#BEARING WITNESS TO THIS IN REAL TIME WAS MAGICAL

[emeraldtart]

Sometimes, they underestimated their resident prefect's strength. Enough times Overblots resulted in them having crazy strength when adrenaline kicked in.

Ace, Deuce and Grim witnessed it first-hand when Yuu picks them up in the forest to escape from a wild bear- don't ask, it's a long story.

Then Yuu picks Jack up in bridal style when he hit his head to the nurse office. He's bleeding, but he's definitely isn't hallucinating that the Prefect picks him off the ground.

Epel got it when they're running away from Vil. And he kids you not, he got thrown over Yuu's shoulder and they leapt from the second floor. Vil was flabbergasted enough that he forgot what he was even mad about in the first place.

Ortho got carried when his power systems got hit by a stray magic bullet during practice. Idia did a double take because did this guy just carry his robot brother all the way from the field?

And as for Sebek, he got humbled because of one of his rants of humans being weak. Yuu carried him around on their shoulders for a good 30 minutes.

But the biggest twist of all is when Yuu grabs all of them to escape a manticore- again, don't ask.

But Yuu can't carry them all, so Yuu was actually holding Jack and Sebek in each arm, Ace and Deuce in their laps, and Epel and Ortho in their laps. Grim is on Yuu's head, gripping for his life.

When they finally made it back to camp, the boys just looks at each other and ask; D-Did that really just happen or are they dreaming?

Ortho: I got it all in my databank. It's real.

Holy crap.

[muddyorbsblr]

gestures & rain checks

See my full list of works here!

pre-story author's note: Yes I am very aware that it's been a solid month since Valentine's Day. Yes I am still posting this 🫡

Summary: It feels like your friends are getting plucked away from you one by one as their respective (or in Nat's case prospective) partners make grand gestures to ask them to be their Valentine.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warning/s: language (nope still not sorry, Rogers); mentions of alcohol; tooth-rotting fluff; gun use [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Morgan being a precious beb; himbo!Thor hours; lowkey sad Reader hours; chaotic group chat vibes in the end

You always had a distaste for this day. Valentine's Day. To you, it was the one day a year that you would do everything in your power not to step outside because it reeked of flowers and chocolate marked up to the heavens for merchants to take advantage of last minute gift shoppers hoping to make a gesture big enough that their crush would let them score at the end of the night. Or guys buying extravagant and ridiculously large arrangements to make amends for wronging their partner as if a 10-foot tall teddy bear was gonna magically press some Undo button of him going on Hinge or Tinder and talking up a dozen other girls on the side.

There was one year that you let slip around Nat and Wanda that this day "smelled like a cemetery" with all the bouquets that bombarded you the second you exited the perimeter of the Compound. Hell, the second you left the main section that housed you and the rest of the Avengers. And you stood by that opinion stubbornly, mostly because you'd only ever witnessed flowers being given when someone was desperately trying to glue back together the pieces of a severely damaged relationship.

And also because no one had ever given you flowers in your entire life. Or chocolates. Or a teddy bear. All your past relationships were with men who were still mentally and emotionally boys that believed emojis and gifs sufficed and were as good as the real thing. Nary a single soul had ever actually spent a lick of time or effort to give you something that told you they deserved your time and effort in turn.

And after so many years of being barely an afterthought, the day just felt like this entity that you resented to an irrational degree, where all you wanted was to lay in bed and wait it out until the clock struck 12 and it was February 15th. Then you could go on a hunt for all the overpriced chocolate that suddenly got their prices slashed by 50% or more.

That was the plan again for this year, had it not been for both Nat and Wanda barging in to your apartment and practically dressing you up like you were their own life-sized definitely seen some better days Barbie doll. "Come on, we can go and have a Galentine's Day 2. Maybe hit up a club and get some free drinks…" the assassin trailed off, zipping up your dress and playfully swatting your ass to nudge you forward. "March on, soldier."

The common area was nearly bare and eerily quiet when you all got there, which made perfect sense considering that most of your teammates who were happily committed to someone were off spending their day together, probably executing their own personal twists on those cliched gestures of adoration. Knowing Tony, that would probably consist of a two-storey tall stuffed bunny or a lavish new vacation house as a nice private little getaway spot for him and Pepper when they wanted to have a date night.

Only Morgan and Shaun were at the big dining table by the kitchen, the little girl working on bracelets with the martial artist nursing a cup of coffee while he handed her beads to add to her work. "Whaddup, Ten Rings…Baby Stark," you greeted them, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to the top of your goddaughter's head. "What're you two up to this fine completely ordinary day?"

"Oof, I take it you're gonna be spending the day watching a bunch of couples be all extra lovey dovey just like me?" You threw him a look, squinting your eyes at him that had him throwing his hands in the air in surrender. "No need to mentally squish my head, Y/N, we're on the same side, I swear," he chuckled, scooting over to the other seat so you could sit next to Morgan. "How about this, karaoke later tonight? Just us and anyone else that doesn't have a date with dinner and co--" You swatted his arm to get him to stop talking, not so subtly signaling in the little girl's direction. "I mean…adult balloons?"

"Wait how come you have special balloons?" Morgan asked, looking up from her activity book and earning barely stifled chortles from both Nat and Wanda. "Why can't I play with them? I like balloons."

You leaned back in your seat, making a motion with your hands as if you were wiping them clean of the whole conversation. "I'm not helping you out of this one, buddy."

He scratched the back of his head, obviously backed into the corner with his own words. "Eeeeeh…put a pin in that and ask me again when you can order a beer, Baby Stark."

