered closed as he exhaled what felt like all the air in his lungs, nose nuzzling against the side of your neck.

You whine for more as he languidly fills you, his girth pressing on all your walls; you were grateful to have been partially stretched by his fingers earlier. Looking down at him, you bite your lip before pressing a light kiss to his forehead. He meets your eyes, pressing a kiss to your jawline in response.

Finally, it feels like he's bottomed out in you, and his knees dig into the bed as he gives one final push, that last little bit feeling so much more sensational than all the rest as he makes contact with that sweet spot his fingers teased earlier. Letting out an airy whimper, your eyes screw shut as he stays put, taunting the spot without moving.

"P-p-mmm... papaplease-" you whine for him to end his torture.

His cock twitches inside you, and a wicked grin forms on his lips, knowing what he's doing to you. He hasn't even moved yet and you've probably already forgotten your name. It may have been a while since he'd gotten any action, but he was happy to see he hadn't lost his touch.

After what feels like an eternity, he pulls out a bit, relieving the pressure on that spot deep inside you. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, and he slides right back in, his tip kissing your sweet spot. Gasping as your thighs tighten their grip around him, he grins again, this time settling just above you to kiss your nose as you take on his assault.

Moving slowly at first, he relaxes into the pleasure of you: the way your delicate fingers curl into his hair, the way your jaw hangs open in pleasure, your eyes looking up into his longing for one another... How long you'd pined for one another without even realizing it; he'd wanted you from the moment he'd met you, seeing the way you cared for his progeny better than anyone else could.

With each thrust he wants you to know how much he cares for you, wants for you, needs you. Tears of lust and longing stain his lashes as he loses himself in the feeling of you surrounding him. As if to add to what he was already feeling, you pull him into a sweet but spicy makeout. His hips pick up pace, needing more.

"Dolcezza... I don't think I'll last..." he lets you know.

"Me either, Papa. Touch me, please."

Obliging you, his hand snakes between your bodies, the rough pad of his middle finger sending a jolt through you as he finds your clit. Between that and the treatment of your g-spot, you're cumming in seconds, growing impossibly tighter around his length each time your muscles convulse.

His lips find yours again, hating to muffle the sounds coming out of you, but desperately needing to kiss you. "Stellina... Ti amo, Stellina. Così tanto... Ho bisogno di te nella mia vita," he cries out for you as he spills into the condom and goes limp on top of you.

You cradle his head against your chest, and for a moment, he wasn't unlike his little one sleeping in the next room, needing your affection. You kiss the top of his head, nuzzling into his messy hair, and he returns the sentiment by nibbling on your earlobe, earning a giggle from you.

With a quick peck on the cheek, he rolls off of you, heading to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth to clean you up. His aftercare is nearly as good as the lovemaking, as his lips trail behind the terry cloth, leaving a kiss wherever he wipes and soothes your skin.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" you blurt out.

"What is that, cara mia?" Copia tosses the rag aside and wraps an arm around your waist, cuddling into you.

"That... That you love me," you bite your lip, "and I think you said something about your life? I don't know Italian as well as you obviously..." you trail off.

"Mi dispiace, tesoro, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," he caresses your cheek, searching your eyes.

"No, no, you didn't," you tell him, also stroking his cheek.

"I just lose control of myself when I, uhhh, when mia signora makes me feel good," he smiles and taps his fingers on your collarbone, "I hope you know, cara, that I-"

"I love you, too." You stare at him like you'd just been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

"Oh, Stellina... I didn't know you would feel the same," he admits.

"Of course, I do, Papa. You're... perfect. Who wouldn't love you?"

"Well, I can think of one person," he gives a disgusted half smirk before chewing on his cheek. It wasn't lost on you all the times Copia's Prime Mover had walked out on him, but not before screaming and arguing at the top of her lungs about how much she hated him.

"Hey, hey, don't let her ruin your night. She's ruined too many of them already." You pull him closer, seeing him fight off the anger.

He looks up at you, face softening, "You're right. I'm letting her get to me, when I should be confessing my love to you," he chuckles softly, fingers walking up your arm.

"Yes, you should, Papa. Confess away," you sigh and lean in for another kiss.

"Ahhh, ti amo, principessa mia," he starts dramatically, "sei la mia vita, the very breath I breathe..." You both share a laugh at his little act. "Really, cara mia, I've loved you a long time. And it's supposed to feel wrong, but instead it just feels like... Like what it should've always been. Like you should be the one I'm with. Like you should be il mio bambino's mother."

"Copia," you whisper, tears welling up. You know he shouldn't say things like that, but admittedly it felt nice to hear it. Actually, it made your heart soar.

He pulls you in for another fierce kiss, one that's let's you know exactly how much he means it.

• • •

"Mmm, cara mia... I think I'm calling out of work today," your lover chuckles, squinting in the bright morning sun.

"What's that, old man? Four rounds and the baby crying got you worn out?" you jab at him.

"Did we go four rounds?" He looks impressed with himself.

"Did you lose count?" You both laugh, him groaning at his tired headache. As you wiggle out of bed to go get the little one ready for the day, Copia grabs your wrist.

"Let him sleep. We should too," he begs.

"Are you really calling out today? I'm sure Sister Imperator won't be happy."

"That woman is never happy. Now get your ass back in bed," he pulls you back under the covers, holding you flush against him. "Your 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘺 ass." He grabs your backside to accentuate his point, leaning in to kiss your neck.

"I thought you wanted to go back to sleep..." You bite your lip with a cheeky grin.

"Maybe we go for round five first, sì?"

• • •

"Sh, sh, shhhh... It's okay, baby boy, it's okay," you whisper into Giovanni's ear, kissing his head repeatedly to calm his tantrum.

Copia's Prime Mover had come home, which means everything is a mess. You'd had a peaceful few days navigating your newly admitted feelings for your boss, and he was settling in to a new routine of being home more for the baby. Of course it was an added bonus that he got to spend his nights with you. But now everything felt like it had been turned on its head.

"Oh, so you think you're the best Daddy in the world since spending more time at home, huh?! Look at you all high and mighty! Making me out to be horrible!" She screams at him, loud enough that you can hear every word from your spot of the balcony. The sound had been driving the baby crazy, so you brought him out here to try to drown it out. It wasn't working as he cried and cried against you.

"Someone has to be here for him! My being here for him says nothing about you. Your own absence says it all," Copia cuts back at her, but it was the truth.

"So... you do think I'm a horrible mother?" She shrinks, wrapping her arms around herself. You try not to look, but you can't help but be concerned for your Papa.

"Of course not, tesoro..." There it is. The little shred of hope he still has for the mother of his child. He steps towards her, gently rubbing his hands over her arms. "You need help. It's not your fault, but you need help. All that stuff you pump into your body isn't good for you. Please let me help."

Finally, the little boy in your arms starts to settle down. You just hoped they wouldn't start shouting again.

She really was a beautiful woman, Copia's Prime Mover. Tall, looks that kill, charming; she really had been a great match for your Papa. Of course that was before the pressure of her position got to her. You suppose you'd be upset too if you got forced into a marriage; you'd probably go off the deep end as well. Copia had his whole life to prepare for that fate; she had a few months, and so she makes herself numb, she runs as far as she can, she resents all of it, especially him.

• • •

You wake early the next morning to a light knock at your guest room door. The sun wasn't even up, so you immediately got worried something was wrong with Gio.

Flinging the door open, you're met with the sight of a broken man. "Papa? What's wrong?"

"She's gone... She left again." He wasn't even blinking, but tears streamed from his mismatched orbs.

"Oh, Copia," you pull him into a hug, supporting him as best you can.

"She said I could get her help. She was going to get help, but she ran away again." He rests his chin on your shoulder, staring off at nothing as you lead him to sit on the edge of your bed.

"Copia... You do everything right. You try so hard for her. And for him," you nod to the nursery, "You can only help her as much as she'll let you. If she doesn't want to change, then she won't. It's not your fault; I hope you know that it isn't your fault."

He takes your hands and nods at you. He didn't have much else to say. He'd dealt with this so many times, he was almost numb to it. Almost.

You look at the clock, seeing that it was only 4am. "Let's get some more sleep, Papa. You need to rest." You stand up to lead him back to his room, but he just sits, looking up at you like a lost dog.

"Can I stay with you, cara mia?"

The simplicity of the question cut you deep; he yearned to not be alone. He didn't want to wake up to a cold empty bed once again.

"Of course, you can."

You climb back into bed, Copia happy to spoon your body. Sitting in comfortable silence, he drifts back off, getting the deepest sleep he'd had in the days since his Prime Mover had come home.

• • •

"Knock knock!" you chirp, entering Papa's office with baby, diaper bag, and picnic basket in tow.

He looks up from something he'd been reading over, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of you, "Ahhh, to what to I owe the pleasure? It's a long trek across the Abbey just to come see me." He stands up from his desk, taking the diaper bag and picnic basket from you and setting them down.

"Da-da!!!" the little one exclaims; he was getting much better at his words.

"Oooh, piccolino, come here," he replies, scooping him up too.

"He wanted to see you," you start, "and I did too... I know you haven't been able to be home as much as you want because of work, so I thought maybe we would bring lunch to you."

Paperwork had stacked up since he was taking more time to be home; he was taking this week to just try to push through as much as he could. But he's also making a plan to hire several assistants and delegate as many of these menial tasks as he can.

"Dolcezza... That is so thoughtful of you," he cups your cheek, giving you a quick peck on the forehead. "I think I could sneak away for a little while." He gives you a wink, bouncing the baby on his hip.

"It's okay if you can't! We can eat in here too. I don't want to get you in trouble with Sister..."

