#Prima Lashes

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sky high lovin #Prima Nocta #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis au #70s elvis #elvis the king #elvis film #elvis aaron presley #austin elvis #elvis x you #Elvis #elvis movie #elvis photos

[depravitymoon]

Yandere Bucci Gang by Mental Instability

Mental instability: How normal do they look to society?

1 is you'd think they're normal.

5 is having moments of insanity slip through.

10 is everyone sees a walking red flag.

Trish 1/10

Giorno 2/10

Bruno 4/10

Narancia 5/10

Mista 6/10

Fugo 7/10

Abbacchio 7/10

Explanations below

Acts normal

Trish - Trish is just a normal girl, so she does know how to act in public. Yandere Trish, I imagine as a prima donna. She wants you and she wants to be the center of your world. If it means ruining your life to make that happen, she will. Don't worry, she'll be there to comfort you. However, she'll sabotage your life by ruining your reputation, so I imagine she does need to act as normal as possible.

Giorno - Canonically, most stable because he rarely acts out in public unless there's a dire situation. With Yan!GioGio, I imagine he tries to keep a normal demeanor. As Don, he might have a power trip, but I doubt that would last. He's able to charm people out their belongings, he can totally charm you into believing he's not crazy.

Has their moments

Bruno - Charming guy, but honestly, he is not stable considering his backstory and how he licks people to tell if they're lying. Canonically, he beats people in public and is very nonchalant when his crew was beating on an obvious civilian, even allowing them to stuff the mam with potentially poisonous food. Also, the blurted out that he and his crew was trying to find Diavolo in broad daylight where the enemy can easily spot them. If it wasn't for the fact Bruno is canonically loved by the locals, I would deem him too mentally unstable to be normal in society. Yandere Bruno might not act differently in terms of his private and public antics.

Narancia - Canon Nara is okay. Yeah, he burnt down street and explode cars, but it was in a dire situation. He also freaked out when he realized he was beating on a civilian. With Yandere!Nara, I imagine he's too childish to keep a stable demeanor if you reject his clinginess. He will pout, he will shout, he will lash out. He might also stab. Being delusional does not help.

Mista - Homeboy was randomly stealing people's money outside of theaters, willing to almost die to do so, and boldly stood up against a bunch of armed men. Also, in Trish's body, he was willing to touch private parts in public and blurt out very private information about Trish. Definitely not stable. Yandere Mista is delusional, so he will rationalize his actions of committing violence in broad daylight. He's only in this category because he seems laidback enough to not have people be constantly cautious of him.

Walking Red flags

Fugo - His outbursts are a problem and in the anime backstory, he warned that his temper gets so bad that it might kill Bruno. Also, Abbacchio had to keep Fugo from going off the deep end with his emotions twice in the anime. Most importantly, we're introduced to him violently beating up his own best friend over being a little shit about math. Then casually apologized as if he and Narancia weren't about to fight to the death. Yandere Fugo still has outbursts.

Abbacchio - Willing to pee in teapots in public, viciously beat a man in public and when he found out the man was an innocent civilian, forced fed the man food to see if it's poisoned. Gonna be honest, Abbacchio does not strike me as stable. Yandere Abbacchio would be plagued with depression and paranoia that you'll be abandon him like so many others have, either through death or being disappointed in him.

I rated both Fugo and Abacchio a 7, but I think Abbacchio's slightly worse. Fugo attempts to be better. Abbacchio actively seeks to act unhinged.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere #vento aureo #jjba #yandere mista #Yandere fugo #Yandere Trish #Yandere Bruno #Yandere Giorno #yandere bruno bucciarati #Yandere Trish Una #Yandere Narancia #Yandere Abbacchio #yandere bucci gang #Bucci Gang #Severity Scale #Yandere Bucci Gang Severity Scale

[stheresya]

The heroines of both The Grisha Trilogy and The Red Shoes (1948) respectively kinda share the same conflict, despite the stories being set in very different universes with its own circumstances. One is a story set in a 19th century russian-esque fantasy world, the other is set in the ballet world of 1940s UK. Both stories feature female characters who have a special skill/ability which is deemed an essence of their very being, who then become entangled with a scheming older man that elevates their abilities to its full potential, but meanwhile these girls also fall in love with a seemingly good guy, a love that inevitably prunes their abilities. And so they must decide between having love but devoid of their essence, or exploring their essence to its full potential but without love.

“It isn’t something separate from you,” Baghra snapped. “[…] Do you ask your heart to beat or your lungs to breathe? Your power serves you because that is its purpose, because it cannot help but serve you.” (Ch. 13, Shadow and Bone)

- Why do you want to dance? - Why do you want to live? - I don't know exactly why but… I must. - That's my answer too. (The Red Shoes)

What differentiates the stories, other than the environment where they're set, is how each of them deal with this conflict. In TGT this conflict is felt most by the reader than by the heroine herself. The paths that are presented to Alina are embodied by her childhood sweetheart and an older powerful man who ignites her in various ways, both men form a love triangle with Alina where they compete for her, even if each man wants her for very different purposes. Alina knows this but she refuses to grapple with a decision, she already know head-on that Mal is the one, and she mostly just tries to navigate both of these contradictory aspects: the grisha/saint identity as well as her normie boyfriend, despite being constantly warned that this would not be a feasible on the long run.

But in TRS, however, the conflict is deeply felt by the main character as well as the viewer. Also, and this is very important, there isn't really a love triangle in the movie. The main character is divided between her boyfriend and her mentor, who doesn't seem to harbor genuine romantic feelings for Vicky even though he still feels something that borders on obsession for her due to her talent (some people, like myself, interpret this as his own twisted form of romantic love, but I'm going here with what's clearly shown in the movie). The mentor is a bit similar to the Darkling personality-wise. He is a man who has renounced love altogether and lives solely for his job (or as he calls it: his "religion", which is ballet), and he expects his prima-ballerinas to do the same. So when he learns that Vicky has fallen in love with his composer he goes mad and lashes out on both of them, which causes Vicky to readily stand by her boyfriend. But of course things don't stop there as she constantly second-guessing her decision, even when her man tries to deliver on the happiness that he's promised her. The movie is constantly asking us: is it fair to give up your dreams for the sake of love? can you truly be fulfilled in your dream when you have no love?

But why am I making these connections? I suppose because watching this movie made me realize that these sorts of conflicts can never really lead to a happy ending. It's the perfect conflict for a tragedy. I guess one can write an ending where the conflict is resolved by just having the character be allowed to have both. But in my opinion it feels a disingenuous and coward choice to just take the conflict away, without having to face it.

And that's why both The Grisha Trilogy and The Red Shoes end in tragedy. The difference is that the latter is honest in its tragedy, while the former tries to paint the situation as... not exactly happy, but still hopeful, maybe bittersweet, but ultimately ok. It's ok because it was "fair", it was punishment for her "greediness" (she wasn't greedy). Another thing that I think The Red Shoes does better is allowing for the heroine choose. The ending of the movie, albeit sad, is entirely Vicky's choice. The Grisha trilogy doesn't go that way. Instead it does the RS equivalent of having Alina suffer a permanent injury that makes her unable to go on pointe, thus killing her career as a ballet dancer, and then Alina has to settle with her boyfriend after all, living as a shell of herself where she not longer has her essence, and she's not even allowed her own name anymore. But it's ok! she has her (unsupportive) man with her!

So long story short, there is no possible scenario where Alina could've had a happy ending. But we as readers could've a more fulfilling end if only the story were more honest about the ending it was writing. Alina died in every way except physically. It's not a happy ending in any way.

#stuff i wrote while procrastinating my studies #parallels

[evadingreallife]

Recap prima seconda terza quarta (quinta) serata:

• morandi sta andando forte apre tutte le porte fa jogging in sala mentre amadeus millanta una maratona musicale velocissima (qualcuno ci ha creduto? Io no)

• ariete e sangiovanni quello vero abbastanza underwhelming sorry

• will canta con un tale

• elodie frega una borsetta dalla platea SAPEVO CHE AVEVO FATTO BENE A SCEGLIERTI AL FANTASANREMO SII. Se ne va pure rifacendo le scale tutto per il fanta dajee

• la borsetta l'ha più ridata? Chi lo sa.

• Peppino? Peppino.

• breaking news ama fa coming out come uno swiffer sul palco dell'ariston

• comica effettivamente comica, miracolo

• il direttore d'orchestra di olly con un piccolo benji nel taschino aaaaaaaaaaaa🥹🥹

• lazza e morandi are besties, we get it

• ultimo in versione babysitter di eros che si scorda il testo rip

• tananai in his lesbian softboi era, biagio approved, 15k, oneshot, slow burn, music au

• chiara francini signorina cencini amo lei la sua borsetta il suo modo di fare le sue ALI le sue virtù tutto

• shari canta in corsivo bocciatissima

• arisa sul palco tipo addetto dello zoo che cerca con le unghie e con i denti di arginare grignani e farlo andare a tempo inutilmente.

• minutino serio

• CON LE MANI CON LE MANI CON LE MANI CIAO CIAO throwback thursday friday

• SONO O NON SONO IL CAPITAN UNCINOO

• sketch dei poltronesofà e intanto tutti a cercare freneticamente su google se pure loro siano FRATELLI o se si possa prendere la route full homo visto che erano soli in un camerino chiuso su un sofà insieme

• j-ax l'altro 31 e fedez palesemente scappati dalla stessa gabbia dello zoo non so

• ovviamente giorgia e elisa cantano luce e la platea ascende improvvisamente al cielo come esseri superiori

• i coladimasplash infilano uno splashetto pure oggi nelle cover 🌊

• ah si il mio fandom-in-law si li conosco (pubblicità di mare fuori)

• i vestiti della signorina cencini sono i veri mvp della serata

• signorina cencini e gianni, 20k, fastburn, threesome, eventual marriage

• cugini di campagna falsettano in falsetto as is their due

• mengoni non era necessario infierire sugli altri dall'alto della tua classifica con il coro gospel e let it be a sta maniera suu

• the aria da diciottesimo in this crociera si sta davvero facendo sentire stasera (it's milano bangkok for me)

• gianmaria era pupo la prima sera e resta pupo pure oggi niente da fare

• niente mr rain insipido era e insipido rimane

• madame che canta de andré con l'autotune? In my sanremo? More likely than you think. No ma scherzi a parte a me è piaciuta stasera.

• rosa chemical & l'altra tizia living their best life with the matching extra lashes, the most on fleek eyeliner ever, one (1) tiny boot lick and sus objects in hand by rosa i see u 👀

• oh no oh god la rai ha fatto una pubblicità su benigni che parla di biblically accurate sex asdfghjkl

• i modà e le vibrazioni mi vibrano to sleep ma whisky è molto furbo risale la montagna la pioggia lo bagna ecc ecc morale ancora non andrò a dormire

• anna oxa resuscita l'unica canzone che potrebbe vagamente salvarla aka un'emozione da poco, ma il canto greco finale davvero non era necessario, giuro anna, come se avessi accettato guarda

• ore l'una meno dieci: sethu fa il gioco delle sedie con gente. I dont even know anymore a questo punto

• ah levante happened a una certa hmmm

• apro gli occhi e amadeus ha un grembiule. Sbatto le palpebre e qualcuno sta cantando di nuovo. Mhhh penso che io stia inziando ad accusare il sonno qui

• oddio sta cantando qualcuno ma non so chi è mamma non so chi è sono face blind i know l'ho capito non ne riconosco uno chi sei datemi un indizioo

• AH ERA LDA grazie ama non ci sarei mai arrivata da sola

• mara sattei la scambio troppo con sheri regà non è colpa mia non riconosco nessuno😭😭.

• intanto tutti smollano i fiori al primo che passa asap tipo patata bollente, pure dopo che abbiamo rotto a tutta la rai per farli dare a tutti, io boh

• Fiorello mood della vita stile hobo con la copertina di pile la cuffietta della spazzatura e il piumone indossabile tattico

• colla zio rivalutati. Perhaps, saliti.