The child pouted at both of you, slumping down in her place at the table and slipping back on her princess pink headphones before focusing all her attention on her activity book again, grumbling something about how grownups shouldn't have conversations around her if they didn't want her to ask questions. Valid enough point, but you still weren't going to be the one to give her her first lesson in Sex Ed class a good decade ahead of time.

"Anyways…" Shaun poked at your side, calling your attention back to him. "Karaoke, ladies? We can pick up Katy and Wong before we head over and sing some Disney duets and gorging ourselves on shots and nachos--"

"Hold up, Wong?" You all turned your attention to Stephen, who'd just walked in to the common area. "This I gotta see. You guys have room for one more?"

"Sure thing, as long as you use your sling ring to help us get into Tony's private stash," you quipped, taking a sip of your coffee. "There's no way I'm getting through this day stone-cold sober."

"Or we could go for the really hard stuff and break into Thor's stash of mead from Asgard before he depletes his supply." He showcased the ring in question with a wiggle of his fingers. "Just a portal away."

"I like the way you think, Strange."

"You can all cease your scheming to pilfer my liquor, my friends," Thor's voice boomed into the area, a bounce in his step as he made his way to the coffee pot. "I would happily supply you all with two barrels if that would be enough for your gathering?"

"That's perfect, Thunder. Thanks." You started to tuck into the breakfast plate served by the Compound kitchen staff, mumbling your next question to the blond god. "What've you got planned with Jane for today?"

"Ah." A wide grin stretched across his face at the mention of his girlfriend, the sight both warming your heart and pinching it at the same time. A bittersweet reminder that in the midst of romantic plans with sentimental or grand gestures, your plans involved getting shit-faced with your fellow single friends. Plus Wanda and probably Vision. "Well, I have employed the aid of Wilson to order an ornate bouquet of Jane's favorite flowers which should arrive this morning. Then for lunch I shall prepare her a meal."

"Lunch?" Wanda questioned, tilting her head to the side. "Forgive me if I overstep, my friend, but aren't the romantic plans usually made for dinner?"

"Well, yes…but Jane has graciously agreed to adjusting our schedule for this day so that I may spend the time after lunch aiding my brother in a gesture of his own." A lump formed in your throat at the words. "It seems he wishes to get into the spirit of the holiday, and I am simply ecstatic that he came to me asking for a helping hand."

"I asked nothing of you, you over-muscled oaf," you heard the raven-haired god call out from the main entrance, two large packages hovering a few inches above the ground blanketed with a glow of green from his magic. "You volunteered when you imposed yourself in my space and hovered over my phone."

"Pfft, semantics," Thor waved off, already making his way over to Loki so that he could do some more apparently unnecessary volunteer work. "Are the flowers in one of your parcels?"

"I like flowers!" Morgan chirped from her seat, bouncing in place with bright excited eyes. "Prince Loki, can I help? Please?"

He let out an exaggerated sigh, a trace of a fond, amused smile betraying his facade. "Very well, little Stark. Come along."

Your goddaughter squealed, skipping over to Thor and placing her tiny hand in his. "Uncle Barbie, tell me who his princess is?" He leaned down to whisper the answer in her ear, making her sprint in place with even more excitement. "I promise I won't say a word."

"Barbie? Like your doll, little Lady Stark?" You could practically see the wheels turning in Loki's head from learning about the nickname.

Morgan nodded her head vigorously. "Auntie Y/N came up with it. She calls him Macho Barbie." She proceeded to talk about how you came to give the blond Asgardian the nickname that bizarrely stuck to him more than "Point Break" ever did, said god looking like he already dreaded the coming days -- maybe even years -- now that his brother knew that little tidbit of information.

Once they'd all made their way up the stairs and you could no longer hear the little girl's chipper tone, realization sat heavy in your heart from her reaction to whatever Thor whispered to her just a few seconds ago. Whoever it was that Loki was going to make this grand gesture for, it was someone that Morgan knew enough to the point that she couldn't contain her excitement finding out who the woman was.

It was someone in SHIELD. Maybe even someone in the Compound.

"You good, Babes?" Nat's tone was cautious, approaching you like you were a wounded animal, teeth bared and ready to pounce if she so much as breathed wrong.

You answered with a terse nod of your head. "There is absolutely no fucking way I'm getting through today sober."

"Y/N, dude, I'm sor--"

Bang

"What the fuck?" All eyes grew wide at the sound, your body stiffening as another shot rang out, reverberating throughout the common area. "FRIDAY? Threat assessment," you called out, already readying yourself for combat once whoever was outside made their way to you in the compound.

"No threats have been detected," the AI answered simply. "There seems to be no living target for the gunman."

You could only manage to repeat your words. "What the fuck?" Shot after shot rang out, an interval of three to five seconds between them. Each deafening bang making you flinch, your head spinning with possible explanations on why FRIDAY didn't deem the supposed attacker as a threat. "Where's the target then?"

"Shots are being fired at the training area, by the track field, Agent Y/L/N." You all started to make your way to the area, everyone still on high alert despite FRIDAY's findings.

"Y/N?!" You shared a look with everyone else in the room at the sound of Loki's voice calling out for you, the god looking frantic as he appeared at the top of the main staircase, a sigh of relief escaping him once he saw you standing at the bottom. "You're alright," he exhaled, hurriedly making his way down. The quickening pace of the gunshots had him squaring his shoulders, stepping in front of you and marching toward the sound.