"Silly girl, when are you going to learn I don't care what she thinks?" He smirks at you, returning to his office chair to sign a few more papers before heading out. Somehow him holding the baby while working made him even cuter. "Besides, technically she answers to me."

Out in the gardens, Papa plays with the child, keeping him occupied while you set up lunch. Watching the little one doddle across the grass, Papa towering over him but offering his fingers as support, warmed your heart; Copia had been trying to get him to take his first steps on his own, and he was hellbent on not missing it.

"Okay, boys, time to eat!" you call over to them.

Copia immediately scoops the child up, tossing him high in the air, watching him giggle the whole way. He does it a few more times as he makes his way over to you and the picnic blanket. "Sorella, this all looks so good. Grazie. I wish I could've been some help to you," he offers his gratitude as he sits next to you, baby in his lap.

"It's okay, Papa. We know how hard you've been working, and without you, this whole Abbey wouldn't run, so really I should thank you for making it so wonderful here."

He nods his head at you, silenced by your sweet words. "Still, grazie, cara mia."

Lunch goes by peacefully, enjoying the warm sun and the image playing out before you: Copia trying to get Giovanni to eat some cut up strawberries and the little one sputtering red mush everywhere, making a mess of himself and his father.

"You'll have to change your clothes after lunch," you giggle, taking a bite of your sandwich.

"Mm, what a shame... Won't he be taking a nap then?" Your Papa gives you a smug look.

You blush at his implication and look around to make sure no one could hear. "Papa..."

"Oh, don't be so coy, Sorella. You certainly weren't shy when you went down-"

"Papa!! Hush!" you whisper yell at him, hiding your face in your hands.

He waits for you to peek through your fingers at him, and you both burst out in laughter.

• • •

What was supposed to be a quick stop back in his suite of course turned into a heated make out session on the kitchen counter.

"Cazzo, Stellina, I would take you on the fucking dinner table right now if I could," he grunts, biting at your bottom lip.

"Hmm, guess you'll just have to daydream about it in your office, huh?" You tease him.

"I'll have you there, too, if I have anything to do with it." His hands pull harshly at your hair, smashing his face against yours again. Your tongues dance with one another as your fists crumple the fresh shirt he'd put on.

When you can no longer wait for air, you push yourself off of him, breathing heavy. "You're gonna have to fix your paint, you know that?" you chuckle.

"I can see that," he wipes some gray from your lip to show you.

You both fall into giggles again, staring into each other's eyes as you reluctantly release one another to return back to your duties.

• • •

"Mm, we've probably got a few minutes before little Gio wakes up, right?" Copia grumbles into your cleavage.

You swear this man will be the death of you. He finally gets a day off, to sleep in if he wants, and the first things on his mind this morning is pounding you into the mattress... Again. Like he didn't do that all last night.

"All you ever think about is sex," you chuckle, kissing the top of his head.

"When it's as good as you are, amore mio, sì. I think about it morning, noon, and night," he starts pressing kisses across your chest, grinding his growing hardness against your thigh.

"Copia-" you start, hearing a couple thuds down the hallway, "What is that? Do you hear that?"

Seconds later, a loud shriek comes from the baby's room. In an instant you're both jumping up to throw on some clothes.

Copia slips on some pants before bolting out of his room with you hot on his trail, tying on his robe. In the hallway, you're both confronted with Copia's Prime Mover with Giovanni on her hip and diaper bag slung over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?!" The man steps right in front of her to stop her from shoving further down the hallway.

"I'm taking him and we're going!! You've got some new life now, so we're gonna move on too!" She is clearly out of her mind, her eyes bloodshot like she hasn't slept in days and bruises all up her forearms.

"What are you talking about??" Copia attempts to grab the child from her, but she snatches him away, which only eggs on his crying.

"Oh, please! You think I don't know you're fucking the nanny?! I saw the condoms in the trash last time I was here, and now she's in your robe!"

Tears of anger build up in his eyes as he turns to look at you; he felt totally helpless.

It gives his Prime Mover just enough time to push past him and into the living area. "You just want to put me away so you can move on to your new life with your newer, younger little whore!"

"Do not talk about her! She cares for your child more than you do!! While you're out on the streets strung out, she's here, doing the job you took vows to do!" he shouts to defend you.

"That was before I knew you ran a cult! All of this is just some facade to make you famous! You're a selfish bastard, leading the blind just so you won't be lonely like when you were a kid," her words cut deep.

Copia clenches both fists, a fire you'd never seen in his eyes before, as he very evenly doles out, "Give me back my child and get the fuck out."

As if on cue, the little one reaches out for you, face red as tears stream down his face, "Mama! Mamaaa!!"

You step closer to her, wanting to reach out for the squirming little bundle in her arm.

"So you think you're his mama now?" she cuts her eyes at you.

"No, I- I tried to teach him... I would never," you stammer, not knowing what to do, "Please. Please just give him to me."

"What? Let you have my husband and my baby? I think not, bitch." She moves towards the door, but you move with her, body acting on pure adrenaline now. The child reaches out, little hands latching onto your robe, and you wrap your arms around him to slip him away from her, but her fingers lock tightly around his thigh, making him shriek once again.

"Please. Please don't hurt him!! Don't hurt him!" You raise your voice at her, holding the baby tight to your chest.

The next thing you know, Copia is letting Aether and a couple other ghouls in the room, and they swiftly pounce on her, pulling her away from you and the baby you care so much about. You look down to see that his little leg was already bruising from where she'd grabbed and twisted at his skin.

You held him tightly, bouncing him around and humming something to drown it all out as Copia and the ghouls dragged her out into the hallway. The antipope was absolutely seething, and you didn't care to know what he was screaming at her.

Looking out to the sunny balcony, you feel the urge to walk out there. Honestly it was probably to soothe you as much as it was for the screaming one in your arms. Before you can move a muscle, your lover bursts back into the room, making a beeline for you. Without a word, he wraps his arms around you and Gio, resting his chin on top of your head. Fighting back tears, he holds you like that for a while.

Finally comes a soft, "I am so sorry, cara."

Pulling away just enough to look up at him, you reassure him, "It's not your fault. Are you okay?"

"I will be. Please tell me she didn't hurt you," he brushes his fingers through your hair.

"No, she didn't, but we may need to have this looked at," you motion to his son's bruised leg.

A series of emotions flash across Copia's face upon seeing the injury. Part of him blames himself for ever letting that woman get close to either of you. But he also knew that without her, he wouldn't have either of you in his life.

"Well, she's not coming back. I won't let her hurt anyone here ever again. She needs help but I can't keep letting her come back, not when I have a son who needs safety and stability."

• • •

Months went by, and it felt like a whole new chapter for all of you. Copia officially separated from his Prime Mover, announcing it at Black Mass; he always felt transparency was important in his congregation. You had moved into his room permanently, and Copia had even hired another nanny to give you a break from time to time. He didn't want you feeling like caring for his son was the only thing you were good for. He also hired assistants for his office, Siblings of Sin who were honored to take some weight off their Papa's shoulders.

Now that the two of you had less worries, you almost didn't know how to fill your time. Almost...

"Your sidekick has Giovanni out in the gardens... What do you say we have our own playtime, eh?" Copia chuckles next to your ear as you recline back against his chest on the sofa.

"Do not call her my sidekick," you laugh at your lover, "She does just as much work as me, she deserves more credit than that."

"I don't know, dolcezza... She doesn't spend the night like you do."

"Oh, and look how much trouble that got us in," you smirk, turning to catch him in a kiss. "You're not going to start sleeping with the new nanny again, are you?"

"No, no, no, no, amore mio," he whispers right in your ear, "Il mio cazzo belongs to you alone."

You huff out a laugh, "That's all? Just your 𝘤𝘢𝘻𝘻𝘰?"

"Well, perhaps il mio cuore, too..."

"Perhaps, huh?" you tease him, turning to get on your knees in between his legs. Leaning forward, you give him a single chaste kiss. "Don't I deserve a little more than 'perhaps'?" You sit back on your heels, unbuttoning your shirt slowly.

"Dolcezza..." Copia pants, already excited just from seeing your lacy bra.

"Ah, ah, ahhh. Don't 'dolcezza' me," you wink at him.

"Please-" he whines in a way that was a little unbecoming of a Papa.

Your shirt drifts slowly to the floor, and Copia reaches out to touch you, but you swat his hands away. "I don't know, Papa. Maybe I don't mean enough to you. Maybe I should just go take care of the throbbing between my legs all by myself, huh? Make you sit out here and listen while I cry out, making a mess of myself..."

He feels his cock twitch at the thought of you touching yourself in his bed.

"Stellina, please, you know I love you so..." His eyes roam your body hungrily.

"How do I know you mean it, Papa? That you aren't just saying that? For all I know, you tell the other nanny that all the time..." You grin at him, leaning forward and propping yourself up on your knees. With your elbows propped on his shoulders, he has a nice view of your cleavage spilling out of your bra just the way he likes.

"No one else is worthy of those words, no one else is worthy of these feelings I have for you." His arm snakes around you, hand resting on the small of your back. "Let me show you, cara mia. Let me prove how much I love you. Only you."

You bite your lip. It felt good to make a powerful man like him crumble, to have him rock hard without even touching him. Your little teasing game is fun, but you know his words are serious.

"Take me, Papa. Make me all yours. Prove I'm the only one for you."

With that, he wraps his arms around your thighs, carrying you right to his bedroom and kicking the door closed loudly. Your back hits the bed and your torso is met by his hot mouth tracing all your curves. Impatiently, he pulls at your tight pencil skirt, needing to feel more of your skin.

Reaching down, you undo the zipper on your hip, "There." Another wink.

The skirt finds its place in the corner of the room as Copia kisses at the top of your panties. "Mia dea... ti amo con tutto quello che ho. Sei la mia dea."