• hhhhh monologo di mamma non pancina idk sonno sonno sonno

• uuuh classifica NO MA DAI GIORGIA SOLO QUARTA CON LUCE È UN FURTO REGA ok il mengonisweep ma giorgia almeno seconda doveva essere suuuu

• classifica parte 2 la vendetta: quella vera mengoni ultimo lazza mr rain giorgia

E niente buonanotte a tutti pure A CHI NON DOVREBBE STARE DOVE STA IN CLASSIFICA MA VBB notte

Bonus: quota di mamme invocate in questa puntata: idk, uncountable

#sanremo 2023 #sanremo #ops sto recap è venuto quasi più lungo della puntata di stasera sorryyy #sono prolissa ik 😭 #recap quarta serata sanremo 2023

[i-fondued]

Ghost | Sinners in Secret - Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen - The Kissing Incident

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin x Papa “Terzo” Emeritus III

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Plot, smut, etc. See AO3 for full list of tags!

A/N: This one is a little more plot heavy as we start to close some doors and head towards some of the final chapters of this story which makes me sad even typing it out T^T

Full Chapter List - HERE

AO3 Link - HERE

“Amore, wake up…”

I felt the gentle press of lips on my bare shoulder, hands sliding down my forearms. I mumbled no and turned to bury my face deeper into my pillow. I felt a second set of hands on my waist, fingertips toying with the hem of my nightgown. 

“Tesoro…we’ll be late for breakfast.”

There was warmth enveloping me as someone curled around my back and slotted my ass against their hardening cock. That got me to stir slightly, eyes blinking as I peaked out from under my lashes. I smiled warmly as I was greeted to Copia’s heated gaze, his mismatched eyes filled with mirth and adoration as I tried to nuzzle back into his chest. He was sitting up slightly, head resting in his hand, and the blankets had pooled around his waist. 

His paints had been washed off at some point between when I passed out last night and when he woke me. He was backlit by the sunshine coming in the windows behind him, which caused me to squint slightly, and he looked like some sort of sinful God. I smiled brightly as he leaned down and pressed a warm, feather like kiss to my lips. His hand cupped my cheek before he pulled away slightly and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“Good morning to you too, boys.” I teased, looking back over my shoulder as Terzo chuckled behind me. His hands had gripped my hip as he tried to subtly rock against me, a small shiver running down my spine. “I could get used to waking up like this, you know…”

“Ah, Amore just wait till we are bound as one, si? The way the Cardinale and I will wake you…” He murmured darkly in my ear, voice low and grumbly from sleep, as he nipped at my ear. “Ti faremo arricciare le dita dei piedi e ti disfeccerai prima ancora di svegliarti, si?” We will make your toes curl and you come undone before you fully wake, si?

I gasped softly, eyes slipping closed, as I felt Terzo’s hand slip from my hip to between my thighs. His deft fingers gently caressing my clit as his free arm slid beneath me to cup my breasts through the silk of the nightgown. His thumb teasing my nipples to sensitive peaks as I shuttered against him. Copia smirked as he leaned closer, pressing soft open mouth kisses to my collarbones and chest. I could feel Terzo pulling up the nightgown before he slipped his cock between my thighs, rutting against me but not actually plunging inside me. I could feel the head of his cock brush against my clit with every push and pull of his hips and I whimpered, reaching to grip his wrist between my legs as he teased me. 

Copia’s hand wrapped around my throat softly, not putting any pressure as he took my other hand and guided me to wrap my fingers tightly around his cock. I locked eyes on him, his pupils dark with heat and lust as he tugged on the flimsy silk nightgown to gain access to my chest, I gasped as he trailed his tongue down my flushed collarbones and flicked the tip of his tongue against my harden nipples. My hand around his cock fought to keep a steady pace as Terzo whispered filthy things in my ear.

“You are such a good girl for us, Sorella.” Copia murmured against my breasts, his breath coming in pants as he began rocking his hips to thrust into my hand. I matched his rhythm, Terzo also teasing my cunt with his cock and fingers matching our movements. “Soon, we will mark you as ours..for everyone to see, our Prime Mover.”

“Mm, Copia .” I whimpered, his hand on my throat squeezing slightly as chills ran down my spine at the possessive look in his eyes.

“Amore,” Terzo groaned, nudging my legs apart with his knee so he could angle his hips to finally slide inside of me. I groaned, nails digging into his thigh as he rocked in and out of me. “Trascorreremo la nostra luna di miele aggrovigliati tra le lenzuola, prendendoci il nostro tempo per adorarti finché non crescerai con i nostri eredi.” We will spend our honeymoon tangled together between the sheets, taking our time to worship you till you grow round with our heirs.

I gasped, arching my back and grinding back against Terzo as he spoke, cunt clenching tightly against his thrusts. Copia’s hand slid from my throat to my jaw, holding my head steady as his eyes bore into mine. 

“Non distogliere lo sguardo da me, topolino. Voglio vedere i tuoi occhi quando Papa ti riempie del suo seme.” Do not look away from me, Topolino. I want to see your eyes when papa fills you with his seed. He growled, leaning close enough to let his lips brush against mine as he spoke. “Voglio vederti implorare per questo, sorella. Prega che papà ti vieni dentro.” I want to see you beg for it, Sister. Beg for Papa to come inside you.

I whimpered as Copia thrusted his hips into my fist and matched his pace to Terzo’s slow rocking. The man behind me was curled around my tense form, arms around my waist and hips as he clung to me, grunting with his efforts to control his rhythm. I was panting, chest heaving in gasping breaths, as my orgasm began to build behind my belly button. Terzo growled in my ear, licking and sucking at my neck as I cried out his name. I felt like the tension in my muscles of my stomach contracting as I fought to keep afloat in the pleasure while he was possessively fucking me. 

“Please, Terzo…” I groaned, head falling back before Copia could snatch my chin to lock his dark gaze on me. “I need you.”

“Mm, Si…you do, Bambina.” Terzo chuckled, starting to speed up in his thrusts as my breath hitched in my throat. “Ti piace la sensazione del mio cazzo dentro di te, sì?” You love the feeling of my cock inside you, yes?

Terzo punctuated his words with a snap of his hips, his cock striking against the deep spot inside me that made my toes curl and my eyes roll back. I moaned loudly, Copia chuckling as he nipped and sucked at my sensitive chest and collarbones, murmuring dirty and loving things into my skin. I was gasping between the feeling of their hands greedily grazing against my over sensitive flesh, nerves frayed and on fire at the sensation of their fingertips. Terzo took my leg and hiked it up towards my chest, arm locked around my thigh. 

Copia’s hips snapped as he fucked my hand and groaned into my skin. Hungrily, he sucked at nipples, my free hand coming to tangle in his hair as I tugged him to my lips. I moaned into his open mouth, gasping and practically delirious with the sensations. The pull behind my navel was tight, I knew I was right on the edge of coming undone and I gasped as Terzo snapped his hips particularly sharply and brushed against that sensitive spot inside me.

“Are you close, Sorella?” Copia purred, his hand coming to tenderly cup my cheek. I nodded my head and he clicked his tongue with a tut. “Use your words, Topolino.”

“Yes, Cardinal.” I moaned, eyes squeezing shut as Terzo rutted against me. His fingers teasing my clit. “I-I’m so close, Terzo please.”

“Please what, Tesoro?” He teased, grunting as he thrusted deep inside me and aimed right for the spot that made my eyes see stars. I gasped, arching back against him. 

“P-please come inside me…” I whimpered as Copia’s tongue curled around my nipple, shuttering as I fought to hold off my orgasm. 

“Now, Stelina.” Copia’s hand came to slip between the apex of my thighs, his fingers barely brushing against my dripping wet core, was all it took for me to be pushed over the edge. “Vieni per i tuoi compagni…” Come for your mates…

I cried out, toes curling as I felt myself fall apart in their arms. I was a shuddering mess, one hand tangled in Copia’s hair as he kissed my lips and swallowed my sounds. Terzo growled in my ear as his pace quickened, his thighs slapping against my ass as he pounded into me. I was rolling through my aftershocks as they took control of my pliant body, I felt like a rag doll as they took their pleasure from me. 

My heart was pounding as Terzo buried himself to the hilt inside me, biting down on my shoulder as he rocked into me gently. His cock twitched as he spilled himself inside me, pressing soft kisses to the back of my neck. Copia’s hand cupped my own and he pumped my fist a few more times before he too came undone, his cock twitching and pulsing as he spilled himself all over my thighs. His chest was heaving as he pressed small kisses to the back of my free hand and forehead.

“Bellissima, Topolinio.” He mumbled into my skin, a wry smile on his face as all three of us laid there, catching our breath.

“Si, Cardinale. I could not agree more.” Terzo chuckled as he rolled onto his back with a groan. “Now poor Sorella is filthy, I wonder what we should do.”

“Maybe we can test out that fancy shower in there.” I teased, sitting up suddenly to throw my legs over Copia’s hips as I slipped from the bed. I looked over my shoulder and I squealed as they chased after me into the bathroom; a hunter’s gleam in both their eyes.

…

“Swiss? Are you here?” I called, knocking on his door that had been left opened a crack. 

When Copia, Terzo and I had finally emerged from our room we were ravenous only to realize that we’d completely missed breakfast and that lunch was only an hour or so away. While Terzo and I wandered around the small ensuite kitchen, looking for anything we could nibble on, Copia had collected the mail by the main doors and had found a summons from Sister Imperator. 

Apparently she needed to meet with them before lunch…without me. I’d been suspicious, but they told me not to worry about it. Instead they had both given me a gentle kiss before heading down the hall. They both promised to meet me in the dining hall for lunch and I couldn’t help the small smile as Copia told me he’d save my spot for me. After they had left I decided I’d see if Swiss was still here, thinking maybe he was hungry. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom of the suite, the door shut. I padded over to the wooden door, knocking to grab his attention. 

“Swiss?”

“Y-yeah sunshine?!” I heard him call out, his voice muffled from the other side. My brow furrowed, concerned at the warble in his tone and listened to hear if he was okay or if he was hurt.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to come down to the dining hall with me, Papa and Cardinal Copia already headed out. Sister Imperator was looking to speak with them.” Almost barely audible, I heard a soft groan followed by a growl over the sounds of the thundering shower. Concern welled up in my chest, my hand coming to the doorknob as I paused. “Swiss? Are you okay?”

“Darlin’ I need you to give me five minutes okay? I’ll meet you in the living room.” Swiss growled and I couldn’t help the awkward giggle that slipped from my throat. 

“Oh! Okay, okay. I’ll be waiting, don’t take too long.” I called, sliping from his room to settle on the couch by the entrance. 

I started to read the book I’d put to the side earlier in the day and true to his word Swiss came sauntering out of his room dressed and ready for the day. Instead of the borrowed clothes he’d been wearing, Swiss was dressed like the other ghouls from back home at the Abbey. He wore a black button up dress shirt tucked into tight black trousers, held up by a pair of suspenders, a pair of black dress shoes with white spats, and his customary silver mask. 

“Finally, I’m starving.” I smiled, hauling myself off the couch and slipping on a pair of flats as he came to follow me out the door. 

“Worked up an appetite last night did you?” He teased, playfully shoving my shoulder as my cheeks flushed. 

“You didn’t hear us did you?” I asked sheepishly, looking to the ground as we walked down the halls bustling with activity. The Monastery was abuzz with planning and preparation for the upcoming rituals and ceremonies. “Oh my god, you totally did didn’t you!?”

“Sunshine…were connected, remember? I feel all your emotions. Good, bad, or horny ones.” Swiss laughed as all the color drained from my face. I stopped dead in my tracks, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the side of the hall.

“Are you telling me you could feel me having sex?” I whispered furiously, our eyes locked and I could tell he was smirking behind his mask.

“Not exactly but I did feel that your mates seemed to have made you very happy last night…and this morning.” He teased me, booping me on the nose before he tugged me along.

“Please let the ground swallow me whole.” I groaned, Swiss laughed before looking back at me as I caught up to him.

“It’s fine, Sister. If anything..my only complaint is that I’ve been rock hard since last night.” He teased and I almost choked on my own spit, sputtering at him while we headed into the dining hall for lunch.

“I hate you right now.” I murmured, Swiss giving me a sympathetic smile as he winked at me.

“Love you too, Darlin’...I’ll come find you later if you aren’t doing anything.” He teased before darting down the side to where the ghouls ate in the other room. Ghouls ate separately here due to their more…feral nature when it came to meals. 