"We've handled way worse than gunfire, Laufeyson, you don't have to lead the defense," you told him with a touch more bite to your tone than you intended, irrational jealousy coursing through you knowing what he was preparing for before he started charging down the stairs. You sidestepped him and started walking toward the training area, brows furrowing together when you saw that from where you stood, the marks from the bullets digging into the ground where forming some sort of shape.

"It's a message…" Wanda mused, angling her head to and fro to see if she could get the whole picture from the ground. "I'm going up, I wanna see what's worth risking Pepper's wrath with all the lawn work she has to commission now." She held her hand out to you, wordlessly offering to take you up with her, an offer that you gladly took, clapping your hand over hers, both of you giggling as your feet lifted off the ground.

Once you two had risen high enough, it was clear what the message was. The shots had been positioned so that the markings would take on the shape of a heart, and the ongoing shots were creating initials. "N…" you read along, barely able to contain your excitement when you saw that the next letter was an R. "Natasha Romanoff!" you yelled out, the assassin's eyes lighting up with a mix of giddiness and curiosity as she tried to look at where the gunshots could've been coming from.

You did your best to turn your head, trying to see who was behind the gesture, kicking your feet in the air once you saw the gunman. "What? Who is it, Y/N?"

"It's Barnes," you squeaked, giving Rogers a reckless wave when you caught sight of him jogging toward all of you with a megaphone in hand.

"Natasha Romanoff," Bucky's voice boomed through the speaker system, making the usually cool and collected former Russian spy put a hand over her mouth to hide the way she was steadily turning pink from how flustered she was. "I know I have a long way to go to make up for how we first met, but I think you're swell and I'd like to try starting it off with maybe dinner tonight?" Both you and Wanda squealed and held each other tight mid-air watching her nod her answer, running over to her once your feet touched the ground again.

"You two won't be pissed if I take a rain check for tonight, will you?" she cautioned, still a wistful tone in her voice from processing what was happening.

"Absolutely not, you go enjoy your date. More drinks to go around and all that," you told her with the biggest smile. "But tomorrow night we're all staying at my place and you're giving us a full report."

"And remember to wear the red lacy underwear," Wanda teased with a comical wiggle of her eyebrows, earning her a poke to the ribs from both of you.

Nat pulled away from the two of you, walking back toward the indoor gym with Steve walking alongside her, starting to talk about how his best friend had been trying to work up the nerve to ask her out since he got sworn in to the team nearly a year ago. From the sound of the conversation, it seemed that Rogers was divulging some information that Barnes probably swore him to secrecy not so long ago.

"And then there were seven," Shaun spoke up, walking toward  you and the sorceress and clapping a hand on each of your shoulders. "Thor came through and left the barrels in the kitchen for us."

You were about to start talking about the food arrangements when the sight of Wanda's husband flying toward you all with a bouquet of camellias and hydrangeas in his hand. "Wanda, my love, I owe you my deepest apologies."

"Whatever for, Vis?" She broke away from you and Shaun to greet the synthezoid, placing her hands on his upper arms as he pulled her in for a chaste kiss.

"It did not occur to me that you might have wanted to make plans for today until Mr Stark had gone into detail of his own itinerary today for his wife," he explained, handing her the bouquet. "Unfortunately I cannot procure a reservation for us tonight, but I still wish to do something for you. Would you allow me the honor of making you a meal and perhaps watching a movie in the private theater?"

You and Shaun gripped each other's hands like you were high schoolers watching their best friend get asked out on their first big date, shaking and pushing each other over the sweetness of the gesture. "I don't need fancy restaurants or pretty flowers, Vis. Getting to spend time with you, especially after everything that's happened to us, is more than enough. I just need you."

The Sokovian turned back to face you and Shaun, a touch of guilt in her expression. "Rain check? I'll bring extra snacks tomorrow night to make up for it?"

"Don't worry about it, Babes," you reassured her, both you and the martial artist waving off her worries. "Enjoy your evening."

The couple have you a curt nod and a smile before happily flying away hand in hand back to their apartment.

"And then there were five," you and Shaun said in unison, walking back to the common area to load up those barrels that Thor left for tonight's 'festivities'. When you got to the kitchen area, Morgan was adorably sitting atop one of the barrels in question, feet happily swinging in the air with a big smile on her face.

"Off the goods, little Stark, we're not risking you getting drunk your dad's gonna kill us," Shaun said in a panic, already lifting the little girl up and off the barrel and making her squeal and giggle as she giddily exclaimed "I'm flying!".

"If you really think that she can get drunk from osmosis, we have a lot to talk about, sweet little summer child," you joked, walking up to one barrel and starting to push it toward the garage. "Think you can use that ancient mystical ring magic for makeshift wheels so we don't bust out our lungs lugging this all the way to your truck?"

"I can assist you, darling." Your skin bristled at the sound of Loki's voice, taking every ounce of strength you had to not stiffen or recoil at his use of the word. He was only saying it out of habit. Probably a remnant of his upbringing as a prince on Asgard.

He didn't mean it the way you wanted -- more than anything -- for him to mean it.

"No need, Laufeyson, I've got it from here," Strange butted in, conjuring an energy shield with his magic that he slid under the barrels, starting to wheel them toward the garage. "Carry on. Oh and friendly advice, man to god? Your future girlfriend, you know, the one you're making this big gesture for? She might not appreciate you calling other women 'darling', so I highly recommend kicking the habit while it's still early. Avoiding future battles and all."

The god sucked his teeth, the action causing his jaw to clench and sending your thoughts someplace they had no business being. You had no business thinking about another woman's man that way, no matter how hot he was.