A blush tints your cheeks, you'd learned a bit more Italian in the last few months.

"Worship me, then."

He looks up to meet your commanding eyes, freezing for a brief moment before working his own shirt to the floor and positioning himself between your sinful thighs. Kissing at the supple skin there, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder. Hungrily, his fingers grab at your skin until they hook into the lace at your hip. A tearing sound rings out and you feel his breath on your core.

"Hey! I liked those!" you whine.

"I'll buy you another pair, principessa," he looks up at you through his eyelashes while placing a sloppy kiss right to your clit. You can't help but buck up into his mouth at the sensation.

He grips your hips firmly to hold you in place. You had taunted the beast and now you would reap what you sowed. His mouth latches onto you, sucking on your already swollen clit. The feeling is so intense, you instinctively try to push him off you, but he is having none of it.

"Oh!! Papa!" you cry out, one hand tangling in his hair and the other gripping his satin sheets.

He offers you some reprieve by backing off of your bundle of nerves and instead opting to flatten his tongue against you, licking a stripe. His tongue then traces your folds before teasing your entrance, threatening to push inside. And he does just that. Eyes rolling back in his head as he stretches you with his tongue.

It has you mewling his name and arching as much as his grip will let you. When his nose makes contact with your clit, your hand in his hair tightens as you practically fuck yourself on his face.

His lips move back up to suck on your clit again, and you whimper at the loss of his tongue, but it is quickly replaced by two fingers curling deep inside you, as deep as he can reach. 𝘎𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦. Devious eyes watch your face as he curls his digits, scratching that spot that he finds so well.

"Papa- damnit! Satanas, Papa, I'm gonna cum," you warn him, but he's ready for it, only sucking harder at your words. You let out a needy moan as your body shudders around his fingers, juices coating his hand and chin. He doesn't stop until you're done riding out the wave of your orgasm.

Unexpectedly, he snatches you up in a kiss, forcing you to taste yourself on him. "Do you taste that, amore? You on my mouth. There will never be another, you are the only one, I could never want for anyone else." He has your head reeling; he's never been so possessive, and it's hot.

Pulling him down, you both fall back on the plush bed together. His fingers lace with yours and his erection presses against your thigh, still trapped in those unholy tight jeans. Wanting to offer him some relief, you tease your fingers over the large bulge, cupping at it and earning a groan from the man. Clearly, he was in need of some attention, so you pop open the button and slide the zipper down, taking his girth in your hand.

"Cazzo, baby, I need you," his eyebrows knit together as he begs for you.

"Then, take me, Papa," you wink at him, "No need to keep me waiting!"

He chuckles and gives you one more kiss before kicking off his jeans. "This needs to go," he snakes a hand behind your back to unhook your bra, banishing it to the corner with your skirt. His mouth gently teases your nipples as he stretches for the bedside drawer, fumbling for a condom.

Suddenly, he sits up, looking a little frantically at the empty box in the drawer. "Fuck!" He groans, head falling in his hands, "I forgot to send Aether for more..."

"Oooh so that's who does your dirty work, huh?" You tease, sitting up next to him, and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "It's okay, ya know... Maybe we don't need one."

He gives you a confused look.

"Maybe... maybe it's about time for little Gio to be a big brother, hm?"

His eyes widen, eyebrows raised drastically. He dips his head slightly, reading your face for any sign that this was a joke. "A-are you... Are you s-sure, amore?"

You love those funny little moments when the stuttering Cardinal jumps back out of him again. "Yes," you chew on your bottom lip, cupping his cheek, "I'm sure. Let's have a baby."

For a brief moment, it looked like his brain was short-circuiting. "O-okay," he nods his head, eyebrows softening and a big smile spreading across his face. "You're really sure, Stellina?" He takes his face in your hands, looking all sappy, "You want to have miei bambini?"

"Sì," you nod at his little switch to Italian, kissing him on the nose, "Now are we gonna get all lovey dovey about it, or are you gonna get me pregnant?" Your fingers tease at his erection, still standing proudly.

"Mmm, maybe a little of both, sì?" His lips catch yours again, and the weight of his body pushes your back down onto the bed. You spread your legs for him to get between them, but he simply shakes his head, flipping you over instead. When you look over your shoulder at him, feigning a snooty look, he chuckles deeply before growling in your ear, "You intend to be bred, do you not, Sorella?"

His words make your stomach do flips, and you clench your thighs together at the thought.

Now with you flat on your stomach, Copia's strong hands works the muscles in your back, slowly massaging up from the small of your back to your shoulder blades. "I need you nice and relaxed, principessa." His fingers lace into the base of your hair, tugging your head up to look at him, "You want it to take, sì?"

"Yes, Papa. I do," you moan for him.

"Bene..." He shoves your head back down in the pillows and lands a sharp 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘬! on your ass, earning a squeal from you. After he smoothes over the red mark, he lets his hand dip between your thighs. His fingers moving over your folds at this angle feel impeccable.

You push your ass up in the air, trying to get more friction from him, not even understanding how he could be so patient right now. But as if reading your mind, you feel his warm thighs straddle yours and his tip line up with you.

"To feel you so fully and completely, amore mio... I know this will be spectacular," he praises you, pushing forward with a needy groan.

It does feel a little different than what you'd grown used to, hearing a little pop as the tip pushes through your entrance. Things feel somehow smoother than before, maybe from the lack of protection, but maybe you were just that wet. You take him all the way to the hilt, whimpering and moaning into the pillow.

He sets a devilish pace pretty quickly, barely giving you time to get used to the stretch. The discomfort quickly wanes, and you feel your lover's breath hot on your back as he fucks into you in earnest, losing himself in feeling your wet heat unshielded. He leans down to press a few kisses and small bite to your shoulder before he throws his head back, really picking up the pace.

Your hands reach back gripping at his thighs mostly, as your makeup smears across his satin pillowcases.

"Cara... I need- more," he grunts, a small warning before he sits himself up, dragging your hips up off the bed and slams back into you.

"Ah!!!" you scream at the sudden movement, trying to stabilize yourself on your hands and knees. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the air alongside your noises of pleasure.

One of Copia's hands leaves your hips to ponytail your hair, pulling harshly to urge you back on his girth with more force.

"Papaaa!" is the only thing you can manage, hardly able to form a thought at this point.

"Mia dolce dea, I'm going to fill you with my seed. I'll make you grow round with my child," he tells you between thrusts, "it will be... 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘢, 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘢..."

"Copia, please... Please, touch me, Papa," you cry for him.

Using the grip he maintained on your hair, he heaves you up so you're standing on your knees, back flush against his chest, "You think I would leave mia principessa untouched? What kind of Papa do you think I am?"

Finally releasing your hair, the rough pads of his fingers toy with your nipples. He can't wait until your breasts swell too... Holding you stable with one arm, the other searches for your clit, finding it in expert time. As his finger starts to circle it, you arch your hips back, also aiding him in finding that perfect spot inside you, "Oh! Oh, Satanas Papa! Right 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦- 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱!"

Always a good listener, he does exactly as he's told, holding his pace, snapping up into your heat the exact same way every time. You feel your orgasm rapidly approaching under his ministrations.

"Vieni per me, amore, per favore, vieni per me. I'm cumming- cum with me," he loses himself in the feeling of you. And when you feel an unfamiliar warmth spread deep inside you, it sends you right over the edge with him.

Your lover struggles to hold you close to him as you double over, riding out your release. His hips continue to buck into you in shallow thrusts through his orgasm.

Finally, he sits back on his heels, pulling you with him, cock still stuffed inside you. He throws his head back and rakes his hands through his hair, jaw hung open as he catches his breath. "You are perfetto, amore mio. You know this?" He wraps his arms around you, hugging your torso.

"I'm far from it, Copia." You lean back against him, resting your head against his jaw.

"No, no, no. I will show you how perfect you are. Even if it takes our whole lives, you will know how much you mean to me." He kisses the top of your head, chest still heaving.

"Papa..." you turn, giving him a quick, sloppy kiss, "I love you."

"Anch'io ti amo, cara mia, ti amo così tanto."

#tumblr is still making the gifs small 🙄 #also hi im back from the grave #nah i just been busy with school #plus it takes some time to get these bad boys written #love you all #hope you love the fic 💝 #the band ghost #ghost band #papa emeritus iv #copia #papa iv #papa 4 #papa emeritus 4 #prime mover #x reader #reader insert #nanny fic #imagine #oneshot #fanfic

[halfagone]

You know, that recent post with more thoughts on bio mom!Selina has given me an idea. Because Bruce and Selina, in one version of canon, have a daughter. Helena. Huntress. Consider: Another twins au, but with Danny and Helena instead

You have activated my DC knowledge, and I hope you know that >:3

Helena's character is a little more complicated and I am here to ramble about that before I get to the meat of this ask. There is a universe where Helena grew up to become Batwoman, not Huntress. And that is because she was raised by her parents and didn't get separated. But since you specifically mentioned Huntress, I'll try to stick with that one.

For anyone that doesn't know this part of DC comics that well, something you should know is that there are two Huntresses. Helena Bertinelli and Helena "Bertinelli", otherwise known as Helena Wayne. In the New Earth and Prime Earth comic series, their version of Huntress is the real Helena Bertinelli, whose family was a part of the mafioso and she was dubbed a "mafia princess".

But then, there's Earth 2, where Helena Wayne was actually Robin before being sent to another universe alongside Kara (more specifically, Power Girl) and ended up taking the alias of Helena Bertinelli, who had existed in this world but had been missing/presumed dead.