I looked up at the head table as I kept my head held high, making sure to play the part of ascending Prime Mover. Copia and Terzo were locked in a fierce conversation, only pausing and smiling when I approached. I looked between them and crossed my arms, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“What are you two up to?” I questioned as I sat in my seat on Terzo’s left, Veritas hadn’t joined us yet and I was hopeful that maybe he’d stay away. “You look like you’ve been caught red handed…”

“Nothing, Tesoro. We were discussing what Imperator had talked about with us before we came here.” Terzo smiled, hand resting on mine as our lunch was starting to be served. 

“Oh, what did she say? Is it anything I should be worried about?”

“Well…” Copia started, scratching at the back of his neck. He paused and looked over at Terzo with a pointed look. Terzo took that as his signal and sighed dramatically.

“Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil have decided we must observe the traditions of old, Amore.” 

“What does that mean for us?” I asked, brows furrowed as I tried to imagine some sort of dark blood ritual in some of the scrolls back home. 

“From now till the rituals start we are to sleep separately and refrain from…” Terzo made a vague thrusting motion with his hips and I couldn’t help but blush at the idea of Imperator and Nihil talking about what we got up to at night. “Do not fret, Amore. I made sure to make it clear that I will still be kissing you with wild abandonment, Cardinale too.”

“What is with people and our sex life today…” I grumbled as I started to pick at my lunch. 

“Who else asked about our sex life, Topolino?” Copia asked, face flashed with a possessiveness that shot a thrill down my spine.

“Swiss walked with me here, I forgot that he can feel what I’m feeling and um… apparently …we were very intense the last few times.” I blushed, looking away from the indulgent face Copia was making as I spoke. Terzo burst out laughing, loud enough to draw the attention of the few siblings in the tables closest to us.

“Mi dispiace, Amore,” Terzo threw his hands up in mock defense at my scathing scowl. “I had forgotten what it would be like for your multi ghoul while he adjusts to life on the mortal plane.”

“If I’d known how much it would affect him I wouldn’t have let you two devients talk me into the time this morning in the shower…” I hissed, cheeks flushed as I angrily picked at my salad course. Copia chuckled, his mismatched eyes heating up as he looked at me. 

“Ah, if only we were able to feel each other's emotions like that eh Papa?” Copia sighed, hand reaching out to sip the glass of wine he’d been given.

“Si, si Cardinale. Though I have a feeling none of us would ever get anything done.”

I laughed, cheeks practically on fire as I looked at the hungry gaze from my partners. I tried to squash the feeling of warm desire pooling in my belly but I could almost hear the groan from Swiss from the other room. 

“You two are the absolute worst you know?” I chided with no bite in the words as I nibbled at my meal. “Before you two, I was quite the pious sibling you know?”

“Sorella, I don’t believe for a moment that you were anything less.” Terzo teased me, hand settling high on my thigh. 

His fingers slipped against my inner thigh over my simple linen skirt and my legs parted under the tablecloth before I remembered myself and swatted his hand away.

“Keep your hands to yourself, you said it yourself. No more touching each other till the binding ceremony.” I sipped my own wine, winking at them as we continued our conversation from the night before. Happy to spend time in each other's company even if it was for something as simple as a meal.

...

Time felt like it passed faster in Italy compared to back home. 

When the first snow had fallen at the monastery, only a few days after Copia and I had made up, the siblings had gone abuzz with excitement over the idea of a winter solstice ceremony for Papa and his Prime Mover and her Companion. That was how they referred to us three, much to my distaste.

“It is alright, Topolino.” Copia had tried soothing me with a soft, endearing smile on his face as I huffed my way into our living room where he and Terzo were working on the black mass sermons together. “I am used to this sort of attitude from them, it does not bother me.”

“Well it bothers me!” I snapped, suddenly very angry. “Our relationship is just as important as Papa and I, not to mention you and Terzo’s relationship as well.”

“They do not understand what they do not acknowledge, Amore.” Terzo sighed, sitting back in his chair and running a hand through his messy hair to push it back from his face. 

“What do you mean?”

“Some would not like to publicly admit that while the idea of Papa sharing suo amante with il cardinale is perfectly fine, the idea of Papa sharing his bed with another man is…not as welcome as one would think here in the Monastery.”

“See, that just makes me more mad honestly.” I grumbled, standing with my arms crossed and pouting as I looked out the window at the snow on the ground. Siblings playing in the large drifts. “We��re the satanic church, we're supposed to be better than the Catholics or the Protestants…”

“Amore…” Copia started before Terzo shook his head. He opened his arms and gestured for me to come stand with him. I stood between his legs, leaning back against the desk.

“Does it bother you, Amore? That Copia and I are lovers too?” He asked, face serious for once, I could see Copia stiffen where he was standing out of the corner of my eye. 

“Of course not.” I watched the Cardinal breathe a sigh of relief.

“Then do not let the old guard and their outdated opinions sway yours, si? Together, the three of us, will rebuild this church in our image…”

“Fine…but I’m not gonna be happy about it till they all know that we are bound together, the three of us.”

“I think that can be arranged…” Copia chuckled, leaning over to press a soft kiss to my temple. Terzo’s hands settled on my waist before he pressed a kiss to my forehead. 

“As much as I adore you, Tesoro, I do need to finish this sermon.” Terzo teased, scooting me to the side to tuck into the desk. “All work and no play makes Papa a dull boy, si?”

“Yeah, yeah…I’ll see you both for dinner.” I chuckled, leaning to give them each a kiss on their cheek.Terzo’s hand gripped my hip as I moved to slide past him, his voice making me shiver as he tugged me almost in his lap.

“I cannot keep waiting for you, Amore…I miss your body…” He groaned, resting his forehead against my torso, daintily avoiding getting his paints on my shirt.

“Not that much longer now, you big baby…” I teased before stepping away from him, butterflies in my own stomach at the look in his eyes.

“Have fun, Stellina.” Copia chuckled, giving my ass a light smack as I passed him. 

I rolled my eyes and smiled at him before heading on my way to meet up with Imperator as we worked on the planning stage of the various events coming up. Heading down a few doors I knocked on Imperator’s door; after a moment the woman herself opened the door with a smile.

“Ah, Sister. Please come in!” She said brightly, stepping aside as I followed her in. “We have quite a bit to go through today, including a fitting appointment at some point…”

What had felt like an eternity away weeks ago slowly crept up on the calendar, we were in the final coordinating stages. The ceremonies and rituals started tomorrow. I was a bundle of nerves thinking about how important the next few days were going to be for not just myself but Terzo and Copia. It was actually a blessing that Imperator took charge of the planning because I was overwhelmed just looking at the charts and lists, let alone making decisions. At first I tried to coax Copia or Terzo for input or to help with decisions but Imperator had borderline shot them down telling me that I only had one day like this in my life and that I shouldn’t squander it. 

“There is no budget too large for this event, Sister. Go wild.” She laughed when we first started planning. 

So I did. I ordered what I wanted; chose the flowers and fabrics I loved, the food that made my mouth water the hardest, and the music that I wanted to listen to too. The appointment with the dressmakers had been the biggest shock of my life when I glanced at the invoice for the seven outfits I’d wear over five days; the number making me actually sick to my stomach. 

“All the dresses have arrived and are being unboxed and steamed as we speak.” Imperator clapped her hands excitedly, pulling me from my wandering mind. “Sister Caterina has been a large help with getting everything ready.”

“That’s very kind of her.” I said, trying to not grit my teeth. Sister Imperator was perceptive as always though, eyes filled with humor as she quirked an eyebrow at me.

“You don’t care for Sister Caterina do you, Sister?” She chuckled as she double checked a list for the caterer.

“I wouldn’t say that…” I lied, cheeks flushing as I went over some of my notes for the rituals I’d be participating in. “The interactions we’ve had haven’t always been pleasant.”

“Even after the council meeting?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I sighed, thinking back over the last few weeks. 

For the most part since the night he’d drunk too much wine and cornered me, Veritas had been keeping to himself. I’d maybe see him at meals but even then he’d sit at a whole other end of the table than me and not look in my direction once. Both Copia and Terzo had been wary of his lack of inserting himself in the situation but I was just been grateful he’d backed off of me. Sister Caterina on the other hand? She had taken her brother’s place as a thorn in my side. 

She just was lurking in the corner of every interaction, every moment, every meal that I had with Terzo outside of our suites. Always just off to the side, speaking with another member of senior clergy or even catching up with one of Terzo’s brothers. She’d smile warmly whenever it was obvious she was staring at Terzo and I, but it never quite reached her eyes. There was something odd about the siblings and how they were acting towards my companions and I; something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. 

Imperator’s heavy sigh brought me back to the present as she moved to jot some notes in her leather binder before walking over to the phone on her desk. 

“Hello? Yes, can you please send a ghoul here with a tea service for two? Thank you.” She ordered before turning to face me with a small wistful smile, gesturing to the sofas by the fireplace. “Sit, Sister. Please.”

“Of course, Imperator.” I said, my mind reeling. 

Sister Imperator never said please. Was this a sign I was going to be told this was all a joke and to get my ass back on a plane to the United States? Or was she going to tell me I was on candid camera and we’d all have a good laugh about the Sister who thought she just might be important enough to be a Prime Mover. At some point during my doom spiral, tea had arrived and Sister Imperator took the time to pour me a cup. I took the warm porcelain in my hands with an expression that was somewhere between a smile and a grimace. 

“Sister…” Imperator started, seemingly lost for words which only increased my panic. “Do you know much about the romantic past of either Papa or Cardinal Copia?”

“O-only what they’ve told me, or what I’ve heard about from other siblings.” I blushed, thinking back to the many years of listening to other sisters gush over Terzo and his attentiveness that I’d only now been able to experience. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s not quite my story to tell but I do feel as we get closer to your rituals that I must fill you in, at least partly.” She sighed, sipping her tea and looking to the fireplace. “Sister Caterina had submitted a request to be a Prime Mover a few years back, before you’d officially even joined us at the Abbey.”

“Oh.” was all I said. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, I’d had my suspicions, but it was another to be told to my face. 

“She and Papa had been on and off for so many years, they’d known each other since they were children after all. But Terzo had assumed he’d never find his true Prime Mover, just like Secondo, so they had submitted to the council and waited to find out their approval.”

“Did they get it?” I asked, my voice wavering slightly as my throat tightened.

“No they did not,” Imperator smiled sadly, placing a hand on my leg that I couldn’t help but bounce. “Nobody knows exactly why they didn’t; when I tried to look into it the records were sealed…”

“Ah.” I let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding, a slight tint of pink to my cheeks. “So…when did they break up officially?”

“It wasn’t long after that, Papa blamed the distance mainly when he told Nihil and I. He didn’t want to move the Emeritus seat of power to Italy here, Caterina didn’t want to leave her brother behind to come to the states. At least that's what I was told. I think it also had more to do with Copia getting the clergy seat over Cardinal Veritas.”

“Why would you say that, Sister Imperator?”

“There was murmurs among the Clergy at the time that Veritas had lost his temper when Copia had been selected to take Terzo’s place. I think that Veritas’ reaction and the falling out between him and Papa must have pressed even more strain between Caterina and Papa. Secondo was still Papa but he’d already told us he was looking to step down, that he was getting too old for the Ghost Project. Papa had been notified he needed to return to the Abbey, to prepare to ascend within the year. One of those preparations was to select the next head of the clergy; Papa had made the right call picking Copia over Veritas.” She paused to sip her tea again, expression thoughtful. “It wasn’t long after that that you showed up on our doorstep, claiming that you felt a tug towards us. Little did we know…” She teased and I laughed.

“You know, I wasn’t lying about that tugging feeling. It had always been there, I just didn’t understand what it was trying to tell me.”

“Thank Lucifer for that, Sister.” Imperator smiled. “Between you and I, your relationship with Papa and Cardinal Copia is far superior to anyone they had before. I’ve never seen someone be able to handle those two in the way that you do, they seem more at peace than they have in a long time. I have to thank you for that.”

“I’m just happy they’re happy, Sister.” I shrugged, draining the rest of the cup of tea before gently placing it back on the sofa table in front of me. “I…I’ve grown very fond of them, especially over the last few weeks here at the Monastery.”

“Sister…you know I know everything that goes on in the Abbey, yes?”

“O-of course Sister Imperator.”

“I know that you and Cardinal Copia have been…an item for much longer than you and Papa.” 

“I don-” I started, face inflamed as I tried to think of a way to get out of this conversation.