"I will remember that. Thank you, Strange," he said softly, making his way back up the stairs.

"Thanks for the save," you muttered, opening the door to the garage for the sorcerer to guide the barrels through. "Don't think I could've gotten away with being on Bitch Mode with him a second time today. Not like I can help it, though. Some lucky Midgardian bitch is gonna be his by the end of the night."

"Pretty sure you're the only woman I know that considers being Laufeyson's girlfriend a good thing."

"Yeah, Y/N, like I know he's on our side and everything but most days he still has me on edge. Like passing him on a bad day's gonna get me a stab in the ribs, not a death glare like normal people," Shaun concurred, nudging your shoulder to hopefully stop your lamenting before you got in too deep. Again.

"I'm really down bad, huh," you sighed, letting out a little yip when a portal to the dark dimension appeared just a few feet in front of you. "The fuck--"

"Hey Strange," a reverberating ethereal voice called out from the portal, and then a tall woman with platinum hair with beauty that you could only describe as 'dark celestial' stepped out. Her eyes trained on the sorcerer next to you. "Heard that today's something of a holiday in this dimension. Figured it might be a good idea to stop by and maybe you could show me around your uh…" She turned to you and Shaun, both your jaws slack on the ground. "What's this place called again?"

"Avengers Compound?" Shaun said at the same time that you blurted out, "New York?"

"Compound York?" She raised an eyebrow at the two of you, amusement coloring her face as she gave you both a once over.

"Eherm…no," you answered her, chuckling nervously and shifting your weight between your feet. "This structure here is Avengers Compound, which is in Upstate New York. New York is a city, but also a region…and a state…?" you drifted off, already feeling a pinch in your head from trying to explain the best you could. You looked over to Shaun. "The more I try finding the words to explain, the more I realize how complicated it actually is. Save me."

Stephen stepped forward. "How about I just take you on a tour around New York, then?" His face stretched out into a wide grin, clearly unable to hide his giddiness over the knowledge that she crossed dimensions to be with him today.

"Is that…New York the city, the region, or the state?"

"The city. New York, New York. There's a whole song about it and everything I can play it for you in the car." He proceeded to drape his arm around the dark sorceress, leading her to his car further down the expansive garage.

"Your little human friend is right, things here are complicated. Downright confusing." She looked back at you and Shaun again as they walked away, hand in hand. "It was nice meeting you both! Stephen speaks highly of you all," she called out, her majestic voice echoing throughout the area.

"You're really pretty!" you blurted out in response, causing her voice to melt into a chuckle, telling her partner how she found you 'adorable'. You threw your head back and groaned toward the ceiling. "I'm a fucking dork."

"At least you're an adorable dork," Shaun shot back, nudging your shoulder and lightly touching the back of your head to get you facing forward again. His phone chimed with a text notification. "Katy. Her shift's over, she said she'll get us a room for eight. I'm texting her now to get a smaller one." He held up his hand, palm facing you. "And then there were four?"

You sighed, clapping your hand against his, your friend giving you a reassuring squeeze once you did. "And then there were four." You jerked your head toward the apartments. "I'll just go change into something that involves 'eating pants' and I'll meet you down here in ten."

The walk back up to your apartment wasn't that long, but it still felt like it with how quickly you slipped back into your lamenting over how your friends had such an eventful day today. Nat had her very public grand gesture. Wanda had her husband trying to cook human food in the name of spending time with her. Strange had his girlfriend literally rip a hole between dimensions to get here.

"And all I have waiting for me are two barrels of mead and karaoke microphones," you muttered, walking through your front door and begrudgingly unzipping your dress from the back. You were just about to half-stomp your way to your closet when something on your bed caught your eye.

Three shiny roses lined with gold, tied together with a gold ribbon at the foot of the bed. A large heart-shaped box of chocolates at the center. And a little teddy bear dressed as a bee with red antennas that had hearts at the end, at its fluffy little feet was an embroidered message. "Bee mine".

"What theeeee fu--"

"Y/N," an all too familiar voice called out from behind you. The air left your lungs at the sight of Loki in a form-fitting forest green button-down tucked into onyx black slacks, tucking his hair behind his ears before smoothing his hands over his shirt. "You're early--"

"What're you doing--Was this you?" you babbled, gesturing at the gifts on your bed. For a second, your heart beat erratically, the thought that maybe this was for you, before reality and logic sunk in. "Okay I think I know what's happening…"

"You do?"

"Yeah, you got the wrong apartment. Gimme a minute to change and I can help you move all this over to--"

The rest of your words died in a little squeak at the back of your throat, the god closing the distance between you two with a few long strides, framing your face in his hands and placing a tender fleeting kiss to your lips.

"Those tokens of my affection are exactly where they belong, little mortal," he murmured against you, tracing up the bridge of your nose with his lips until he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "As am I."

You let out a shaky breath, fighting against the urge to melt in the god's embrace as he snaked his hands around your waist. "The gesture your brother mentioned this morning…this?" He proceeded to press kisses down the side of your face, his warm exhale as he whispered 'yes' into your skin making you light-headed. "This is for me?" you gasped out, whatever was remaining of your logical brain smacking the rest of you with how stupid a question that was.

"Who else would it be for, darling?" He pressed a kiss to your jaw, tightening his arms around you and pressing your body against his. "There is no other in this or any other Realm that could have captured my heart so completely." He kissed the corner of your jaw, making his way down the side of your neck, holding you tighter to keep you up when your knees finally buckled from the sensation. "I did this for you, because I wish to ask something of you. That you become mine as much as I am yours."