So where does that leave us? [Added a Keep Reading because this got long lol]

Since you specifically addressed Helena as Huntress, I'm going to be using this comic run:

You could probably write a story about how Danny finally finds Helena again and the two reunite, thus revealing that Helena had lied to almost everyone and she was indeed Helena Wayne once upon a time. And this of course would lead to revelations and heart-to-heart discussions about Bruce and Selina's relationship and what kind of parents they were. I like to imagine that when Danny reunited with his family for whatever reason that separated them, Danny becomes Robin as well. So there are two Robins stalking the streets and scaring the living daylights out of criminals.

However... if you wanted to make things a little more interesting, we could take this version of the comic and take it for a little spin.

In the original canon, Helena has already operated as Huntress for years before Damian figured out the deception. She's already an adult, and largely on her own.

But in this case, we can make Helena freshly from the other universe. Lost and unsure and all on her own. Enter Batfamily. The moment they get her in their sights they realize that oh, she's Bruce's kid from another world/timeline/whatever their first assumption is. And then, when they get her to open up, she reveals that she has a twin. Bruce is Unwell at the information and Helena is inconsolable because they only just got him back, and now they've lost her. Her parents are never going to let her out of the house again after this!!

Meanwhile, Danny is losing his mind and their parents are trying to do everything to get her back and it's a whole mess.

If you want to make things a little more interesting, you could make Danny and Helena the only Wayne children, so that when she goes to the other universe she's super taken aback by how many siblings she could've had and "isn't that our neighbor Tim? Tim Drake? Danny's bestest friend ever? What are you doing in that egghead suit, Danny would be appalled to see you dressed like that."

Something I will have to say is that we probably don't get a lot of AUs like this because the rest of the Batfamily would probably be adults and there's a rather large age gap between Damian (as the youngest) and Helena + Danny, in this case. Unless you have them from another world, of course.

Think... Batman Beyond, with Terry McGinnis. It's an amazing series, but pretty much all of the main characters that the fandom typically writes about are retired. There is no Nightwing or Red Hood or Red Robin. Damian is alive but he's back with the League of Assassins. Let's not talk about how Tim and Barbara are married.

I think this AU could be really fun, and I'd be interested in trying it out some day. But it is one of the trickier instances. But no less exciting because of it. ;3

#halfagone replies #dpxdc

[steampunkishfoxes]

Clara Carmine headcanons

Note: I'm new to the fan content scene on Tumblr, still figuring things out! I’m going to be making headcanons based on different fictional characters I adore, from different franchises/fandoms!

Clara Carmine is the daughter of Carmilla Carmine, one of the overlords in the series Hazbin Hotel on Amazon Prime. She’s one of my favourite characters and I wanted to dedicate my first headcanon post to her! Clara only has about 10-15 seconds of screen time, and one spoken line, but I adore her!

NSFW/SFW, Mature themes: discussion of death, discussion of cartels, discussions of weapons and violence, discussion of murder and a planned attack on a family, family themes, sexuality, pronouns, discussions of blood.

PERSONALITY HEADCANONS.

The following headcanons discuss what I think she would’ve been like on earth and what she’s like in hell.

-Clara is the younger of the two sisters, about 18 years of age physically, her soul is around 25 years old.

-She identifies as a demigirl, with she/they pronouns.

-She used to struggle a lot with her sexuality, she never really saw the fun in boys, but never paid attention to girls either. With help from her sister she found out she was lesbian around the age of 16 on earth.

-She looks a lot like her father, but her personality is more like her mother.

-Fluent in English, Spanish and French, though she’s attempted to learn Portuguese too.

-She’s fiercely protective over Odette, when the two were in school on earth Clara was always the one who stood up for her older sister when she was bullied.

-She hasn’t lost her confidence after finding herself in hell. She isn’t afraid to fight any demon that hurts her sister or mother, but doesn’t often get the chance to fight because of Carmilla’s protective and motherly nature.

-In the Carmine weapons business she takes the role of delivery girl alongside her sister Odette.

-In her free time she plays music, she has a customised guitar she uses to write and record her own song covers- this girl can SING!

-She’s very active on Sinstagram, posting music covers for any listening ear.

-Clara owns one soul, a lackey from the cartel she worked for on earth, who came to the Carmines for protection.

ROOM HEADCANONS.

Because every demon needs a safe place to call home, these are the headcanons I have for Clara’s room in the Carmine Mansion, down in hell!

-Clara’s room has slate blue walls and is covered with posters and pictures, most of them depicting her family. She has a large family picture of her, her mother and sister in front of their business on her ceiling above her bed, so she can look up at it every night.

-She has a queen sized bed with matte royal blue covers and a lot of pillows.

-She has a wolf plushie, affectionately named Wolfie, which she’s had since she was 2 years old. Wolfie has a top hat and bowtie.

!!MATURE THEMES AHEAD!!: discussion of death, discussion of cartels, discussions of weapons and violence, discussion of murder and a planned attack on a family.

The following headcanons discuss the surroundings of Clara’s death.

Family headcanon: Carmilla’s ex husband left her shortly after Clara’s birth, leaving her with two young daughters in a broken city in Mexico. Carmilla entered the weapons business, working for a well known and dangerous cartel. She started out delivering weapons but learned how to make them for a bigger payout. As her daughters grew up, she took bigger, more risky jobs to be able to protect them. One night a rival gang broke into their house and killed the family in cold blood.

-Clara was the first of Carmilla’s daughters to find out about her mother’s secret job, finding her making weapons in the garage when she was about 12 years old. Carmilla asked her to stay silent, but Clara told her older sister immediately.

-She was also the first to enter the family business, stealing a package Carmilla was supposed to deliver to the cartel. Clara delivered it instead and used the money she earned to buy her mother a birthday present. Carmilla told her not to do that, but reluctantly let Clara help with simple, risk free deliveries. Clara was 15.

-Clara befriended one of the cartel members, a bodyguard.

-Clara was the first one to die in the attack. When she was 19, her mother and sister were asleep after watching a movie. Clara was dozing off when she was startled wide awake by pounding on the door.

-Before she could even open it, the door was kicked open, hitting her in the head. She fell, her and her family were quickly grabbed and restrained.

-Clara was dizzy from the hit and confused, she vaguely heard shouting and crying.

-The last thing she saw as a human was her family, her mother’s and sister's faces as she was shot in the chest, the first death in the Carmine home invasion. Clara was 18 when she died.

-Clara’s cause of death was determined to be blunt force trauma to the head, and a fatal shot to the heart.

-She hides the shot mark under her shirt, ashamed of the moment she let her guard down.

LIKES/DISLIKES HEADCANONS.

Foods, colours, animals, and everything in between!

-Food: Anything spicy is a big hit! She hates bland and boring food and will often add peppers or some kind of hot sauce for that perfect kick with every meal! Except for breakfast, she’ll never try cereal with hot sauce again.

-Colours: Black, dark shades of green and blue. She’s not a fan of red, reminding her of the blood she saw on her hands when she died.

-Animals: Wolves, wolves, WOLVES! She loves any canine but mostly wolves! They remind her of how fiercely protective she is over her family! She doesn’t like birds, they creep her out.

-Music: Besides her own music, she loves music from her heritage! Flamenco, salsa, she’ll listen and sing along to it all! Classical music is a BORE though, it always makes her so sleepy.

-Movies: She was never huge on movies, but when she was little, she always watched the movie Balto, dreaming of snow. She hates movies with blood, it reminds her of her own weakness.

-A weird collection she has: Heart shaped stuff! If she’s out in the city and she sees a cool rock shaped vaguely like a heart, she’ll pocket it and show it to her family at home, some of her hearts are questionable, but she loves it all!

-A guilty pleasure: Watching the sunset from her balcony. It’s quiet and simple, she’s loved it since she was a kid.

-Her biggest fear: Being unable to try and protect her family, like when she died. She can’t handle the weak, pathetic feeling, she may have panic attacks when thinking about it.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS

How does Clara fall into the ensemble of hell? Who would she bond with, and who would she hate?

-Who from the entire cast would she hate the most?

The Vees, mainly Velvette, because of how she treats her mother.

-If she met the Hazbin Hotel staff and inhabitants, who would she bond with?

Vaggie, both are strong souls with a tragic past!

-Who would she most likely have a song with? About what?

With her mother and sister, a song about protecting each other no matter what, almost like an “Out for love” reprise

Thank you for reading all the way through!! I’m planning on making way more headcanons in the future! Feel free to ask for specific characters/headcanons in the comments!

A list of future projects:

-Odette Carmine

-Carmilla Carmine

-Zestial Morde

-Lute

-Adam

#carmilla carmine #clara carmine #odette carmine #hazbin hotel

[laguera25]

what happened in Prague, the Luis thing? And who is the dude anyway? Wth with holding spots lmao. If I were there and someone tried to make me lose my own spot over that f*** that tbh.

According to an alleged witness in Prague, Luis was allegedly given 25-30 of the wristbands for FZ early entrance and got to cut in front of people who had been waiting all day.

Now, his story is that he and the others were actually going to stay overnight the night before to ensure those spots, but were told they could not camp overnight, perhaps by Livenation or venue staff; it's not clear. However, according to Luis, he was told that he could write a list of those who were with him, and their spots would be held. So, he did, and his group went to a hotel.

The next morning, people had already lined up for FZ entry and had been given numbers for their place in line. According to witnesses, Luis and his group cut the line, claiming they had an agreement from the previous night. Claiming a mistake had been made, the line was renumbered, and Luis and his group bumped those who had been waiting.

The Prague situation is much murkier, but a purported witness claims that Luis said he was holding ten spots for others in the front row. Frankly, I'm not sure how that would work, but in any case, Luis later posted his prime front row spot to IG.

He also posted video of himself running to prove he was "just like other fans" and not getting special perks. Which, fine, but it sure looks like reputational damage control from a guy who got busted abusing an inside connection. How else do you get twenty-five to thirty FZ wristbands out of an allotment of sixty?