“You and Copia have the subtlety of a horde of ghouls on a full moon.” She laughed as I squirmed under her sharp gaze. “I think most of the senior library staff had found you two in between the stacks at least twice.”

I was praying to Lucifer to put me out of my misery now.

…

“Do you want a snack Sunshine? I’m starving!” Swiss groaned as he flopped backwards onto my bed. 

I was sitting in the wingback chair by the fireplace in our master suite, dressed in my normal silk nightgown with a black silk robe over it. Curled up with a book, I’d been reading over previous symbolic Prime Movers; information that seemed sparse since the only thing I’d been able to find was that the actual title and accession would not be given to the person binding to Papa if they weren’t selected by Lucifer. My conversation with Imperator peaked my curiosity on how it worked when the person was not chosen and how that would affect their bonds. 

“No, I think I’m okay.” I yawned, stretching lazily before standing up. “It's going to be a long few days, I think I’ll end up going to bed shortly.”

“I’ll be as quiet as I can when I get back okay?” He smiled, winking at me before he vanished into an inky black pool he’d conjured beneath him.

Swiss had been given the task of guarding me. 

Partly symbolic as part of the lead up to my ascension, as my personally bound ghoul, but also guarding me from my companions and their never ending lust. I knew it was one of the cardinal sins of our church, but sweet satanas did they clearly have a favorite sin. Terzo especially seemed put out by the lack of intimacy between us, practically pouting every morning when we went to breakfast. I’d always give him a kiss, a short and sweet one before he’d lighten back up. We’d eat together the three of us, soaking in each other’s company, before we’d end up going our separate ways to work on our to-do lists. Everyone in the Emeritus clan, including Copia and I, had been busy with the various tasks we’d been assigned to get things ready for the next few days worth of events and rituals. 

Primo and I had worked together to go through the booklets of flowers and floral decoration ideas, selecting the flowers and greenery that would bring us luck and fertility in our nuptials. I spent the better part of two weeks with Primo on the binding ritual flowers alone, that hadn’t even included the five other rituals. Eventually we settled on a general color palette and theme for the flowers; Primo had been pleased as punch to use his knowledge of flowers and rituals to tie everything together in one perfect little black bow. 

Secondo, true to his word, guided me through each ritual that I’d be expected to perform at and what I should expect from them. This was all mainly during my fitting appointments in the beginning but once we’d finished the fittings he had taken me down to the enormous chapel where we would be having our ceremonies. He walked with me during the day; sometimes in the open air gardens, other times we’d just walk the halls. Secondo was a fantastic teacher even if he came off abrasive in the beginning. I’d been working with him to memorize my role in the Prime Mover ritual especially, as it was the last one and required my participation heavily. 

Finally, almost a month after our arrival to Italy, tomorrow was the start of the rituals. It was the start of the right step towards my future. I was giddy with excitement but also terrified of failure, with so many people expected to be in attendance and eyes on me I couldn’t help but feel like there was a large microscope on me. I looked at my bed, empty and huge when it was just me, and I couldn’t help the longing pull for my companions. In a few days they'd be my husbands, something that made my face heat up and subconsciously bite my lip. A gentle knock pulled me from my thoughts, I curled my legs under me as I called out. 

“Come in!”

“Ah, Topolino. You are still awake…” I smiled brightly as Copia slipped into the bedroom, dressed in his red cassock. He wasn’t wearing his biretta or gloves and he’d unbuttoned the red overcoat, looking more like a romance character than Cardinal. “It is so late. We have quite the day ahead of us, Amore. You should get some sleep, si?”

“I’m too excited.” I laughed sheepishly as he perched on the arm of the chair, arm resting over the top. “So much time and planning has gone into this, it's impressive. I’m just ready to have you and Terzo back honestly…”

“We miss you too, Stelina.” He smiled softly, hand reaching out to cup my jaw. I couldn’t help the small shiver that ran down my spine as his mismatched eyes locked on mine. “Disperatamente…”

“Copia…” I whispered as my heartbeat slowly creeped up, watching his eyes travel from my face to my lips and to my body that was barely covered in the silk nightgown. “We can’t…”

“Ti piacerebbe vivere deliziosamente, Sorella?” Would you like to live deliciously, Sister? He murmured against my lips as he tilted my head by my chin, my breath sharp as my pulse spiked. “Ti piacerebbe vivere nel peccato?” Would you like to live in sin?

“Cop-” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before he pressed his lips to mine, hungry and with a growl. 

I whimpered in the kiss, heat instantly filling my belly as my forgotten book fell to the floor. I felt him slide from the arm of the chair to kneel in front of me on the floor, his arms slipping around my waist to tug me down to the floor with him. I gasped as he helped me bracket his strong, thick thighs as we kissed. My lips parted, gasping in a breath before his tongue slipped in between my lips to coax a moan as he teased my tongue with his own. Our breath mingled as we kissed, panting and gripping the other like we were lost at sea and only the other body was what would anchor us. I felt his hand grip my hips tight as the other was on the small of my back, tightly pressing me against him as I trembled in his lap. Wearing nothing but a silk nightgown I felt exposed and I flushed just thinking about the idea of someone catching us like this.

“Fuck. Copia…” I groaned, rolling my hips on instinct as he bucked up against my core. “W-we shouldn’t…”

“I need you, Amore…mi sei mancato terribilmente.” He mumbled against my lips, forehead resting against mine as he spoke. “What is a little sin to the Satanic Church, no?”

I couldn’t help but giggle but the sound morphed into a breathy sort of whimper as his hand slipped up my side to cup my breast, his thumb brushing against my pebbled nipple under the silk. He chuckled, leaning in to kiss me fiercely again. As he started to tug the hem of my long nightgown there was the low rumble of a familiar growl. I felt Copia’s hands pause on my bare inner thigh, breaking off our kiss to look over his shoulder. 

“You need to ask Sorella if she is okay with you watching us, Multi Ghoul.” Copia’s voice was thick with desire as he smirked at the angry ghoul. “Though if memory serves me, I believe she is into that sort of thing…”

“You must leave, your Eminence. I apologize.” Swiss’ tail flicked back and forth, broadcasting his irritation. Copia, ever the brat teaser when he wanted to be, smiled devilishly. 

“And if I do not?”

“Then I will make you.” Swiss snapped, sharp teeth on display as he bared his fangs at Copia and hissed. 

“Swiss!” I cried, standing up from Copia’s lap with my hands on my hips.

“No fucking.” He hissed at me, arms crossing and leaving no room for discussion. 

“I wasn’t going to-!” I tried to come up with an excuse before he cut me off with a flick of his tail.

“Sunshine…I can feel your lust from halfway across the world.” Swiss laughed snarkily, throwing his hands in the air. “I had a hard on in the ghoul quarters, not exactly subtle…”

I blushed bright red, covering my face with my hands as Copia laughed as he stood up. He took one of my hands away from my face. He gave me a wry smile before kissing my knuckles.

“Mi dispiace, Amore…” He sighed, tugging me with him as we moved to the door to our quarters. “Only a few more days of waiting, si?”

“Y-yes, Copia.” I stuttered, blushing as he kissed my wrist softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Ti amo, Amore.” He purred before slipping out of the door. I could hear him speaking with Terzo in the hallway. 

“Non è giusto! Non sono nemmeno riuscito a darle la buonanotte perché non puoi seguire le regole…” That's not fair! I didn't even get to say goodnight to her because you can't follow the rules… Terzo whined, I had to hold back my laughter as I pictured him stomping his foot and crossing his arms like a toddler. 

“Avresti dovuto essere più veloce di me allora, moccioso.” You should have been faster than me then, brat . Copia teased. “Abbastanza presto non dovremo aspettare e potremo lavorare insieme per saltarle addosso quando meno se lo aspetta.” Soon enough we won't have to wait and can work together to pounce her when she least expects it.

“Lucifer aiuta quel demone quando siamo legati insieme, eh Cardinale?” Lucifer help that ghoul when we are bound together, eh Cardinal? Terzo laughed, his voice moving away from the door as they walked back towards the guest rooms of the suite. 

“Di questo passo dovremmo solo pensare di includerlo nel nostro letto ogni notte…” At this rate we should just plan to include him in our bed every night… Copia sighed before chuckling slightly.

“Non sentirai lamentele da parte mia.” You won't hear any complaints from me.

“Certo che no, demone coglione.” Of course not, you ghoul fucker.

#ghost #the band ghost #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #copia x reader #terzo x reader #copia x reader x terzo #sinners in secret chapters #my writing

[robin-v-belle]

Sky Over Saliana

Intrigue and subterfuge in the Ashen Silence

Robin V. Belle

Content Warning: Drug use (heavy), transphobia (mild), brief moment of violence, referenced harm and death (incl minors).

Art by @sugarmountalns

Read on or get the full text and pdf here.

85 Summer 1011, St. Kathen’s Day Eve

The Cloudbreaker Ascension departed from a port in south-westside Saliana every day at 5pm. Heavy repulsor plates lifted it into the air, where several engines and rotating upper discs would keep it aloft. It would remain airborne until 3am the next morning. It had followed this pattern for all of its 10 years of operation, without variance. Today, it departed at 5:17pm. A slight difference noticed by almost no one but the most time conscious of passengers. Those few were shut up with complimentary drinks. The one who was still irate, Elise Peryz, was assured that the delay was merely to accommodate a VIP.

This did little to settle Elise’s rage. Wasn’t *she* a VIP? She’d spent hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions on her trips aboard the vessel. The Cloudbreaker Ascension never once delayed departure on her account. She looked out the window. They were still passing through the heavy layer of dark grey clouds that capped the city. Her drink shook in her hands.

Worse, her 5:15 appointment was late. She paced the private room that was costing her hundreds of demori a minute. She looked to her personal security, a Primas-ika named Orda. The bulky reptilian with off-white horns and greenish scales fixed one of their ornate braids of faux-hair. They looked out the door, looked back inside, and shrugged.

Elise’s face grew red. “Fucker better hope he shows up or we’re getting the money spent today back in teeth!” Orda stood there and listened to the tirade that followed. Several minutes, and an exhaustive list of expletives later, she finally calmed down. She collapsed into a plush rounded chair and took a sip of her drink, a Saint’s Moon. Too much creamer, not enough mint.

Some time later, there was a firm knock on the door. Orda peered out the view slit, and nodded to Elise. She stood up and she checked herself in a mirror. Her 30s had been kind to her, though she had some freckles added to the youthful appearance. Her age was betrayed by the look in her dark green eyes. The sort of look one gets when they’ve seen some things. She fixed her auburn hair, kept in a half bun. She gave Orda the go ahead.

The bodyguard opened the door just as The Cloudbreaker Ascension, true to its name, cleared the cloudline. The private lounge was flooded orange with natural sunlight. It blinded everyone inside for just a moment. All their eyes had grown adjusted to the relative darkness at ground level. When Elise’s vision returned to normal, she was confused.

The electronic message had mentioned a man, hadn’t it? In fact she was certain of it, several uses of “he” pronouns. The person that stood before her was the pinnacle of beauty. Men could be beautiful, sure. Yet what of the long, raven black hair? The fair, perfectly kept skin? The thick lashes above piercing blue eyes? The slight curves accentuated by an onyx and light blue bodysuit? He stunned her. She found her face growing hot, but tried to regain her composure, “Are you D-”

“Dorian, yes. Ms. Peryz?” He had a faint but distinct Astaelian accent.

Elise nodded and turned around, processing the new information. She forced sternness into her voice, “You’re late.”

“Am I?” Dorian glanced at a clock on the far wall. “Oh, I guess I am. Well I guess I’m lucky. I almost didn’t make it.”

“And where were you?”

“Talking to the pilots! It was pretty funny, I met one of them outside and we got to talking. I ended up meeting the whole crew. They almost forgot to launch the ship.” He laughed and smiled, and made his way to a matching chair across the coffee table

“You-” Elise stood on the edge of a rant, but she caught herself. This was business. Further, she wasn’t sure she wanted to end up on such a beautiful stranger’s bad side. She took a breath, and sat down.

“May I offer you a drink Mr…?” She nodded to Orda, who headed toward a minibar on the side closest to Elise.

Dorian shook his head and sat up. “You don’t need to know that. And none for me. Not when there’s business to discuss.”

Elise’s lip twitched, “You have me at a disadvantage. You appear to know my family name, and, well-” She picked up the glass on the coffee table. “Surely we can get you something.”