"M-Mine?" you stammered. "Y-You're mine?" Since when? How come you didn't get this particular memo? Could've saved you a lot of turmoil and nights spent alone staring up at the ceiling trying and failing to hypnotize yourself out of being into him.

He kissed the tip of your nose, resting his forehead against yours. "I have always been yours, darling."

Your hands traveled up the length of his arms, like you were grounding yourself and trying to tell yourself that this was real. He was really here and he was telling you the words you wanted more than anything to hear for who even knew how long at this point.

He's here, you thought to yourself. And he's mine.

There was only one word that you could muster up in that moment. "Yes." I've always been yours, too.

Karaoke Dreamin' on Such a Winter's Day group chat

myfirstnameisagent: Don't kill me but…rain check?

busboy10: Are you kidding me, Y/N?? You said you'd be down in 5 minutes tops and we're gonna meet up with Katy.

nromanoff: Sweet, now you're gonna have a story to tell tomorrow night, too.

myfirstnameisagent: Actually about that…rain check on tomorrow night, too? I'm kinda not there right now…

busboy10: There?? What do you mean "There"?? How'd you get out the Compound without me seeing you? Or whoever the hot date you're ditching me for is?

imjustwong: Where is everybody? We ordered nachos.

myfirstnameisagent: Yeah…I'm not in the Compound…or in New York…any of the "New York"s. Might not be for the next week. Maybe more. The three of you better not drink all the mead in one go.

busboy10: ??????

thevision: Agent Y/L/N, my wife is showing many signs of distress over her inability to contact you. Your phone seems to be going straight to voicemail.

thewanda: Y/N WHERE ARE YOU I HEARD A BANG FROM YOUR APARTMENT ARE YOU OKAY??

myfirstnameisagent: Babes, I'm fine. That was just the Bifrost.

thewanda: EXCUSE ME??

nromanoff: BABES WHAT--

pointbreakbarbie: My friends, I heard the Bifrost be summoned near Lady Y/N's abode. Is there an emergency? Must I make my way to Asgard to assist?

myfirstnameisagent: Thor your brother said if he finds you here I have permission to stab you, don't even fucking think about it.

thewanda: I REPEAT. EXCUSE ME???

busboy10: Y/N are you in Asgard?? With Loki??

myfirstnameisagent: Yes. And yes. See you in two weeks.

thewanda: He better use that healing magic on your legs so you don't walk funny.

A/N: It took me a whole month to write this because real life was trying TKO me in the work department and also I got sucked in to the worlds of Hello Kitty Island Adventure, Disney Dreamlight Valley, and Delicious World and I've been too weak to even attempt time management 🤣

I'm working on stuff tho I swear it 🫡 Horny bitches cuts are in progress, stories are in progress…lots of progress 😅😅

Also for reference, this was the lil stuffed bear that Loki gave Reader:

and the roses looked like this:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears

[nakedbibi333]

Thinking Fourth Dimensionally - Neville Goddard

“The condition which I desired and assumed that I had, becomes  objectified within my world and bears witness to the power of my assumption.”

Summary: think outside the boundaries of the 3D world. Think beyond the things that have happened in the physical world, what could happen, what's possible. Think outside of reason, the rules of the world, think outside of logic. Allow your desires to be impossible, magical, and instant. Allow yourself to be free from the constrictions of what life has taught you it is.

Concepts Discussed: The Inner world, Self-Concept, The 4D, Instant manifestation, The Carnal Mind: The conscious mind, The Mind of Christ: The subconscious mind, The sabbath, and The importance of your inner world (mental diet).

The conscious mind is strapped by reason and the 3D world.

It can only experience the present moment as reality

Because it is physically in front of you and you can experience it, it feels more real than anything else (but it isn't).

The past only feels like an illusion and the future doesn’t exist yet 

It does not think that it can access or change the past or future

The 4D is the subconscious mind.

In here, the past, present, and future are all happening at the same time, now.

Leave the 3D alone and take time to nurture the 4D, your inner world. 

When you go into your imagination and create a new reality there, you are effectively changing your state. By assuming the wish fulfilled and walking in that assumption (thinking from and acting as if), you will be persisting in that state.

“A concrete reality, displaced in time”

5th Chapter of the Gospel of Mark (3 stories)

“Be not afraid, only believe”

Fear is the absence of faith.

To be fearful is to go against your belief in the law of assumption, in your own belief in yourself.

“Are you living in the dead past?”

The past no longer exists at this moment. It is completely changeable and it has no power over you now. The only way you can give it power is by assuming that the past is immovable and unchangeable. Your own assumptions based on your past are what are holding you back.

“If you are living among the dead, your prejudices, your superstitions, and your false beliefs that you keep alive are the tombstones behind which you hide.”

When you refuse to let go of the old man, state, beliefs, and assumptions you have carried with you for so long, you refuse to change your inner reality. If you do not change your inner reality, you won't change your outer reality.

The 4D reveals a new approach to life.

Dying to the old state and resurrecting to the new state is how you change yourself.

Think outside the boundaries of the senses. 

Don't allow yourself to be stuck within the laws and rules of logic and reason.

Get rid of limitations.

Cleanse your mind of your former concept of self

“As your mind is cleansed of your former concept of self, you assume you are what you want to be, and remaining faithful to this assumption, you give form to your assumption.”

“But now having assumed that I AM what formerly I desired to be, I cannot continue desiring what I AM conscious of being. So I do not discuss it. I talk to no one concerning what I AM. It is so obvious to me that I AM what I wanted to be that I walk as though I were.”