Additionally, another fan claims that he has done this multiple times before and they saw him and his group at the barrier before anyone else was even allowed to enter the FZ at another show on a previous tour. Which, if true, speaks to an inside connection with someone either in band management or the promoter's organization. I can't blame anyone for having connections, or even trading on them, but if you're going to do that, it might get noticed, and you might get called out.

He did, and he was, and rather than be quiet and enjoy his perk, he's wasting energy on damage control.

FZ is a thing I will never need to worry about, but it does suck for the fans who stood in line all day just to get bumped by some connected cool kid.

For the record, I don't think he needs to be run out of fandom on a rail. I think he got caught working the system and is trying to skirt the fannish fallout, which, so far, is being grumped at online. And that is where it should stay.

#rammstein

[theherdofturtles]

Fandom: Hetalia Prompt: therapy session Rating: G Word Count: 6,412 England goes to family therapy and regrets everything. Especially when Ireland shows up. This had more comedy in it than I expected. @badthingshappenbingo

It was in Haltwhistle, in a grim grey gloom of early morning mist from an earlier morning drizzle. The pale street was darkened by the moisture, and the sun added a silvery tinfoil glow to the cold concrete through the thinning clouds. England was waiting outside the building, about six minutes late to the appointment.

An all-morning headache throbbed behind his eyes from what he knew was to come and England stared dead at the doorknob.

His fingers touched the cold brass and opened the door painfully slow, resonating every ear scraping squeak of the hinge through the waiting room inside.

This was not appreciated by the blank-faced human, who stood behind the counter, and ever-so-slightly dropped their fake smile.

England closed the door behind him, approached, and tapped his fingers on the desk.

“Sir Kirkland,” the human nodded. They were straight laced, holding a practiced pearly smile that anyone could choke on. Every non-English human looked almost exactly the same to him… this one was no different. German. England only entertained this for Germany's sake.

The person clicked diligently on their computer, then gestured for him to follow, “right this way." They stepped in front of him to lead him to a hidden, deeper door down the hall. "I must remind you that you are not permitted to harm any living being in these premises or carry a weapon.”

England scowled. He wasn’t unreasonable, he asked beforehand to be certain was all. Having no weapon made him feel naked.

They came to a door, which had the homeliness of an office space. On the white, plexiglass, clouded window door were the printed and unimpressive block words, "The work you do today determines where you will be tomorrow." England stared at it with half-lid judgement for a moment.

England reluctantly steeled himself for the upcoming migraine. It took him a moment to mentally prepare, focusing on the words being spoken in two different, but familiar, accents behind the door. The memories came back, the sentiments, listening very carefully. Then he pulled himself forward. The human opened the door.

“Take a seat…” the human said.

He entered with a sigh, and sat down with a firm resolve.

"This was your idea," Scotland growled.

England scowled.

This was a mistake, was what. England wished he'd never brought it up, he wished he could go back in time and slap himself with a brick. Who thought any of them were capable of sitting still and talking about feelings for an hour? Why did he consider it could even help? Some things were so broken they didn't deserve fixing.

And now the three of them were flopped onto light grey therapy couches rather ungentlemanly, sinking into the cushions as if throwing off a long day. Unfortunately, this day wasn’t even close to finishing and he couldn't deign himself to treat this activity with respect.

"It was a good idea," Wales encouraged. His eyes were brighter than everyone elses and he swayed as if dancing in his chair.

Of course he thought it was a good idea. He'd given England the final push to mention it to the Prime Minister. He couldn't backtrack, now. This was Wales's fault, too.

"Blame Wales." England tossed his brother under the bus. "He said I should bring this off-hand idea to the PM."

Scotland tossed Wales a betrayed, questioning look, as if asking for a defense or for the real truth… maybe he was even willing Wales to give him a lie.

Wales gave him the sheepish, apologetic half-shrug he didn't want. "It was a good idea."

Scotland rolled just enough to face away from both of them, unseen, looking suddenly rather weary behind a blank shuttered mask.

Wales went to stare at his feet, and England went to stare out the window.

The day was middling in more ways than one and if the therapist didn't show up soon a war would start. The peace of the British Isles was unhappily in the hands of one human with a measly pHD. Sorrows. Story of the modern world. England should've stayed in bed today. A thousand things that were better left alone were spinning in his head, and above all those writhing half-baked thoughts hung the rather large and block-like fear of potentially having to share the thousand things that were better left alone.

This truly had been a miserable idea.

When the thought to try therapy had first struck him, it had been suggested by a human being at a pub and drunkenly accepted as sound. He'd written the whole idea out in barely legible letters on a stained napkin: a two way plan to be a normal family. He'd almost tossed the paper into a bin the following day, certainly would've if Wales hadn't found it first, managed to read it, and then went and mentioned it to one of his former EU peers. After which the news travelled down low through the ranks. 'Very mature,' they said. Everyone was shocked. Out of character. Then the boss found out and considered the gains. Everyone except England loved watching him squirm his way into an awkward family dinner, but then he felt a need to prove them all wrong.

The door opened. He casually looked up, expecting the therapist. Instead England almost choked.

A man strode in with the doctor, mid-speech. "The lads caught the fish foaming at the mouth, thinking it was cursed. Once beached they pelted it till it dried out in the sun and I haven't seen so many spiders in one place since," the last man England wanted to see explained with flapping hands to the therapist.

Ireland. In all his lacking glory.

He hadn't taken his tweed coat off inside, he kept one hand shoved into a pocket and had a pair of sunglasses sitting on the bridge over his nose. Mind you they were inside while the weather was currently clouded. His dark red hair scattered windswept over his face and was fully unbrushed as if he'd rolled from bed and then let a cow lick it for good measure.

How was he here?!

England gaped and stared and Scotland and Wales jumped to their feet like proper siblings.

"Ciarán!" Wales shouted. He nearly tripped over the table to clasp Ireland's outstretched hand, giving it a hearty shake before falling into a sideways hug. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"A rumor caught the butt of my lung and I couldn't miss a day as dour as this." Ireland turned to grin. He quickly found England, and looked down on him. He flipped his useless sunglasses up to meet England's cold, sharp eyes. "He's destroyed, surely," Ireland muttered.

Just because he signed for therapy didn't make him destroyed.

Scotland grinned and said something fully unintelligible to England, but which made Ireland laugh.

He didn't know what they said. Habit knew it had to be at his own expense, though. He straightened in his seat and squared his shoulders. “What is it?! Say it to my face,” England growled.

“Would you like to see a health specialist?” Ireland asked.

“What does that mean?!” England pushed himself up from his comfortable spot on the couch.

But nobody got another word into the budding fight. At least, nobody worthwhile. The human being who'd been given the grand task of fixing the mental discord of the United Kingdom plus Ireland, apparently, politely interceded.

"Thank you all for coming today. I am doctor Christal. If you are prepared to begin, I will start by asking if you know about different psychotherapy techniques, or if you are fully new to therapy," the human said. She carried herself tall and casual, with a rather impartial tone that was obviously trained. It must be their default response to derail conflict. England felt he was three steps ahead of this human, and therefore, he felt he'd be too intelligent for therapy to work on. He felt the discord between his siblings would be too much to fix, anyway, which added two more reasons to why this had been a terrible idea.

“Yes… I'm sure I know the basics…” England sat down once again. He never had to do a thing to his siblings, yet his actions were always received negatively. That was fine with him… he'd lived with it for years, he could live with it longer. Especially after the day inevitably fixed nothing.

His siblings also came to sit, two to teach side of the room, turning the therapy lounge into a four way staring competition.

Wales sat next to England, quietly in the corner and carefully keeping the attention undrawn to himself. Scotland faced across from England with every limb on his body crossed, and Ireland, facing Wales, sat with his head leaned back over the top of the couch letting the air dry his tongue.

"Everyone's progress in treatment is subjective," the therapist said. She sat at the head of the table, turning their staring square into a five-star circle of tension. "And the best results come if you do your best to cooperate. Today, I would be happy to support you in addressing improving meaningful family communication, but you should not be discouraged if progress is, at first, slow. Learning how to communicate in any relationship can be difficult."

Scotland had a great interest in the wall; Wales listened intently to the therapist; Ireland had an incomprehensible smirk on his face.

He just knew he was going to hate this day forever.

"Structured exercises that encourage communication can benefit relationships. The exercise I've prepared today can help start to strengthen abilities of expression. Each of you will be given an equal number of legos-"

"legos?" England raised a brow. "What do toys have to do with anything?"

"Honest to God, this'll be a great game," Ireland promised without looking at England. His head still lay tilted back, still staring at the ceiling with his stupid smirk. Under his sunglasses England had no clue if his eyes were closed for a nap or wide alert.

"Shut up, you weren't supposed to even be here," England retorted. Ireland clearly wasn't taking this seriously. He didn't know how or why Ireland had even shown up if it was a game to him, but England would get to the bottom of it. One of his brothers must have tipped Ireland off to this event… he suspected Wales. Wales tossed him under the bus and a tooth for a tooth would do the trick. England wouldn't let any of them get away with this.

"Your boss gave me an invite," Ireland simply said.

"Lies."

The therapist patiently waited, but the therapist also did not care for their spat. "I will explain their usage in a moment," she said, cutting between them, back on track. "The player who starts first will draw a card, read it aloud, and respond to it. If two or more other players decide the response is appropriate, the player gets to place a lego piece on their base. If less than two decide the response is appropriate, no lego piece is placed. Play moves to the next player. The next player draws, and we repeat. We play until one player has his base covered, and that will be the winner."

"What's the prize?" Scotland finally pitched in. He briefly put his attention into the room, dragging his brooding thoughts from whatever depth of detail on the wall they'd fallen into.