“No thanks.”

“Besides a drink then! Wizard’s Select, Charge, Vibe, the bar is fully stocked.” Elise smiled reassuringly. “No regulations this high up, we’re out of Saliana’s airspace.”

Dorian pursed his lips and looked up at an ornate modern chandelier between them. “A cigarette, polyspice.”

Elise waved a hand toward her bodyguard, “You heard the man, polyspice. Orda rolls their own, you’ll love it.”

Dorian folded his arms. “We’ll see. I didn’t come here to smoke, Elise. Are we going to talk business or should I go see what’s happening with the holiday prep out there?”

The host’s smile was pained, and her brow furrowed. “Yes, of course. The message that preceded… you were looking for medicine, yes?” She leaned over towards a secured briefcase on the table and began to unfasten it.

Orda handed them both hand-rolled cigarettes, already lit.

Dorian kept his bored expression and took a drag, “I represent an interested party looking to acquire a bulk amount of emarizyne. I’m led to believe you are a person who can deliver on such an order.”

Elise sat back, “On the ground, absolutely not. Up here? Let’s talk business. How bulk of a deal are we talking?” She took a puff and let the mild stimulant rush through her. Excellent as always.

“100 liters.”

Elise whistled, “Of a graft drug? What are you going to do with all that?”

“That feels like an inappropriate question from a professional.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what the odds are I’m supplying an army of supersoldiers.” Elise stood up and looked out the wide 3 panel windows of their private lounge. It was built into the rotating discs that kept the massive vessel aloft. The sun had slipped to the right side of the room, and was quickly disappearing from view.

“Would that alter the deal?” Dorian stayed seated. From over Elise’s shoulder she saw him looking at her. She appreciated it.

Elise turned around and leaned against the prominent windowsill. “Not necessarily, but I’d want in.”

Dorian raised a hand, “Clinical use only.”

“Aren’t there official channels for that?”

A dead stare.

“You’re right, not my issue…” Elise looked toward her reptilian bodyguard. “Orda, what’s 1,735 + 997 x 12 x 100?

Dorian and Orda answered at the same time. “1,198,135”

Elise laughed and pointed to the Primas-ika, “Ha, that’s why I keep them around, good with numbers.” A slight blush painted her cheeks. “You too, I see.”

Dorian was unphased. “Break that math down for me.”

“1,735 is my current service fee. Operations, admin, acquisition, delivery.” It felt to Elise as if reading off a script.

“And the 997?”

Elise started counting each factor on her fingers. “Current market rate for a liter of emarizyne. Multiplied by 12 because of the backchannels, anonymization, and everything else we’ll need to deal with to get it to you. Then 100 units of that.”

Dorian shook his head. “1.2 million demori is steep. We’d probably just save money finding a backchannel ourselves.”

“You’d spend more than 1.2 million on that kind of operation. Still, considering the bulk order and…” She looked him up and down, “...other factors… I’d be glad to cut it down to 1.1.”

“1 million.”

Elise choked on an inhale of her cigarette. “You’re fucking with me.” the host’s voice cracked, then she started coughing.

“Certainly not, and I don’t appreciate being spoken to like that in a business setting, Ms. Peryz.”

Elise sat back down and picked up her drink. “I don’t fucking care, that’s an unacceptable cut!” A little bit of milky green liquid splashed out of the tumbler. Someone would clean that up.

“Your price is unreasonable. I’m certain I can find an alternative.”

The stranger’s charms had worn thin. Elise clenched her jaw and fought back a yell. “I came all the way up here!”

“Don’t blame me, you chose to do that. 1 million.”

There was a chill silence in the air. Orda looked to Elise, and Elise was staring out the window. The disc had rotated their window out of direct sunlight, and towards the purple hues of the horizon. “Okay, 1 mil.”

“I’m glad you could see reason.”

“Whatever, so is this wire transfer or cash?” Elise’s cigarette was spent, and she put it out on a tray on the coffee table.

“Cash, but I have some more questions first.” Dorian repeated Elise’s motion.

“What could you possibly want to know? It’s emarizyne. Use it on recent implants.”

“I want to be sure I’m getting the best quality supply. I have my reputation to think of, and I know yours well.”

“What do you know?”

“Well, what I’ve heard at least, is that your supply isn’t pure.”

“Are you doubting me? Why even come up here if you think it’s bad?

A shrug. “Your price, outrageous as it is, is still the best available to me. I thought I’d be an adult and ask you myself.”

“My supply is fucking fine!” Elise slammed her free hand on the table in front of her.

“Interesting, I’ve heard of a strange amount of implant rejections. People losing new limbs, going blind, even a couple deaths.”

“Are you a fucking cop?” Was he? Were they compromised?

“No, and even if I was, what could I do? Nothing up here is bound to the laws down there, right?” A smile of feigned innocence.

“What do you want, Dorian?”

“Tell me why I should trust you. If you can do that, we have a deal.”

Elise set her drink down and rubbed her temples. This was turning into a problem. “You’re lucky you have your looks. Fine, but may I offer you another cigarette first?”

Dorian hummed for a second, looked away, then returned his gaze, “Sure.”

“Orda! Another. One for me too. Like the ones from the Korvun trip, those were perfect.”

The lizard had been fidgeting with one of their horns. They looked away and got back to the minibar. “Aye, ma’am.”

“They’re great. Best help I could buy… Before we proceed, Dorian, I have some questions for you too.”

“That doesn’t seem like how this is supposed to work.”

“Is it not? You seem fine asking me about the ins and outs of my operation, I should know more about yours.”

Orda handed them the cigarettes, Elise lit hers and reached out with the copper plated lighter. Dorian extended a hand to catch the flame, and then both sat back. They took intermittent drags between exchanges.

Dorian conceded, “Fine, we can talk about me. I’m fond of the subject.”

“Do you come from money, Dorian?”

“What makes you think that?”

Elise smiled like a viper revealing her fangs. “Well, for starters you’re here. What’s a basic ticket, 10k? The confidence too, that’s someone who never has to worry about where his next meal is coming from.”

A look of surprise on the beautiful man’s face. “I-”

Elise kept going. “The assurance that you have the world all figured out. Does anyone ever challenge you? Have you ever had to admit you’re wrong?”

“A few times. Rarely to a person I’m going to speak to again. Your point?”

Elise waved her cigarette around. “The way you come into my space and try to order me around. It’s so telling. Unlike you, I had to work my way to where I am. I grew up third layer down. Never even knew the color of the sky, the sun, or the environmental shield until I was 15. Your arrogance!”

“Is this about you now? I thought we were talking about me.”

The woman blew air through her nose like an old world bull, “Right, when were you born?”

Another shake of Dorian’s head. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Season, don’t worry about day or year. Temprologically speaking, I’m a Spring. We rise above.”

Dorian hesitated, then sighed, “Autumn.”

“A Fall, huh? Explains why you’re so reserved. Gods, stuck up, even.” she chuckled.

Dorian made a motion to stand, “Is this just going to be talking shit about me? I can just go.”

“Ah ah! Professional language, my dear Dorian.”

“Is it professional to kill kids who need medicine because you want to cut your supply?”

Elise nearly dropped her cigarette. “What?”

Dorian took another puff and blew a smoke ring into Elise’s face. She held her breath. “You had to have known your tainted medicine isn’t just being used by adults looking for a cheap option. One of the rejections was a 10 year old girl who had just received a spinal implant so she could walk again. The drug didn’t work, she rejected it and went septic. She died a few weeks before her 11th birthday.”

“You-”

“What’s wrong, speechless now?”

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t make the supply, we just connect it to buyers.”

“You connect people to a supply you know is unreliable. It’s not just the medicine either. How many people have OD’d on the drugs you move?” Dorian’s eyes had unfocused a bit, and were pointed in no particular direction.

“Are you telling me you’re singing the plight of junkies now?” For all the mystery and promise, some do-gooder. What, was he a journalist? She couldn’t figure out the angle.

“No, not particularly, I think they made their choice. Still, regardless of what you think of me and what I know about the world, I know a predator when I see one.”

“Yeah, what kind of monster am I, fucker?”

“A parasite. An overgrown leech with caked on makeup.”

“A parasite?” Elise roared. Orda stepped closer.

“You talk about being self made, but you’ve built your empire on the backs of graves. Adults who made a poorly informed choice? Whatever, such is life. Kids though… kids have died. Even *I* have a line.” Dorian’s breathing was growing ragged.

“So what? A few parents made a bad call. You want to know how many of my childhood friends are still breathing? The number is less than 1. Such is life! Minimising costs, maximising profits, that’s capitalism.”

Dorian groaned slowly, “Council’s mercy, spare me the soapbox. You’re not playing the system! You’re perverting it, and exploiting the needs of the poor. Desperate people who need their medication come to you, and you roll the dice… with… their… lives...” he started coughing intensely.

Elise grinned, the moment she had been waiting for. “So what’s one more? Yeah, I’ve got a body count. Who doesn’t, if they’ve lived a little? I knew the whole fucking time, I probably even heard about the girl you mentioned. Didn’t remember because honestly? I don’t fucking care. Morality is a weight around the neck of the foolish and decent. The doomed. And you? You wretched fucking genderfucked freak? Your cigarette was laced with mournroot.”

Dorian’s eyes went wide, he kept coughing, “That’s… murder… you… can’t…”

“So what? It’s a private room, good soundproofing, and a cremation capsule works quickly. My dear you’ll be a pile of ash on the floor in no time. Sent howling to the jaws of that great celestial hound.” She started laughing madly. “The best part is, it won’t even be a crime. Not one they can prosecute, at least.” she motioned to Orda who was holding an orange capsule for burning the dead.

Dorian coughed once more then stopped. Elise waited for him to drop with an open mouth smile. Orda shifted toward the door to check for bypassers.

Instead, Dorian collected his composure, and sat up with a smile. “Oh silly me, there must have been something caught in my throat.”

Elise’s jaw slacked open. “You… how?”

“Oh Elise, you talk so much when you think you’ve won. Saying so many damning things. Well I have a secret for you, too. I have some implants of my own. Mostly cosmetic, but I did get something else installed a few years ago. You don’t seem very bright, but tell me, have you heard of an N-Gland?”

Elise was speechless.

Dorian giggled. “Finally learned to shut up? Good. It’s a bit of a two edged sword, the augment. On one hand, drugs, alcohol, none of that works on me. Mostly for the best. That’s why I had them installed after all. Perhaps more relevant, it filters out most other toxins…”

Orda began to reach for a sidearm strapped to their hip.

Dorian held out a hand. “You’re going to want to let me speak. You see Elise Peryz, and Orda Clanless… in my home country, they call me a Courier. What is that in Lieni, mesajair?” He didn’t wait for an answer. They all knew what a Courier was. “In truth, I do a bit of information work. Even some hits when I need to. Unfortunately, my client said I couldn’t kill you. Believe me, it would be my absolute pleasure to put you down like a dog. Instead, I’m going to turn you in.”

Elise was gripping the armrests of her chair, “You have to know that any evidence collected this high up isn’t admissible in court. Did Astaelians hear about Saliana Vs. Karden?”

“Yes, that was going to be an issue certainly. That’s actually what I was talking to the pilots about.” his head turned, “Orda, this seems like something you’d know, how high up is unaffiliated airspace?”

“15 kilometers.”

“Exactly, and the cloudline breaks at about 5 kilometers.

Elise was piecing it together. “You didn’t… the crew wouldn’t let you.”

“Believe me, Ms. Peryz, I can be very persuasive.” A sly smirk. “We’re 13 kilometers up. Though you wouldn’t have noticed, right?”

“Orda, kill this bastard!” Elise screamed.

“Ah ah! You might want to stop talking. My friends can hear.” Dorian tugged at his jumpsuit and revealed a black metal square with a couple of buttons and receiver for audio input. Less bulky than any wire Elise had seen before. It fit under Dorian’s tight bodysuit perfectly. “New kind of comm unit. It’s interesting tech! I’ll probably ask to keep it.”

A banging came from the door. A loud metallic voice demanded to be let in, claiming to be Lieni Drug and Augmentation Enforcement.

Dorian’s smiling teeth were perfectly white despite the smoking, “Oh those are my friends! Well, work acquaintances, really.”