You stay true and faithful to your assumption and then you walk through life as though you have it. THINK FROM IT.

“When you do become cleansed and you are free, then the womb, your own mind is automatically healed. It becomes the prepared ground where seeds, your desires, can take root and grow into manifestation.”

Die to your old state, feed your mind for your new state, tell no one, walk in that assumption, and persist.

“Things I am not attentive to fade and wither within my world, regardless of what they are.”

Since you created everything in your experience, you have the ability to remove your attention from them.

“They are not born and then remain unfed. I gave them birth by reason of the fact that I became conscious of being them. When I embody them within my world that is not the end. That is the beginning. Now I am a mother who must keep alive this state by being attentive to it.” 

By removing your attention from what is undesirable in your life, you are starving it. 

Things in your life are fed by attention. Remove your attention from that which you do not desire and turn your attention on that which you love.

Your attention must remain on your new state

Do not revert back, only feed your desired state.

“Close the door to your senses”

The 3D world is merely a reflection. It is not the source. It is not concrete and immovable. It is not unchangeable. The 4D world is the true source. Imagination is the source. 

So, close the door to the physical world and move only in your imagination. Grant yourself your desires, become who you desire to be, and leave reason, limitations, judgment, and other people’s opinions out of there. Here, anything is possible. Anything can happen and you can have anything you desire, no matter how unattainable it may seem. Think about it right now. In your mind, you can have all the money in the world, and you can bring anything you desire into existence. You can have anyone you want, You can be successful and loved and revered. You can love and be loved. You can be anywhere in the universe that you can possibly imagine. You can literally close your eyes and imagine yourself on the moon and it would take absolutely no effort on your part. In imagination, all things are yours and all things are possible. This is the source from which all things in the physical 3D world come from. So, if you truly allow yourself to create, to be, and to give yourself anything you desire, then your 3D world can reflect a magical world filled with all your desires fulfilled. 

“I no longer look for confirmation. I completely deny the evidence of my senses, which mock my assumption and do not discuss with others whether my assumption is possible or not.”

You don’t look for confirmation, you don’t ask anyone (even yourself) if it’s possible. It is possible because you said it’s possible. And that’s that. Be stern with yourself. Begin standing up for yourself, your desires, and your imagination. You deserve to have your 3D reflect to you exactly what you want. No less. 

“I shut out of that state everything that would deny it” = You literally ignore anything that would go against your desire. You have to be so stubborn. You have to be like a spoiled child, denying anything that does not exactly align with what you want. You don’t take no for an answer, you don’t allow it to half-manifest, and you definitely don’t allow “signs” and “small manifestations” to come. You don’t settle for anything less than you deserve, which is everything you desire, down to the smallest detail. 

Creation is man’s I AM

We were always meant to be creators.

Man’s consciousness is GOD. There is no other power out there.

Are you free of conditions?

“Do you believe now that you, without the assistance of another, need only assume that you are what you want to be, to make that assumption real within your world? Or do you believe that you must first fulfill a certain condition imposed upon you by the past, that you must be of a certain order, or a certain something?”

Ask yourself this: are you truly allowing yourself to be the sole power of your experience? Do you truly believe that you can have, be, and experience anything you desire? Do you actually think that you don't need to do anything except imagine yourself as you wish to be and it will come? Or are you still reasoning, doubting, and conditioning?

SELF-CONCEPT

“Of what are you conscious of being?”

Neville begins talking about the importance of the self-concept.

Everything you experience comes from you. Your entire world and reality is created by you. Are you ready to completely accept that everything is coming from imagination?

“Although you cannot see your objective with the limited focus of your three-dimensional mind, you are now that which you have assumed you are. Walk in that assumption and remain faithful to it.”

Even if you can’t see your desire immediately manifested in the physical world, you ARE what you have assumed. Your assumptions, beliefs, and manifestations are true and real. You continue to remain faithful to these new assumptions, this new conception of self, so that it can show itself to you in the physical world. It must be made manifest, there is no exception. If you assume something, and persist in that assumption, it MUST manifest and reflect in the outer world.

“I alone possess the power of the first person.”

I AM - only able to refer to myself. It is a first-person experience as GOD. This is your reality. Your own personal world and experience. Only you can manifest for yourself. 

“No man can get in [the pool] before you”

No one can take your manifestations from you

No one can beat you to manifesting something or someone

It’s only you

The Sabbath

“When you are not at all concerned about the opinion of others, when you walk as though you were, you cannot raise one finger to make it so, you are in the Sabbath.”

“I cannot be concerned as to how it will be, and still say I AM conscious of being it”

You are not truly in the state of having what you desire if you are still worrying about how it will come to you.

You would know that you are in the Sabbath if you are no longer questioning.

Because if you already had it, you wouldn’t be concerned about any conditions, because you already have it. If you find yourself in confusing thought patters regarding your manifestations, ask yourself this question: If you already had it, would you be thinking like this?

The Story of the Woman of Samaria

Harvest happens now, not in a period of time

Your imagination gives you fulfillment immediately

You can think of anything and it comes to mind instantly. There are no conditions, reasons, steps, there is no how. You don’t have to do anything but bring it to mind. That is manifestation. That’s all.

The well of everlasting quenched thirst

This refers to your imagination. There is no thirst or hunger in imagination because you can instantly imagine yourself fulfilled. If you are thirsty, you can imagine yourself drinking water. If you are hungry, you can imagine yourself eating anything you desire. If you desire something, you can instantly bring it about in imagination. There is no wait for harvest in imagination, only instant fulfillment.