"One month of no government paperwork."

Audibly someone sucked in a breath.

One month of no paperwork? England hated paperwork. Paper cursed the modern world, he missed being able to do anything and go anywhere without filling out boxes or filing requests. Back then, the king or queen just waved everything off, the perfect system. Who would do his paperwork while he was free? Decidedly, England did not care. His heart already lurched greedily after what it wanted, and England had to have it. He did more than his siblings, it was only fair. He worked late nights breaking pencils and ruining his eyes on pixels. They did so much less for this country.

England cast a quick glance at Wales, and Wales cast one to him, then to Scotland. Each cast glance was precarious, hesitant, but determined. Everyone wanted a blessed free month. Nobody was sure they were willing to sacrifice what it took to get it. England steeled himself for a new type of fight: bonding. Ug.

Over in his corner, nobody could tell what Ireland was thinking hidden behind his sunglasses.

England was starting to think him a clever bastard.

"Is there a volunteer to go first?" The therapist asked.

"I can," Wales half lifted his hand. It withered back a bit, shrinking before even being protested against. "I'm just curious. I could also wait."

Wales was rarely first to anything, or one to speak out about opinions. It almost surprised England how quickly he'd responded. But then he remembered that Wales was the most willing to trip over himself in order to save another person any level of discomfort. It meant Wales was usually the first of his siblings to fall and least likely to leave.

She gave an encouraging nod and nobody else protested. They all eagerly watched to find out what would happen.

A stack of cards was proffered to Wales, which Wales took and placed onto the centre table. Wales slid the top card off and flipped it over to read:

"Tell about a time that you were emotionally hurt."

Wales nervously smiled, slightly. Wales, equally nervous, chuckled. "Not sure what I expected? Therapy couldn't be easy." He shrugged.

He placed the card down into his lap and tapped his thumbs together in thought, staring off, but leaving just enough of himself present to indicate he was participating.

England could tell the moment he latched onto a thought to begin.

"This happened several times…" he paused "I've never been invited to a meeting. Or asked for a diplomatic opinion, of course. Because I don't have official autonomy. But I've tried to give diplomatic advice at least once, and you've all said… that I wasn't a real country. You don't even hear me out. I think that stings."

Wales looked to each of them, and his fingers slowly creased the edges of the card in his lap.

They were all quiet for an awkward moment. No one dared say anything. As a matter of fact, if no one ever spoke again that would be grand. England didn't know why hearing Wales share his personal struggles sucked the air from him because England didn't even really care. He felt annoyed and—he wanted to dig out of the room. Why'd he ever think this was a good idea?

"Thank you for sharing," the therapist said.

Wales smiled, half shy and relieved for any response at all.

England was going to toss himself out of the window before the day ended. There was no way he'd survive this. Oh, but he wanted that month of vacation—but the thought of sharing anything with his siblings sounded worse than a paper cut to the eyeball. But he wanted that vacation.

"Now we're started," Ireland said, "very sorry about that, Wales. We'll have a drink sometime and I'll hear you." He waved at the therapist. "Give the man a lego."

Scotland gave a nod of agreement, and England gave the stack a sliding, terribly wary eye as Wales put down the brick on his plate. A terrible restlessness crawled under England's skin, compressing his itching chair into a stringed cage, taunting him with the stupidity and uselessness of this whole game.

Everyone looked at him.

He felt the stares and the restlessness grow worse, but England had the guts- or stubbornness- to not fall short under anybody else's expectations. He resisted the urge to tap his foot.

Reaching for the card and turning it over to read, England stared at the prompt and silently read. The quiet, hidden tension slowly left his shoulders.

That wasn't bad. That was so easy. England could easily do that. This was stupid as he thought, he could easily survive the day.

"Compare this family to a musical instrument," he read aloud.

He gave a little pleased smile to the therapist, as if he'd won a lottery and had some fortune to show for it, and was beating the house at their own game.

Wales hummed with sincere attention all on England. England's smile shifted into a more hesitant mirroring frown and he discarded the card in his lap.

Why was Wales looking at him like that? How could a question like this garner that kind of attention? It wasn't important, was it? Surely not.

He cleared his throat. "An untuned kazoo."

Wales looked less happy, like the answer wasn't what he wanted and England had no idea why.

"Does one need to tune a kazoo?" Ireland mused.

"I don't know," England snapped, "we've managed to untune it."

"Managed most the work yourself," Scotland said.

England seethed quietly and folded the card in half. "Well, that's my answer. Live with it."

"No lego for the man," Ireland declared. He announced with the same smile and volume he'd commended Wales with, and Scotland, once again, nodded agreement to the eldest's judgement.

"What?! I answered fairly!"

"But why? Why's it an untuned kazoo?" Wales asked. "You have to explain at least."

No. He shouldn't need to explain, it was straightforward enough—they all annoyed one another, and nobody wanted to listen. A kazoo was equally annoying and nobody listened to it in their free time, either. No respectable instrument would be caught in a composition with one, and if another instrument happened to be forced to work with them, their family wouldn't even be tuned enough to make the proper harmony.

He crossed his arms and turned his head away. "I don't have to explain anything."

"Mr. Kirkland, creating a meaningful experience today may require attempts at difficult or seemingly unnecessary communication."

Screw the therapist, too. His brothers were all going to gang up to keep him from winning.

"We can wait as long as it takes for you to form an answer," Wales helpfully informed. England felt like shooting someone.

"This is pointless," he muttered, "pointless. But if you have so little ability to solve it out, it's because untuned instruments fail even when performed to the exact instruction; they're unable to play in a composition. And kazoos are annoying."

Ireland nodded in mock serenity. "You're still a caterpillar. Break up your boy-band. Solo should do you kinder."

Wales snorted a laugh, and Ireland smiled at Wales, pleased with himself.

England had no clue what he meant, but once again, he knew this was at his expense. England felt his cheeks flush with hot blood, blooming red, and skin being whiter than white, everyone knew every time anyone got to him. He was going to shoot more than one someone, and he didn't know if he'd spare himself in the aftermath.

"Give me my brick," England demanded.

He got his brick. It was only fair, Wales had said. England added the child's toy to his plate and noted the off-colourness between brick and base, and found the film of the brick's unwashed surface highly agitating. Both heightened the noise of restlessness in his body, traveling up through his fingers.

Next was Scotland, who took a card as calm and bored as he'd take a cigarette.

"What do you like about the way you fight?" Scotland read carefully. He put the card back down onto the table and crossed his arms. "I don't talk words," he said. "Only do action."

His cold green stare steadily focused on England before boredly drowsing back to the wall.

England held his hands closer. Scotland fought more in actions, but at the end of the day, that was Scotland's weakness, too. He learnt that long ago. Scotland got to fighting before he'd even read a room, he struck quick and clean, which made him venerable but easy to out-maneuver with a document and speech at Whitehall.

Back when England was backwater and weak he used his words to his advantage. England had always been best and warfare in language, and that made Scotland's answer one England, too, appreciated.

Never change, England snidely thought.

He didn't like the bruises their scuffs got him, though. He should nag at him. "Make him explain more, he didn't give enough words," England said.

If England should suffer, so should the rest.

"… I think that one explained itself," said Wales.

Ireland gave Scotland a thumbs up. "I'd drink health to that. Simple, easy, and the type of spat that can be done with quickest in this family."

This response affirmed all of England's obviously correct calculations. His siblings were gained up on him. Irleand and Wales had backed Scotland but failed to back him.

England should not lose in the field of words.

Therapy was his antithesis… the plain, true speech of morons stripped the power of information withheld. Nobody kept their cards close. England thrived so long as he kept his cards close… all warfare was deception.

Scotland added his brick, and Ireland rubbed his hands together before taking his card.

"What is something that you would not give up?" Ireland read and shook his head pleasantly. "Several things, though one presently needing declaration. So I'll have you a riddle! There are two skulls in Ireland, one of a person when he was a boy of ten years, and the other of the same person when he grew to be a man." He raised two fingers in demonstration as he said it. "They sit kindly side by Cromwell's under a loose stone in my wall."

England blinked. His brows furrowed.

An indignity caught a spark and burned into a sudden blaze.

"I asked you to give me my skulls back! You said they were lost!" England stood to his feet.

"I'm your devil when your head's astray. You shouldn't've lost a head twice at my house."

England was shooting himself first. Then he was shooting everyone else.

"I can't believe you--"

"Why do you want to keep those?" Wales interrupted.

"Because he's psychotic," England said. He was psychotic and orderless.

Irleand tapped two fingers to his lip in thought.

"At his age ten, I was an island born from druids and fed by Catholics. Call it indulgence… I even kept mother's finger. We like our dead." Ireland, oddly pensive, frowned. "But at his adulthood, I wanted to curse him." Ireland suddenly fell from his odd spiel with a grin.

Curse?

"What did you put on me?" England narrowed his eyes.

"You would love to know, wouldn't you?"

Pressuring would prove him correct and England felt particularly petulant. An injustice had been committed against him. He brought a quick hand to his current skull to feel it, flat against his forehead.

"That first part was oddly touching," said Wales, "the second one wasn't, but it was understandable. We've all cursed one another at least once. Nothing debilitating."

Who put Wales in charge of mediating? What was the therapist doing?

England looked at her and she looked at him.

Her blank, unreadable face bore a hole in him.

England looked away.

The sight that greeted him was worse: Ireland got a brick and Wales got a new card.

"Do you say 'I'm sorry' before you are ready?" Wales put the card down. "I think so… or… I'm not sure. Sometimes I say it to end a fight, that may be readiness. I don't want to be responsible for perpetuating any hurt or conflict."

Once again, the reigning choir of crickets arose gloriously from three completely dead silent brothers. Nobody wanted to say anything to Wales. Each time Wales spoke, England irrationally wanted a shovel. For himself. To get out of the world.