“After all that you’re a fucking cop?” The look in her eyes was wild and desperate. “Orda, kill him!”

Dorian looked to the bodyguard. “Orda, my only target is Elise. Harm me and you go down too, this is your chance to walk away.”

“I serve Elise.”

Dorian gestured them to the door. “And you can serve someone else. Do you think that loyalty goes both ways? She’s a mad dog. How long until she makes you smoke a poisoned cigarette?”

Orda’s face went blank and they considered their options.

“Orda, please. You know I’d never hurt you.” Elise begged.

The Primas-ika did a heel-turn and knocked on the door, “I’m coming out.”

“Let them pass!” Dorian added and stood up.

Elise stood up too and charged Dorian. They fell over the coffee table and onto the floor. The two struggled. She clawed at his face, drawing blood from his cheeks. Dorian’s training kicked in and he punched her where the heart would be if she had one. It knocked the wind out of her and he sprung to his feet. The cops rushed in and tackled her.

“For what it’s worth, I do come from money. But I’ve made my own fortune ending careers.” Another smile, “Like yours. This is the end of our meeting, Ms. Peryz. If you’re lucky, they won’t go for capital punishment.”

He looked to the officers cuffing the prone Elise, “Make sure she’s unlucky.”

They led her out, and one officer lingered, seeing the claw marks on Dorian’s face. “Do you need medical attention, sir?”

“Just tell one of the bots to bring me a dose of Formula Y. I’ll fix it myself.” the officer nodded and left. Soon enough a crablike droid brought a vial of red liquid. Dorian applied it carefully to the wounds, staring in the mirror so he made sure he got the skin smoothed properly.

The scratches healed nicely, tingling a little as the redness that remained disappeared. He admired himself a little longer. Then he turned toward the room, his room now. It was spacious and quiet. Perfect really. He poured himself a club soda and relaxed on a couch, legs up. The disc had rotated toward the sun again, and he saw it turn a deep orange as it set over the horizon. He admired the heavenly light as it was consumed by the cloudline it hovered above.

It was a while longer before the airship’s 3am landing. Outside he could hear the festivities of the imminent holiday. Maybe he’d go out, meet some interesting people. Live a little. Though he wasn’t feeling particularly social, and the religious festivals had never been his thing. Maybe he’d just stay there and enjoy the alone time. He eyed a music player on the far wall. He wondered what selection a vessel like this might have. Unlike the woman he had just brought to ruin, he had all the time in the world.

#writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #creative writing #fantasy #scifi #science fiction #ashen silence #short story #original character #original work #original story #oc writing #original fiction #reading

[breannasfluff]

Cacti: Encantober 26

Isabela’s new favorite plants are cacti, which is particularly fitting in Dolores’ opinion. She can hear Isa now, despite her being across town.

“You half-witted lowlife! You two-faced son of a donkey! You—you charlatan!”

Pulling out the big words. Considering she’s yelling at one of the town boys who hit on her now that Mariano wasn’t in the picture, it’s likely lost on them. 

“You useless excuse of flesh! You rotten, no good knob-head! You…dickweasel!”

Dolores raises her eyebrows at the last one. Did Isabela make it up on the spot, or find it in a book? She missed what exactly the boy said to deserve such a tongue-lashing, but that’s what he was getting. 

Isabela’s verbal barbs are as sharp as any cactus spine. 

“Yeah! You better run home to your mommy!”

The boy must be booking it. Honestly, her prima was 21, not 12. After breaking out of her role of perfect, though, Isabela embraces imperfection even when it borders on painful.

She keeps half an ear tuned to her cousin as she folds clothes. Isabela’s still muttering new curses under her breath and likely stomping through town.

“Isabela!” A female voice catches Dolores’ attention.

“What! Oh—hi Vivi.” Vivi works at the bakery and often asks Isabela for bouquets.

“Is everything alright? You looked upset.”

Isabel sighs and Isabela can imagine her slump. “Yeah, I’m fine, it's just the boys annoying me again. You’d think I was a—a trophy, or a piece of meat the way they come after me.”

There’s a shyness in the answer. “Well, I mean, you kind of are a trophy.”

“Don’t be silly, Vi.” The thud of flesh suggests a gentle knock to a shoulder, or maybe an arm. “I’m just me.”

“You’re perfect just the way you are, pollen colors and all,” Vivi answers.

Dolores strains her ears, but Isabela doesn’t respond for a long moment. What’s she doing?

“Ah, um, anyway,” Vivi continues. “I’m glad I caught you. I found this little plant outside the mountain crack and I thought maybe…you’d like it?”

“A native cactus?” Isabela must take it because she’s quiet again. “This is beautiful. And you found this for me? Thank you so much!”

“It was nothing,” she says, but there’s a hint of a smile in her tone.

“I love it. You’re the best, Vi.” 

There’s a light smacking sound that Dolores automatically categorizes as a kiss—likely on the cheek from Isa. Vivi makes a little squeak and probably turns as red as a tomato. 

“Okay, I gotta go thankyoubye!” Her last sentence is a jumble of words, followed by the sounds of retreating footsteps.

Isabela continues home with no more grumbling, and when Dolores meets her at the door, the pink blush of her cheeks matches the pink flower on her new little cactus.

A03 Here

#encantober #cacti #dolores madrigal #isabela madrigal #encanto #encanto fanfic

[toaverse]

Giftless Pepa AU

Another giftless AU!

Enjoy!

Alma didn't expect her three children to have glowing golden doors, let alone magical gifts. But here they were.

While Julieta got the gift of healing with her food, and Bruno could see the future, Pepa didn't get a gift or a door...

So, she had to stay in the nursery...

As the triplets grew up, Pepa grew jealous of her gifted siblings. She often lashed out at Bruno, insulting him and putting him down to hide how miserable she felt.

Pepa realized her behavior, and stopped bullying her brother when she was 12, but her jealousy didn't.

But things got better when, a week after the triplets' 26th birthday, Pepa met Félix, a boy who liked her for her, and didn't see her as the giftless Madrigal.

The two quickly fell in love, and married a year later.

Sure, they had to stay in the nursery, but the couple was happy.

And a year later, both Julieta and Pepa found out they were pregnant.

The family couldn't be happier.

And 8 months later, Isabela and Dolores were born.

Since they stayed in the nursery, Pepa and Félix often looked after the girls.

And when Isa and Dolores were 5, their ceremonies arrived.

Admittedly, Pepa didn't want Dolores to get a gift. She knew it was petty to feel that, but she couldn't help it...

But Dolores did get a gift; super hearing.

At first, a wave of jealousy hit Pepa, until she saw Dolores' huge room, and she got an idea.

"Can Mamí and Papí sleep in your room too?" Pepa asked her 5 year old daughter. It wasn't malicious, that's why she asked, but Pepa and Félix didn't want to sleep in the nursery forever, and there was more than enough space in Dolores' new room. Besides, that way, they could still watch their daughter. Alma even agreed to the idea.

Luckily for Pepa, Dolores agreed.

So, Pepa and Félix moved into Dolores' room.

It went okay at first, until the yellow couple started to forget about their daughter's gift.

They talked pretty loud, which bothered Dolores quite a lot.

As the years passed, it didn't change. Pepa and Félix stayed in Dolores' room despite the girl being bothered by them.

While Pepa and Félix thought that their daughter was still okay with it, Dolores disagreed...

She felt like it wasn't her room anymore, that she didn't have a space for herself. Dolores even strongly considered moving into Isa's room if that was allowed. At least than, she was sharing a room with one of her prima.

And if she was honest, Dolores resented her parents for it, she resented them for years, especially after her brothers were born and got gifts and rooms for themselves...

And Pepa and Félix? They thought their daughter was still okay with it. It wasn't intentional or out of malice, but they didn't ever ask her about it, they just assumed it.

#pepa madrigal #alma madrigal #dolores madrigal #bruno madrigal #toaverse answers #answered ask #félix madrigal #julieta madrigal #isabela madrigal #giftless pepa au

[apolloanddaphnis]

A Week in New York

Act I Scene II

Disclaimer: not proofread.

Themes: queer romance, Timothée x Male!OC, public kissing, sexualizing smoking (sorry)

♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎

My cousin lives in a beautiful Edwardian townhouse on Maple Avenue. Gianni Lukashenko is twenty one years old, seven years younger than myself, and the primo male ballerina of the New York City Ballet. With his gorgeously mixed features of having a Sicilian mother and a father of Black and Russian descent, he's 5'8, svelte with sinewy lean muscles. His hair is jet Black and naturally looks like wet curls, cut in a pretty shag that kisses the end of the nape of his neck. He has almond shaped green eyes with long, thick lashes, high cheekbones, full pink lips and olive skin.

I'm harmlessly jealous of my stunning cousin, I must admit. "I thought you just went to grab coffee, why are you grinning like Meg Ryan in every movie?" He asked me as he leaned against the doorframe of his Natuzzi decorated living room.

The director of the ballet takes good care of him, playing sugar daddy to my beautiful cousin. He bought him this townhouse and gives him access to a bottomless account, and gives him pretty baubles and gifts and trinkets, like the Mapplethorpe hanging on the wall. Recently he acquired a new Amazon credit card.

"I did, look!" I held up my to go cup from Caffé Aronne, it's my go to coffee shop when I visit family in New York. I find it funny that they call taro a purple potato here. I ordered a purple potato latte with almond milk and an almond croissant for myself, and a blue butterfly pea latte with oatmilk for Gianni.

I don't know how I managed to order anything after flirting with fucking Timothée Chalamet! I'm still shaking, tapping my chipped sage green nails against the paper cup. I still can smell the spearmint gum on his breath, cigarettes clinging to his leather jacket, and the citrus and lavender notes of Chanel on his skin. Those olive Hazel eyes touched my skin and caressed the sight of me, I was allured but also self conscious becoming fully aware of my flaws. I'm not large but a little soft, I could have a flatter stomach and a smaller butt. Having an ass is wonderful but too much of one…I struggled with my body image sometimes.

So it was a little shocking, that little exchange we had. I was surprised he was even attracted to me, I'm a guy, penis and all.

"Something happened." Gianni accused with a secret smile and serpentine eyes.

I froze, feeling like a caught rabbit.

My cousin's smile turned into a Cheshire grin. "What's his name?"

I hid behind my hair as I sipped my sweet latte. "It doesn't matter, I'll never see him again."

So I thought.

The next day I joined Gianni at his rehearsal down at the theatre. He's playing Orpheus in Orfeo ed Euridice, naturally who else would play the lead male role? I tease him about sleeping his way to the top, but Gianni seriously is such a talented dancer. His moves are fluid and beautiful, like a gazelle, and his expressions are well…expressive.

It was like seeing the canvas before Mona Lisa, watching the dancers practice in their danskin, and honestly they're a lot more laid back and jovial than I thought.

I sat as an engaged spectator, it wasn't early at all. Training always starts at 10 in the morning, but Gianni took me out to the clubs after dinner at Bar Masa, and we were joined by the other dancers. It was clear that Daisuke Ogura, another principal male dancer, was a jealous rival. And the prima, Bella Garrett who is good friends with Gianni, and is to play Eurydice, confirmed it.

Apparently Daisuke is the hardest working dancer in the company, and he feels as though Gianni has everything handed to him.

The rivalry in ballet can be an ugly thing, I wish Daisuke saw how well revered he is and focused on that.

I was a little afraid to hang out with a bunch of ballet dancers, I'm not gracefully lithe and swanlike, I'm short and soft, definitely no abs or muscle. But everyone has been so kind to me so far, including me in conversations, laughing together, and Raquel Johnson, a principal dancer, was my main dance partner at two out of four of the clubs we danced at.

So 10 in the morning might as well be five in the morning to me right now. My Starbucks London fog latte wasn't helping me much either. I could barely even get dressed this morning, thank God Gianni's lavish marble shower has a seat, or I would have collapsed. Black biker shorts, an old oversized Smiths t-shirt, and black uggs were all I could manage this morning. My bleached wavy curls were tossed up in a messy top knot, just a nose stud and my staple ear studs were my only jewelry, and as for makeup, only Vaseline's rosy lips painted my lips.

I was starving, Gianni packed his breakfast. It was just a banana, an apple, trail mix, and a protein bar.

After taking some pictures to send to my little sister Larissa, who's fifteen and attends the Marat Daukayev Ballet School back home. I told Gianni I was going to go grab something to eat, he didn't mind, training lasted from ten in the morning to six at night.