Your subconscious mind “Sees [your desires] as now in a dimensionally larger world, existing now, taking place now.” It has ways that are outside the limitations of the 3D mind, the conscious mind that you have access to. Allow it to do what it was made for.

“Your five senses impregnate you morning, noon, and night with their limitations” 

You are constantly bombarded with the limitations, reasons, rules, and opinions in the 3D world. It takes effort to remove yourself from this cycle and allow yourself freedom from this.  They “dictate to you that which you must accept as true.”

Basically, your 3D world is trying to gaslight you into thinking that you have no power. 

The story of feeding the ducks (mental diet)

“Man is a psychological being, a thinker.”

“It is not what he feeds upon physically, but what he feeds upon mentally that he becomes. We become the embodiment of that which we mentally feed upon.”

The mental diet is extremely important. If you truly want to live a dream life, you need to create a world in your mind that is aligned with the fulfillment of your desires. Manifestation is not only about getting one thing you desire and then going back to the life you were living previously. It is about changing completely.

Notice your thought patterns, notice what you are assuming and imagining and change those things that do not align with your fulfilled desires.

Abdullah and Barbados 

Now this is the most famous Neville story there is and, unless you’re new here, you’ve heard it a thousand times. 

“You are in Barbados”

Neville was unemployed, lived in a tiny room in New York, and he wanted to go to Barbados.

Abdullah tells Neville, “As you walk through this door now you are not walking on 72nd Street, you are walking on palm lined streets, coconut lined streets; this is Barbados. Do not ask me how you are going to go. You are in Barbados. You do not say ‘how’ when ‘are there.’ You are there. Now you walk as though you were there.”

He kept repeating to Neville that he was already in Barbados, when he would complain that he had no money, “you are in Barbados” he would complain that he’s no closer to getting there “you are in Barbados” he asked how he would get there, “You are in Barbados.” That is all he would say. Because that’s all he needed. To believe he was already there. And once he did, everything aligned, and he went to Barbados. His family members begged him to come, gave him money for clothes and essentials he needed, his brother would pay for his entire trip, and then he somehow got into 1st class because somehow there had been a cancellation. He didn’t even move a finger to get all of this done for him. He didn’t even ask his brother for help. It simply happened.

“You are in Barbados, Neville. You want to be there; wherever you want to be, there you are. Live as though you are and that you shall be.” - Abdullah

“I was identified with the feeling of being there. I slept as though I were there, and the entire behavior of man was molded in harmony with my assumption.”

Identify with your fulfilled wish

“Feast on the idea [your fulfilled desire], become identified with the idea as though you were already that embodied state. Walk in the assumption that you are what you want to be. If you feast on that and remain faithful to that mental diet, you will crystallize it. You will become it in this world.”

Identify that which you desire to have in life (or who you desire to be), walk as though it is already true, assume it as your new state, and stick to your mental diet.

“Suspend judgment, refuse to accept what reason and the senses now dictate, and if you remain faithful to the new diet, you will become the embodiment of the ideal to which you remain faithful.”

You need to ignore anything that does not completely align with your fulfilled desire. 

Logic and reason do not exist in imagination. The 4D world does not follow these rules. The 3D is lying to you by telling you that you are constricted within conditions.

“To one’s imagination all things are possible.”

“The dimensionally greater self took my assumption as the command”

Your 4D self, your inner man, is only there to take commands. 

What you assume to be in your conscious mind and persist in, will be taken as a command by the 4D self and then manifested into the 3D.

Neville mentions that the only way you can genuinely believe in the law is by testing it. Don't simply listen to his lectures, read blog posts, and watch videos about the law of assumption. Actually apply the knowledge.

[mamawasatesttube]

alright it's time! without further ado i present to you, the premise of the timkon and clois mermay fic i probably won't write.

in a world where mers are known to exist but are extremely rare - hunted to near-extinction in the past, perhaps, and mostly very reclusive - cadmus labs manage to get a tissue sample from a mer sighted in the sea nearby, although he evades capture and is never observed in the area again. it's enough for them to make a few attempts at cloning - the first twelve are unsuccessful, but the thirteenth... the thirteenth grows beautifully.

tim drake is an intern working directly under lois lane at the daily planet. he's only recently started his job, but he's great at it and he's thriving, and he really likes lois. her husband is nice, too, even if he privately thinks the man kind of lacks personality - he's just not as much of a go-getter as lois. his columns are great reads, though. tim just thinks lois's are better.

as usual, clark kent has a secret. a sea-cret, in this case - he came from the ocean. he was a little baby mer, tacky with the blood of his dead parents, who washed up ashore by the lighthouse the kent family has kept for ages. of course they took him in and raised him as their own, as best they could. he disappeared to sea again for a while when he met lori lemaris. though their romance didn't pan out in the end, they parted as friends, and she gave him a gift: a magic spell to let him transform into a human while on land, to have legs, but to always return to his true form in the water.

lois lane, of course, knows her husband's secret. lois lane would do anything to protect her husband and his secret. she nearly lost him once, a few years ago, when he tried to go for a swim to meet his old friend lori but was nearly caught by hunters. he escaped, but was injured; his tail still bears the scar. she still has the occasional nightmare about finding him on the docks, bleeding, mourning.

the thirteenth experiment - the cloned mer - escapes.

he doesn't know where to go - he doesn't have anywhere else to go - but he's never been in the open ocean before, with no tanks or barriers or nets to hold him back, and he revels in it. he's free! he has so much space to swim, he can leap from the water and twirl in the air! there are so many stars in the night sky, and the sun on the rocks is so warm and nice, and there are so many new kinds of fish he's never eaten...