"That must have been uncomfortable," the therapist said, saying what no sibling wanted to say.

She could be interacting with Wales the most. England tried to remember how she'd responded to each of them, and he suspected he was right, as usual.

"When we apologise before the time is right, we can still feel empty inside afterwards. But holding onto our anger can gave us a harmful, and false, sense of control in difficult situations. We should acknowledge that we apologise in order to help us forgive ourselves. If we cannot forgive ourselves yet, or feel no need to do so, an apology may be too early."

England wanted to snap any response of denial possible.

"I don't believe in apologies," England said. He couldn't stand this pat-on-back seasick sharing fest. "Apologies are selfish. People do it to feel good about themselves."

"Is feeling better about oneself bad?" She asked.

"It's selfish," England repeated.

Ireland stared at England, and England could already hear his voice. Bold words from a selfish man. England knew what his brother thought of him. He knew what all of them thought.

"Just give Wales his lego so I can fail to win a week off paperwork," he grumbled and swiped a card from the deck.

"Are you so determined to win that you don't listen or really look for a solution? No. I'm not. I listen, I find a solution, then I win."

"Load of shite," Scotland said, staring at his wall.

"Has yourself, or another, been put in danger to achieve one of your victories before?" She asked.

"Ha! I'm a soldier, what do you expect the answer to that is? That's all I ever do." He ought to leave. This day was indeed a waste, he was determined to remain unsubdued. Why? He never had to think about why. He didn't know, he couldn't stop throwing words away. He hated a comfortable smile, it wouldn't be reasonable to accept. It wouldn't change anything. He hated anyone who promised otherwise. Those moments he felt he was being lied to, and he only entertained a good lie when too smashed drunk to remember it.

"Do I get a brick or not?" He demanded.

The circle of silent, undisturbed faces said the answer was no.

He was right. They disliked him because he was right. An apology wasted breath… he couldn't count how many words and treaties everyone had broken. A spat ended with never again,, I'll change,, we'll make it better, but the very next day the war continued. They should skip the formalites.

"Forget it, go on, Scotland," England snapped.

The unbearable moment sponged into the resuming, tense air. They were acclimated to it, they didn't bother with it.

Scotland took the next prompt and read, "Do you fight someone else's fights?" He shook his head. "Not if I can't help it."

His finger tips rubbed together as if he wanted to roll tobacco into his mouth. Instead Irleand rolled a lego into his hand.

Ireland, ever untouched, moved freely despite the tension. He escaped the world without leaving the world, tearing England's speech from his tongue. The air was warm for him wherever he went, so privileged and natural like nature itself had given him an edge over everyone else. England didn't matter to him. No voice, decree, or weapon could damage the high head he carried and each room he entered he navigated easily as water changing shape.

England breathed through his nose and focused on his empty hands.

"Tell about one of your most frightening experiences," Ireland read. He dropped the card and leaned backwards, hands laced behind his head, falling to where his sunglasses caught a glint of the artificial lights. "Ah, there was a year at Colman's college I took, passing for a student, when I realised the boys hadn't got a word of gaelic. All my years before that day, there never came a minute I thought of Gaelic as being in danger. It struck me so sudden. How the old people were heading off, and there would be a generation with both languages, and then a generation that hadn't got gaelic at all. Then my island sounded like a foreign country. I almost preferred going to a foreign country, living there rather than see a land without a word of Gaelic in it. Ah well-- I did what any would do, finding sudden isolation on their brink. I dug me heels in. Never going to let the amount of my own language fall to nothing. Do chum glóire dé agus onóra na hÉireann. I'll keep the words close to heart until the people have them again."

Both Wales and Scotland would agree. They did agree. Every problem Ireland had they had also had, because both of them were stuck to England. And every problem they had had, they had either conquered or learned to deal with through an imitation of one another.

England was the only odd one out, because England had no common problems with them… nothing he had discovered or would share.

Everyone was then one piece ahead and England had no more reason to entertain this place with his time other than for show.

"What was one of the happiest moments of this last century. Oh. Hm. I don't know." Wales never said he knew. Wales continued onward with what he knew. "Sri Lanka sat on a bench with me in Rome, we argued over who had the better flag."

"Alright, and then?"

"That's it."

"But who won?"

Wales shrugged. "I don't remember if we did."

"Ah, I see." Ireland leaned over the table with his grin. He did most of the interacting today, the therapist did some pointers but had lost interest in her job compared to Ireland. Scotland engaged only if he had no other choice.

The bricks kept stacking.

And then it was England's miserable turn again. The only comfort he had was the lack of initiative he felt for this so called 'game.' England had no reason to answer with the truth, or answer at all.

His new card read: I wish I were less __ with a big, awful blank on the end. One short void for one short answer that he could never fit on a card. The space provided was too small and England didn't have enough graphite to fill it. It burned through his fingertips.

He blinked at it several times, resisting the urge to tear it.

"I wish I were less blank," he read. Agressive, incompetent, well-known, difficult, vocal… England scowled. "Short."

He should never have to answer this question.

He could use an extra few inches.

Shave himself away, replace it with a new stature. Maybe he'd find the respect he wanted to give himself and take from others, then. Maybe that would fix it. He crumpled the offending question in his hand.

The council reluctantly gave him his little lego brick and moved on without pressure or questioning.

Scotland's next card had to do with quotes, and he said something in a language England didn't know.

After, Irleand talked about a riot in Dublin, and a trial, against him the council written in the English law. He bragged of denying his guilt before the unclever court.

And the brothers talked, barring England. He skipped his next turn and Scotland got his question:

Tell about your greatest concern for this family.

He flatly informed them all that it was England which earned them amusement.

Another story came around about an idiot who flew through Iranian airspace, and required international attention.

England was having a strenuous day, and was becoming wary of any voice at all.

Each click of a tongue or shuffle of a foot scraped under his skin. England couldn't settle it, his head tilted slow, very slow, side to side as if trying to escape it.

"Do you pretend that the fight isn't important or laugh about it?" Ireland immediately agreed. "Of course. Most spats aren't worth losing a year to the pain."

England sunk deeper. He didn't know what he wanted. He wanted to leave.

Wales got another card about fighting, yet another, all about fighting. He knew the day was to adress family fighting and communication, he didn't want to talk about fighting again. Who do you fight with best/worst? Wales didn't understand how he could answer the question and took his first veto.

That left him second to last, and only Ireland and Scotland to fight for a first.

For the hell of it, England took up his next question and regretted it immediately.

I will feel accepted and part of this family group when _.

He felt the same, familiar, irritated muchness with the world filling his stomach. It felt empty, full of nothing. Everything was distorted, out of proportion to the cause. England didn't want to continue this. Not for two rounds.

He folded it in half and leaned back into the couch.

"Play on," he said.

Nobody questioned him. He hated that worse, he was so, deeply, terribly relieved. Instead there was a huff and a sense of patience wearing thin. The noise rubbed worse on his eardrums.

Scotland began his next reading:

"I feel most loved when, blank." He grumbled under his breath. "when I have scotch, a fireplace, and m' dogs."

His fingers rubbed the couch armrest. England didn't want to be here. Any moment spent longer in the room while he could think of nothing else became intolerable. He saw the cards, each scrape of paper scratched his ears. England didn't want to be here. His feet planted stiff on the office floor and England had to, he couldn't be here longer. They'd talk about it but he couldn't stay. England stood.

Several gazes hit him at once. Ireland's hidden gaze was worst of all because he couldn't tell. England hated being unable to tell. What he was thinking, if he was actually gazing.

He held his breath under their gazes, and only breathed easily when he slipped through the door to leave.

England felt a thin pin prick of annoyance in his chest. His frown deepened.

In the warm artificial light outside, in the hall, England stood straight in a firm immobile stance, in the usual strung-up orderly manner, keeping his appearance composed. Everything itched. The room behind him murmured. His siblings maybe talked about him. They maybe said nothing about him. Two outcomes England immediately noticed and decided he couldn't take. He didn't even know why he had to leave. Nearly two thousand years of life and these were the things that bothered him through it all. What a pathetic existence.

The door opened again.

Wales steadily closed it, carefully. England never realised his carefulness until the world burned and every sound was too much on his nerves.

"You lied," England said.

"I didn't."

"You said you apologise to end fights. Nobody does. Not in this family."

"Do you want an apology, Arthur?"

"Do it. I don't care. I'll keep accusing you of being a liar. I'll bring it up tomorrow. This family doesn't drop anything."

Wales came forward and- and- hugged him.

He flinched. It travelled like a jolt through his spine, quick and shocked and discontent. The jolt settled and spun and then it vanished, like seafoam fizzling away after a wave. England was left stiff.

Stop.

Don't ever leave.

England relaxed.

"I can't stand you," England said. And he meant it. He couldn't stand anybody, he always wanted them around when he was terribly alone and always he wanted them gone when they were with him. The isolation got worse the more people he had in his life, the isolation got worse and he looked for more people and ruined his hopes worse.

"Then we have a conundrum. Because I can stand you, and I like you, even," Wales said. He let go of England and took a step back. "But I think you like us too. I don't want to believe otherwise."

England thought, standing in the hall, under an artificial light, he didn't want to think about it. The world had been a better place and the ice thickened only just enough to keep war from cracking through between them, but he imagined the plunge was but a few reckless inches away. It was thirty years ago he shot Ireland… Ireland had peeled him off by pretending he didn't notice; Ireland got a certain perverse joy from continuing to remain indifferent to his existence. Like it didn't matter. Like England wasn't but a minor inconvenience, a slapable fly. The taste for righting wrongs was in Europe's reluctant air.

England turned down the hall to leave, walking out and into the same lobby past the same human who barely acknowledged them with a customer nod. Wales followed.