I tossed on my Daria canvas jacket, my black square sunglasses, grabbed my black vegan leather and chains mini backpack, and headed out.

I went to a bagel shop nearby on 2nd avenue, called NY Jumbo Bagels. It's a perfect New York bagel nosh, the kind you'd see in a movie in the 80s or 90s, I felt like Kim Basinger almost.

I salivated at the smell and sight, deciding on the LEO bagel (Lox, eggs, and onion on bagel), and the two eggs, fries, and coffee special. It was a lot of food, but I was absolutely famished. But, before I could pull out my card to pay, a beautiful voice caught between deep and light with a laziness to it cut through, with the swipe of a black card. "I'll take care of that Hannah."

I whipped my head back so fast I got whiplash. Standing there towering over me looking devilishly handsome in a Chorus Line hat and expensive sweats, was none other than Timothée Chalamet.

How was this happening? Of course the hottest man on the planet caught me pigging out in my bumming-it-couture.

I didn't even have makeup on, my hair looked crazy, curly, didn't make the call backs for Pam Anderson style, oh I could throw myself into the Hudson.

But he was just staring at me, with those gorgeous sleepy eyes. That smile that yanked on my heart chords, and he smells so good oh God I wanted to lick him, I wanted to get down on my knees and yanked down those sweats and take his cock down my throat.

"Yury, right?"

Fuck me, he remembered.

"Uh yeah."

He chuckled and I bit back a groan. "It's funny how we Uh, keep running into each other."

"Yeah, meant to be or something like that."

Ugh, don't tease me. "Something Like that." I said with a nervous laugh. "I look like such a mess."

"Oh come on, you look like you wandered out of an urban outfitters catalog, I look like I just rolled out of bed."

"Okay it's a little too early for recreational drugs, you're crazy if you think you look like a mess. " I laughed.

He laughed too and it was authentic, carefree, and dorky which was so sexy. "It's never too early for recreational drug use!" He winked. "But I'm serious, you look…" His eyes took their time combing over me, lingering a little bit on the black lace strap of the bralette I wore under my t-shirt. I felt my cheeks heat. "Warm, soft, and pretty."

He finds me pretty? I couldn't stop the smile forming on my lips.

He ended up ordering the same as me, and we sat together at his table outside. He looked perfect, sitting there blasé, fry in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Our knees touched and I felt the springs boing in my spinal cord and heart.

"So, how are you enjoying the big apple? Have you seen all the cliches yet?" He smiled and sipped his coffee before taking a drag from his cigarette, my eyes focused on his lip as some escaped from his pursed lips. "Oh I'm so sorry, does smoking bother you?"

"No! Not at all, I mean all my exes smoked–" I babbled.

His eyebrows attractively shot up as he smiled with his teeth. "So what I'm hearing is that you like guys that smoke?"

I swallowed and licked my lips, feeling his eyes on my throat and mouth. I felt a little bold. "Maybe it has something to do with poetry and rock n roll or something, I find it ignorantly romantic."

"Good, so I can get away with this."

I furrowed my brows in confusion. "Get away with what?"

"This." He breathed, and he leaned in smelling like Marlboro, Chanel, and fries. His mouth, his lips are surprisingly soft and he tastes like cherry chapstick, coffee, cigarettes, and remnants of ibuprofen. An arm curled around my waist pulling me in close and I found my hands cupping his diamond sharp jaw with silky skin. He tilted his head kissing me in slow devouring, brushing against mine before sucking on it.

We kissed until we were reminded that we were human beings who needed to breathe to live. I pulled my lips back, panting, feeling dizzy and I even let slip a giggle.

He smiled with a breathy laugh, his two front teeth are so cute like a bunny, I forgot myself and licked them. This emitted a low groan from, he clutched my waist and pulled me into his lap. I was nervous I'd crush him and tried to move off but his grip was strong and he didn't let me move as he kissed up my neck. I bit down hard on my lip to prevent a squeal, and kissed up to my ear and spoke into it. "You're spending the day with me, boy."

@meetmyothersouls

#timothee chamalet #timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet x oc #femboy

[sciatu]

L’ULTIMA LUNA DI SETTEMBRE

Con l’ultima luna di settembre la terra cambia vestito perché da quel momento, la notte prende il sopravvento sul giorno, si spengono le furie del sole e la rabbia del caldo. Lente le nuvole tornano in cielo per scolorirlo e donare acqua origine di ogni vita. Le piante sentono il cambiamento e fermano il loro rigoglio, rendono il loro verde un ricordo accendendo i monti di gialli e di rossi che le nubi basse presto nascondono in volute di freddo e silenzio. Il mare perde la sua quiete e spinto dai venti, sferza la costa e caccia le barche nei loro porti. L’ultima luna di settembre segna il mutare del mondo e l’inizio dei lavori a raccogliere il frutto del lavoro: il prezioso olio, il vitale vino, i frutti che riempiono gli alberi e gli orti. Il sole abbassa il suo cammino, il mare mostra la sua forza, il cielo la sua tempestosa potenza. L’uomo passa indifferente tra tutti questi impercettibili segnali. Preso da problemi terreni dimentica il mutare celeste diventandone presto stupito spettatore e prima vittima non facendo caso all’ultima luna di settembre.

THE LAST MOON OF SEPTEMBER

With the last moon of September, the earth changes clothes because from that moment on, the night takes over the day, the fury of the sun and the anger of the heat go out. Slowly the clouds return to the sky to discolor it and give water, the source of all life. The plants feel the change and stop their growth, make their green a memory by lighting the mountains with yellows and reds that the low clouds soon hide in swirls of cold and silence. The sea loses its calm and driven by the winds, it lashes the coast and drives the boats to their ports. The last moon of September marks the changing of the world and the beginning of work to collect the fruit of labor: the precious oil, the vital wine, the fruits that fill the trees and gardens. The sun lowers its path, the sea shows its strength, the sky its stormy power. Man is indifferent to all these imperceptible signals. Taken by earthly problems, he forgets the celestial change and soon becomes an astonished spectator and the first victim, ignoring the last moon of September.

#Sciatu #Sicilia

[simsimminysimsimminy]

Legacy Challenge Gens

These are the sims of my legacy challenge, where I have each generation marry off with one of my celeb/fictional crushes. I'll be honest, that's the only way I can actually have enough of an attention span to keep it going. I only decided to start this blog when I was like 3 gens in so I don't have any images of my founder :(.

This is my 2nd gen legacy heir Peyton Isaac. From a young age, she had a burning passion for photography. In her teen years she started a blog that featured her photography and ended up going viral. She rode the waves of her internet success for a career as a social media personality. She met her husband when revamping her Mount Komorebi mansion with her then-partner Akira Kibo. He invited Pedro Pascal to stay in one section of the house, converting it into a studio flat so his friend had a place to stay. Peyton and Pedro ended up falling in love, sneaking in hookups whenever Akira would go away to work. They ended up getting married on the day Akira and Peyton were supposed to be wed, as he flirted with one of her siblings on her wedding day, in front of the entire audience. Together, Peyton and Pedro had 4 children, 2 sets of twins. Pedro himself became a successful award-winning author, as well as having a fulfilling ghost author career on the side.

Pictured below is my 3rd gen legacy heir Marielle Pascal. She moved to San Myshuno in pursuits of a career in dance where she met her neighbour, and future husband Migeul O'Hara. Together they had one daughter Gabriella O'Hara. Before retiring she excelled as a prima ballerina, peaking in her performance as the black swan in swan lake. Miguel was a scientist, studying alien life and had a passion for robotics when at home. They're both dead now so RIP.

This is my 4th gen legacy heir Gabriella O'Hara. She went to University to study for a degree in psychology at the Foxbury Institute, where she met her future husband Dev Patel, a professor at the rival university. Despite their age gap, they had a healthy, happy relationship, producing 4 children in the process. Unfortunately, Dev passed away not long after Gabriella's birthday where she aged into an adult. Heartbroken, she's vowed never to marry or date again and to wait until she can see him in the afterlife.

Kendra Patel is the second born of Gabriella O'Hara and Dev Patel. Growing up in a crowded house in Oasis Springs, she wanted to help her mum as much as possible. She lived with her grandparents, parents and 2 other siblings, and when her grandfather died her parents got pregnant with their 4th child. When she aged into a teen, she spent her time after school cooking and baking to replenish the fridge with food, and tending to her grandfather's garden. Her closest friend at school was Hobie Brown, who she developed a romance with. When they both reached young adulthood they moved to Sulani, where she founded her at-home bakery selling sweet treats and platters. Due to both their punk ideologies, they live off the grid, and spend their downtime cleaning the surrounding land and water of litter. Kendra and Hobie welcomed 3 children into the world overall, Jordan Brown, Robin Brown and Shea Brown.

Top: Serenity x Sentate

Skirt: Sentate November 2021

Sandals: Jius Vacation Collection

Lipstick: Twistedcat Dark Hour makeup set

Eyeshadow: Savvy x grim

Eyebrows: Obscurus eyebrows

Hair and highlights: Greenllamas Sabrina hair

Piercings: Praline piercings

Eyelashes: Dreamgirl lashes

Jordan Brown grew up in the tropical paradise of Sulani. Every day she'd go swimming in the warm waters just outside her house, and come inside to the smell of her mother's baking. She'd watched her mother forge a name for herself in the local area with her business, and her dad would help neighbours with odd jobs here and there, alongside his full-time work as a charity organiser. Jordan was inspired, mainly by her mother's work ethic, and knew she wanted to be a top dog, calling the shots, but she wanted to be more well-known than her mum. Screw a self-owned business, she was going to be a CEO of a mega-corporation, and that she would be. She was pursued by one of her senior managers, quickly falling in love and moving in with him, and even accepting a proposal. Little did she know she'd been manipulated from the start, and he was using her for her youth and appeal, and also to torture his son, Andrew Garfield, who'd been in love with her since high school. She started an affair with Andrew, before ending things with his father, with his father dying of a heart attack not long after. Andrew and Jordan had 2 daughters, Jayden and Zara, and they also adopted Jordan's brother, Shea, when her parents got too old to take care of him, as they had him quite late in their lifespan.

#sims 4 #simblr #ts4 legacy #legacy challenge #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #sims 4 custom content #sims 4 mods #sentate #greenllamas #serenity #jius sims #twistedcat #sims 4 cc #sims 4 screenshots #the sims #my sims #ts4 #the sims community

[orizoncontrols]