"He wants to annoy me to death, he didn't have to be here. I give him a bullet he gives a grin—came to screw with me, that's why he's here." "He wants to support your choice to sign for therapy." "He could've done that with a card." England crossed the threshold into the street.

A wet glisten sparkled in the road where his foot landed and England blinked. Water. Yes, water, always water, but glinting water. The road sparkled in the sun.

He looked up at the sky.

Blue sky.

A clear patch cleared through the early white grey wisps of clouds overhead, receding the early morning haze into the lime-green earth.

He heard Wales sigh behind him. "What a day." Wales smiled, breathing in the clay-wet air, basking in the golden sun. His palm cupped flat to the open sky, feeling for an already fled rain.

"Indeed… what a day," England murmured, watching him.

'I don't know why you're still around,' he thought.

#hetalia fanfiction #hws england #hws wales #hws scotland #hws ireland #hws uk bros #Prompt: therapy session

[sunshinebingo]

This took me an embarrassingly long time to write but I finally did it. This fic is a gift to @headcanonheadcase who was one of the first writers that made me fall in love with fanfiction. And is also the one who opened my eyes to the wonders of Gwyn/Ithan. @headcanonheadcase dear, what you do for this fandom (and all the others you write for) is incredible. You are amazing!!

CRACKSHIP ALERT

Pairing: Gwyneth Berdara/Ithan Holstrom Synopsis: Ithan remembers the important events in his relationship with his red wolf, Gwyn, from how it started to where they are now. A recollection of little moments that they shared together. Word Count: 5.7k Warning: A tiny bit of smut

Important A/N: I started writing this waaay before hofas was released so this fic does not follow any canon event past HoSaB. It's not a 'hofas canon-divergence', it's just me posting a crackship fanfic after having it in my drafts for half a year.

Read on Ao3 or proceed below the cut for a snippet

Day 8

“I’m Gwyneth. Gwyn. It’s very nice to meet you,” she shook the hand that he had extended to her after introducing himself. Ithan thanked all the Gods above that he had not gaped at her again like a fool. He had been bracing himself for a conversation with her since he caught a glimpse of her bright hair as she was entering the Prime’s office.

“So, you are new here?” he asked as though he had not already secretly asked everyone at the Den for information about her. He had learned that Gwyneth had just arrived in Lunathion with the intention of settling here. Her grandparents were apparently related to the Prime himself. What had struck Ithan the most had been learning that she was a lone wolf, just like he had been before, even if he was now the only wolf in his pack consisting of an angel, some Fae, a mer, a deer shifter and even a dragon and some fire sprites.

“I am. I live near the Old Square, a few blocks away from the White Raven.”

“Really?” he replied a bit too excitedly before clearing his voice and continuing more calmly. “I mean, I live near the Old Square too.”

The smile that spread on her face could have rivaled the sun ahead. “That’s great. Um… maybe we’ll cross path someday. I mean…” she rambled. Was she nervous too? Ithan thought.

“Not that we aren’t already crossing paths at the Den already,” she added with a laugh while indicating the building behind them.

Ithan noticed the way that she was twisting a strand of hair between her fingers and how she could not stand still. She was nervous too. Somehow, that made him a little less tense.

He has admitted to Gwyn, months and months later, that their encounter on that day had not been accidental at all. He had confessed that he might have forsaken more urgent matters to wait until she would leave the Prime’s office. The tongue-lashing he had gotten from his roommates for being late for what they had planned later that day had been totally worth it.

***

Day 10

“Hello there,” a melodious voice drawled behind him. Ithan turned on the stool he was sitting on at the bar of the White Raven to find Gwyn smiling at him.

If he was not already seated, his first look at her would have made him fall on his ass. Gwyn was glowing in a green velvet dress that clung to her and accentuated all the dips and curves of her body. The makeup she had dusted on her eyelids sparkled beneath the flashing lights of the club, making it impossible not to look at her eyes.

“You look…” damn him and his habit of being speechless in her presence. “You are…” he tried and failed again.

Gwyn erupted in laughter at his flustered state. “I think I will take that as a compliment,” she said as she sat on the empty stool beside him.

“Sorry,” Ithan shook his head, “You are stunning.” Phew. See? That wasn’t so hard to say, he thought.

Gwyn’s cheeks started to flush and Ithan was momentarily mesmerised by the way it made her freckles stand out. “Thank you. And you are very handsome as well.”

Ithan was certain that the heat spreading across his face was close to turning him as red as her hair. Gwyn ordered three drinks and turned back to him.

‘’They’re not all for me,’’ she explained when she noticed his raised eyebrows. She pointed at a blond Fae and a brunette angel on the dance floor. ‘’I came with my sisters.’’

His face must have given away his puzzlement concerning her odd family because Gwyn snorted then proceeded to tell him about her chosen sisters.

A drink was placed in front of him. But instead of making his way towards his table where his own found family was, Ithan stayed at the bar, chatting with Gwyn over the loud music. Either her sisters had forgotten about their drinks, or they did not want to cut their conversation short because, as they talked and talked, Gwyn ended up drinking all three cocktails she had ordered while Ithan kept ordering more for himself. He only took note of the time when he turned around at some point and found that all those he had come with were already gone.

That night, Ithan had talked more than he ever had with anyone else in his entire life. He remembers vividly how she had been the only thing on his mind when he was staring at his ceiling before he fell asleep in the early morning. He had a crush on Gwyn. One that went from little to massive in a matter of one training session with the Aux.

***

#Gwynthan #gwyneth berdara #ithan holstrom #gwyn x ithan #acotar #crescent city #crackship #it's mostly fluff #tiny bit of smut #tiny bit of angst

[annabtg]

AO3 Is Down

A @jilymicrofics Discord production

“Potter! Black! Open the door!”

She pressed on the doorbell insistently, pounded on the door with her fist. It was a life-or-death situation and it merited all the noise she could make. Since those two twats slept with their phones on silent, they had it coming.

Finally, what seemed like a million years later – but was probably not longer than a minute – the door unlocked and opened, revealing Sirius Black, bleary and annoyed and yet looking haughtily handsome, how did he do it?

“What the hell, Evans? It’s 4 am.”

“I need Potter. The Archive’s down.”

Black closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Even he, who pretended he only had a marginal interest in fanfiction – though Lily knew he probably carried some dark, deep-fandom secrets of his own if he was best friends with James Potter, the nerdiest nerd who had ever nerded – knew better than to underestimate the importance of such a catastrophe. It was prime reading time in the Americas, and the fans all over the continent were probably going ballistic right now.

He stepped aside and let her enter, then closed and locked the door behind her. Without a word, he led her across the living room to a small hallway with two doors opposite each other. “This is his room.”

“What? You’re not going to go get him?”

He smirked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Good luck.”

Read the rest on AO3

Completed, 1.4k words.

#jilymicrofics #jily fic #jple #james potter #lily evans #ao3 #slight crack #fluff and humor #jily #my fics #ao3 is down

[kurolini909]

About me!

This might be sudden, but I'm working on a Master Post and thought to include this section. ^^

Who am I?

Hello everyone, I'm Kurolini909! An artist, character creator, aspiring designer, writer and storytelling enthusiast!

Nickname/URL;

My current URL (Kurolini909) is an extension of my former one (Kuro909), which was based on a cat character from an anime I enjoyed when younger!

I decided to extend it so that it would be a bit less generic. The current one plays a little with the letters and sound of my actual name which I will not be revealing. The numeral does not have any particular meaning.

Former Online Presence;

I was originally better known as an Undertale content creator, though I'm attempting to deviate from that now. I still love the game and fandom, but I want to explore different medias and also develop a bit on original projects and pieces!

Undertale was the very first major fandom I actually joined - I had experience with the Warrior Cats fandom before that, but not in regards to actually producing content - back when I was a pre-teen. I immediately fell into the shipchildren, shipping and Alternate Universes corner of the community, and assumed that was just what you were supposed to do over there.

I sorta had no idea what I was doing with fandoms back then, so... Yeah. I recognize that this foundation ended up making a huge part of my online presence and there's not much point not acknowledging it whatever I'm into nowadays.

I created a few ship children, but no longer feel attracted by that niche in fandoms and am more inclined to make OCs within the universe unrelated at all to actual characters, or just Original Characters altogether. It is unlikely I'll create anything similar again. I very much love the personas I came up with and developed in that time though, and they might be repurposed into their own separate things at some point.

Additionally, the people I met through creating these characters and participating in that part of the fandom are all lovely and incredibly talented. I made a ton of remarkable friends I don't think I would have interacted with otherwise, so I'm quite fond of that period!

My Current Content;

Currently, I find that I'm happier not restraining myself to one specific content type anymore. I will post whatever I'm in the mood for, which I'm hoping will bring a lot more variety into the blog.

I'm prone to hyperfixations, and the likeability is that my content will come in waves of whatever media I'm inclined to at a time. I do not, however, make any commitments to stay posting that in the long term. As I said, my content will vary according to my current interest.

Interests;

When I enter a fandom, I rarely actually leave it.

I think everything I ever liked just sort of goes dormant for a while to give way to newer interests until nostalgia peeks my attention back to it, so I thought it was worth mentioning some of the media I enjoyed consuming and creating content for, and still do from time to time!

Transformers (several continuities, mostly Prime and MTMTE), Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pokémon, The Dragon Prince, Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss, Good Omens, Warrior Cats, Books (generalized), The Owl House, Five Nights At Freddy's, Hollow Knight, Animes and cartoons (generalized).

I believe that's it!

I'll be making a couple more text posts like this one to add to that Master Post I was talking about, but for this one, thanks for sticking around! ^^

#kurolini909 #text post #about me #for my masterpost