IL CICLO DI VITA DI UN SISTEMA SMART BUILDING AUTOMATION

ASPETTARE CHE QUALCOSA SI ROMPA PRIMA DI AGGIORNARLA È SEMPRE LA SOLUZIONE PIÙ COSTOSA.L'automobile americana media h una durata di vita di circa otto anni o 150.000 miglia. I veicoli di lusso ben costruiti possono funzionare per 15 anni e/o 300.000 miglia con una manutenzione meticolosa. Nonostante queste previsioni, non c'è modo di stabilire esattamente per quanto tempo un'auto rimarrà senza problemi, ma, da qualche parte lungo la strada, anche con la migliore manutenzione, un componente importante è destinato a guastarsi. Lo stesso si può dire dei controlli sugli edifici. Nonostante quanto sia ben curato il sistema di automazione degli edifici (BAS) o il sistema di gestione degli edifici (BMS) di una struttura, alla fine si romperà. E dopo diversi anni, anche se funziona ancora, è molto probabile che non sia in grado di adattarsi/lavorare con le nuove tecnologie.L'aggiornamento di un sistema di controllo commerciale può essere piuttosto impegnativo. Numerosi ostacoli, tra cui i costi, la necessità di infrastrutture aggiuntive, competenze aggiuntive, sicurezza informatica, ecc., si frappongono. Ma proprio come i conducenti che aggiornano i loro veicoli, coloro che hanno aggiornato le loro attrezzature vengono premiati sotto forma di controllo più sofisticato, risparmi sui costi grazie al funzionamento autonomo e un'estetica più attraente.La sfida consiste nel distinguere con precisione quando è necessario un aggiornamento dei controlli, convincere il responsabile delle operazioni perché è necessario effettuare un tale investimento e dimostrare che la spesa vale la ricompensa."Anche i sistemi HVAC più avanzati non dovrebbero durare più di 20 anni", ha affermato Patrick Pease, P.E., LEED AP BD+C, direttore dell'ingegneria meccanica, cove.tool. “Ciò è particolarmente vero per i sistemi di controllo, che si sono evoluti in modo esponenziale negli ultimi anni. Se un controller è in uso da più di 20 anni, probabilmente è arrivato il momento di aggiornarlo".Quando le apparecchiature raggiungono la fine del loro ciclo di vita, spesso le parti di ricambio non sono disponibili, il che costringe gli appaltatori a spingere per una sostituzione completa del sistema semplicemente perché è l'unica opzione."Sebbene i controller possano durare a lungo, le unità sostitutive con le stesse capacità, fattori di forma o hardware potrebbero non essere disponibili man mano che i produttori evolvono i loro sistemi e il mercato dell'elettronica commerciale elimina gradualmente i vecchi componenti", ha affermato Todd Lash, responsabile delle soluzioni di automazione degli edifici , Siemens Smart Infrastructure USA. "Inoltre, i modelli meno recenti tendono ad avere funzionalità limitate e non sono in grado di supportare applicazioni e requisiti di codice in rapida evoluzione".Circa il 50% degli edifici esistenti oggi sono stati costruiti prima del 1980. Sfortunatamente, la tecnologia e l'infrastruttura di ieri non sono state progettate per affrontare le sfide di oggi, ha affermato James Mylett, vicepresidente senior, U.S. Digital Buildings, Schneider Electric."L'esperienza che gli occupanti degli edifici si aspettano dai loro edifici è cambiata radicalmente negli ultimi dieci anni e si è ulteriormente accelerata man mano che ci muovevamo attraverso la pandemia globale", ha affermato Mylett. "In particolare, le aspettative relative a resilienza, efficienza, sostenibilità e centralità delle persone sono ora a un punto in cui i sistemi di controllo legacy, in particolare quelli non IP, non sono attrezzati per fornire i risultati richiesti oggi dagli occupanti degli edifici".Se il controllo di un edificio è il cervello dell'edificio, perché non miri a rendere il tuo edificio il più intelligente possibile?"Il cervello ordina a tutte le parti del corpo di comunicare tra loro e dice loro cosa fare", ha detto. “L'attuale tendenza degli appaltatori è quella di migrare a controller basati su IP per questo sistema nervoso per farlo comunicare in modo più efficiente. Come con qualsiasi esperienza digitale, il passaggio a un sistema basato su IP fornisce una comunicazione più rapida e affidabile tra i controllori, che, a sua volta, consente un processo decisionale più rapido e accurato per i proprietari dell'edificio e un maggiore tempo di attività per la struttura. L'affidabilità e la velocità dei dati consentono un migliore flusso di dati nel cloud".Orizon S.r.l. - Building Automation San Donà di Piave - System Integrators per l'automazione dei sistemi intelligenti domotici, multimediali e professionali come il Building Management System, connessi all'IOT. Fonte: achrnews Read the full article

#buildingautomation #buildingautomationsandonadipiave #buildingmanagementsystem #smartbuilding

[greateasternj69]

Here is a late Halloween picture of a living version of the fictional movie ship SS Antonia Graza from Ghost Ship 2002. I was originally suppose to have this done in time for Halloween. But RL stuff got in the way, and I wasn't feeling motivated to do anything art related for a while. But I'm getting back into the project's I'm currently working on now, and hopefully I should have something else finished after this one.

For this Halloween, I decided to visit one of the movie ships from a particular horror film from 2002, Ghost Ship which features the fictional Ocean Liner SS Antonia Graza. She was based on the famous Italian Liner SS Andera Doria which sank in 1956 with a 35-foot 1/20th scale model of the ship being made specially made for the film, in both clean and rusted forms. In the movie Antonia Graza goes missing in 1962 after a series of mysterious events occur on board that lead to the deaths of both the passengers and crew, and is discovered years later by a salvaging crew who discover several boxes containing gold bars in the cargo hold, which leads a few of them to discover the mastermind behind the ships disappearance.

For my inspiration of Graza, and how her story would work in my universes lore. Firstly although the Antonia Graza was built in 1954 in the original films lore. I decided to move her construction to 1958 a few years after the sinking of the Andrea Doria, and while she is consider a sister ship to the former, and the her sister the Cristoforo Colombo, her design would more resemble that of Leonardo Da Vinci who's construction also began around the same time as hers, with both being launched as twins on the same day. Both were constructed to be Andrea Doria's replacement after her tragic sinking.

Immediately the two siblings had opposite personalities from each other. While Vinci was more outgoing and sociable towards other ships and liners and more respectable towards passengers regardless of status. Antonia Graza was arrogant, stubborn, self-centred and very bad-tempered liner who due her highly prestigious and privileged life style constantly demanded for her bosses and crews attention to that of a prima donna Hollywood celebrity, She always wanted to keep up herself looking perfect in her appearance towards her passengers with Graza demanding to be repainted every single time she saw something like a hint of rust on her hull, often to the point of overdoing it with too many layers of paint and constant mess-ups by overworking the painters which only made her lash out at them for a simple mistake. She even spent way too much time in drydock having herself cleaned after every voyage, often refusing to let other vessels around her use the facilities including her own siblings who often argued with her to let them into the dock until she finally gave in, albeit in angry tone.

Graza was also very picky about the type people and liners she hangout with and wanted to be around. When it came to passengers, she always treated the elites of the first class passengers to high-regard as they were the ones she always thought were the most important above all the other classes, their status bring them the most attention from the press and leading her to believe they deserved to be treated with the up most respect by those below them. In spite of the truth most of them were greed ridden and filled with selfish desires for power and domination of others. Because of their negative influence on Graza, it only fuelled her conceitedness, to the point where she treated all of the tourist class passengers as inferior poor souls who had to envy the might of the rich for the whole voyage, to the point of mocking them through her self-pride.

When it came to other ships, due to Graza's arrogant attitude. Graza was never really that popular with any other ship around her who saw her as entitled to her prestigious role without a care for others, even her siblings didn't like her attitude, and this put a strain on her relationship with them. With Graza getting into raging arguments with Cristoforo Colombo who she saw as unworthy broken liner who did nothing to save the sister she never met, despite Colombo stating that her death was entirely out of her control, to which Graza shrugged off. She even belittled her twin because of her not seeing the wealthy in the way she saw them, with Vinci having to argue with her that class shouldn't matter despite their prestigious role, and that Graza was just jealous of her because she was able to make friends with some of the most famous liners and average vessels, while Graza was unable to due to her stubbornness towards them and prejudice towards lower vessels of less prestigious roles.

Thus the only friends Graza had were attention seeking loud-mouths who had the same opinions and views as her, and she treated all of the less prestigious vessels and machines as crummy, weak, repulsive and ugly to where she would give warnings to them to stay out of her way, even when some attempted to befriend her.

However, what Graza didn't realise was that her arrogance and abuse of her privileged status were about bring about her last voyage and with it her doom.

On May 17th 1962 Antonia Graza after some delay involving some crew refusing to work aboard her in Genoa. Departed for New York for another westbound crossing, last being seen off Gibraltar heading out into the Atlantic. Two day's later Graza received a distress call from an unidentified vessel who she and her crew didn't recognize, as the ship who was sending it was not on radar, and appeared to be one of an old wireless telegraph message. SOS was deciphered by one of the crew, and the ship in distress was a ship called the SS Lorelei which in the message was said to be taking on water with all systems failed and was sinking fast. Captain Rugglero ordered his crew to head towards the stricken vessel much to Graza annoyance. When they reached the scene of the disaster, they mysteriously found nothing, except for a few pieces of wreckage, nine cases of gold bars, and one sole survivor who they immediately brought aboard and addressed their find to other vessels in the area. However, Graza had sensed that there was something unnatural about the survivor as she sensed some strange energy coming from his presence. But she thought nothing of it, as she continued her crossing across the Atlantic determined to make up for lost time.

On the night of May 21st. Antonia Graza was making good time as she was a few day's away from reaching the west coast of America. There was a lot of partying going on above her on deck with a dance taking place on a large floor on her bow. However, Graza didn't really care about parties, and was naturally only focused on getting to her destination on time. She even too busy thinking about what she would say to Colombo when she finally arrived in New York. Suddenly, as she was in thought she started feel all dizzy and drowsy in her bow, and began slow her engines down as she sensed that something was wrong, and indeed there was, but one she couldn't see in her line of sight. Someone had poured a some sort of very strong sleeping agent in her brain box where her brain was, and began effect her ability to stay awake. The agent was not a medical one either, as it's power was coming at her brain with full force. Antonia Graza tried to resist it and stay awake, but the agent was too strong to fight back against, and she became so tired that she finally shut down her engine, radar equipment shut off and fell into a very deep and long sleep. While above her the horrific and gruesome events unfolded, arrogance having finally sealed her fate.

A few day's passed until Antonia Graza was reported missing when she didn't turn up in New York after being behind schedule for day's from her expected arrival time. With families of those onboard worried about the fate of their loved ones. As search party was sent out in search of the missing liner, they first went to her last known position as reported by Labrador Coast Guard Station, Canada, with a team of divers. Believing that she might have sank with all onboard. However, when they got there and searched the surface and the seafloor, they found nothing, not a single ship or body. The search parties searched for day's across every corner of the Atlantic but with no luck of finding the lost Italian Liner.

Soon an inquire was set up to determine the fate of Graza and those onboard from both the Italian and American sides. From the inquire one key fact was brought up by the crew of a cargo vessel who had arrived in Genoa a few day's after last contact with Graza. The captain reported that the Antonia Graza's captain had contacted them to send a message with them to Italy, stating that they had gotten an SOS call from the Lorelei, and they found nothing but a sole survivor and nine cases of gold bars, and would like the authorise in Italy, Spain or France to send a search party out to find the remains of the lost ship. When asked about this by other ships and their crews within the area of the reported distress. They all claimed that the reality was, they had received no distress call from such a ship with one older vessel stating that the Lorelei the crew of the cargo vessel had been notified about, hadn't been seen since 1902, as that ship too had been reported missing after rescuing a sole survivor from another ship, who too also went missing with no explanation as to why these disappearances happened, as both vessels were never found. Having vanished without a trace of them ever being in the last position reported.

Despite many possibilities of the disappearance being brought up, non of them came to official answer to explain Graza's disappearance, and to this day the files of the mystery remains in the US Coast Guard's and NTSB's incident investigation files, as unsolved and Antonia Graza herself as still missing. However, many ships believe that Antonia Graza is still out there somewhere, being adrift in the Atlantic for 60 years. The salty air having eaten away at the elegance she once tried to keep perfect, deteriorated and rusted, with all the remains of those lost onboard that fateful night with their voices searching for peace of their suffering souls. Some think that Graza would've learned her lesson of all the mistakes she made in her life by this time.

Antonia Graza (original movie ship) © Warner Brothers

Antonia Graza (my version) and Art © Great Eastern J69

[raydioactivegeorg]

THE MOON GIRL'S GOWN! HER LASHES! HER HAIR! HER EVERYTHING!!

ALOYSIA WEBER!!! PRIMA DONNA!!!!!

[520promotions]

Introducing 6xCertified Post Op Practitioner/Body Sculptor Monierica Thomas known as Prima Donna

Introducing 6xCertified Post Op Practitioner/Body Sculptor Monierica Thomas known as Prima Donna

Monierica Thomas known as Prima Donna is the leading lady of the south with beauty enhancements. She specializes in Lash Extensions, Colombian Style Post Op and Body Sculpting, Hyaluronic Acid Fillers and many more. She travels with individuals for cosmetic surgery and provide services in their private location or Recovery Home. Monierica is a medical assistant, phlebotomy, health and wellness…

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[mrjellybeanz]

Introducing 6xCertified Post Op Practitioner/Body Sculptor Monierica Thomas known as Prima Donna

Introducing 6xCertified Post Op Practitioner/Body Sculptor Monierica Thomas known as Prima Donna

Monierica Thomas known as Prima Donna is the leading lady of the south with beauty enhancements. She specializes in Lash Extensions, Colombian Style Post Op and Body Sculpting, Hyaluronic Acid Fillers and many more. She travels with individuals for cosmetic surgery and provide services in their private location or Recovery Home. Monierica is a medical assistant, phlebotomy, health and wellness…

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