...but mers are social creatures, and he's lonely. so he starts sneaking back towards the shore of the city he escaped from. he knows it's dangerous, but he just wants to see people. he's never met another mer. he hides near the docks, he swims by the beaches, he explores the marinas. he observes. he sneaks a little closer and closer day by day, growing braver with every venture that doesn't get him caught.

tim drake is eating a leisurely lunch by the waterside one day when he notices a creature in the water, staring at him.

"uuhhhh," he says. "hi?"

the creature ducks back into the water with barely a ripple and vanishes. but he's back, a minute or two later, and staring at tim's lunch. "...what's that?" he asks.

"this?" tim looks down. "this is some sliced mango. do you want some?"

he tosses a piece into the water. the thirteenth experiment takes a tentative bite. tim witnesses a being experience true bliss for the first time in its life, in real time. the next thing he knows, he's promised to come back tomorrow with more land fruits for the mer to try - and he's promised not to tell anyone. and there's a little thought in the back of his mind telling him that he really needs to look into any facilities in the area that might have the capacity to house a secret captive mer.

clark kent hears rumors that some people are claiming to have seen a young mer in the area recently. of course he has to investigate. of course he finds the thirteenth clone, swimming around the mouth of the river and playing in the currents. of course he looks into his face - his own face, years younger - and knows, deep in his bones, what has happened. of course he calls him family. gives him a name. offers him his home, as well, but kon-el declines; he's too in love with the ocean to want to abandon it to hide on land just yet.

clark is a master of keeping secrets. never from lois, but from the rest of the world? always. he tells lois about the boy in the water, about the facility that created him, about the scientists who kept him from the sea. lois swears that she'll stand by him no matter what, and that they'll do whatever they can to make sure this kid is safe.

what follows is a series of more and more ridiculous scenarios as tim and lois both attempt to keep the mer secret from each other, unaware that the other knows about kon because they both believe they can't tell anyone about kon for kon's own safety. kon, unaware that tim and kal-el's wife know each other either, is just having the time of his life swimming around and stealing bits and pieces of tim's lunch.

of course, the peace can't last. cadmus hears the rumors, too, and they want their prize back. early one morning, tim and lois see reports of a flotilla of strange, private fishing boats with unusual equipment and no markings, and they both know what that means.

kon is being hunted.

tim scrambles to get to their usual meeting spot, to tell kon to get away, to hide, but kon never comes. hours pass. the sun sinks below the horizon; the moon glimmers on the water. sick with worry, tim finally has to retreat. they must have found him already, he thinks. he has to find a way to get him back. he has some leads, about facilities that could actually hold a mer, and about those boats. he'll follow up on them. he will find kon.

(what tim doesn't know is that clark moves fast. clark knows all about being hunted. kon is safe, luxuriating in a bath bomb in clark and lois's apartment. he's got clark's laptop on a plank across the tub, and he's watching wendy the werewolf stalker with rapt attention. clark has gotten him some sushi. he's having a great time.)

lois, however, isn't home. lois followed one of those suspicious boats back to its dock, and lois is going to get some answers.

what follows: tim and lois both break into cadmus marine research labs and proceed to do a spiderman pointing meme at each other over a computer full of records about the mer-cloning experiments.

what follows: lois is so proud of tim. he's breaking and entering and getting to the truth without her lead at all! he's doing so good! good job tim!

what follows: lois puts tim in her purse and brings him home with her like a little dog.

clark, upon seeing tim with lois, is initially like ?!?!!?! why did you bring him here when you know kon is here?!?!? but then kon sticks his head out of the bathroom and goes "tim!!!!!" and clark is like. wait. you... the human friend you mentioned is tim???? and kon is like. you know him???? my mango dealer????

and then the falling action. lois spearheads cadmus getting shut down, and kon gets to splash around without fear. he gets clark to come splash around with him too. and he kisses tim :)

[goldenseresinretriever]

Time in a Bottle: Prologue

Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Fae!Reader

Summary: The sentence of eternity gets a lot more interesting when a certain lumberjack stumbles upon your hidden home, swinging his axe at the wrong tree. Actions have consequences and while you think you have the upper hand, it quickly becomes clear that neither of you understands the full extent of what you bargained for.

Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, suggestive language. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I’m so excited that you chose to join me on this journey! I’m so passionate about this story and I’m so excited to be able to share it!

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Time. Time is something that some people spend their whole lives chasing. Mortals that is. You’ve always been fascinated by the way they spend each of their days stretching every moment as thin as humanly possible, trying to wring every bit of living from it. For an immortal like you, the days blur together, each day bleeding into the next. A monotony that fluctuates between comfortable and just plain boring. There’s something simultaneously restless and restful in the knowledge that every morning you’ll wake up and find yourself with the same number of days left in your life.

You’ve lost track of the number that you’ve lived, truthfully. Every day you tread the same worn wooden hallways and yet your footsteps have yet to wear themselves into the floorboards. That’s the magic of this place. Everything is the same, consistent, comfortable. It bears no mark of the years, giving the appearance that it hasn’t been lived in when the opposite is true.

You don’t remember exactly when you first came to this house, to this place. You remember the day, of course. Back when the exterior of the house was some strange marvel of engineering that spoke to a glorious future for the mortals. Now, you suppose, the house must look like a piece of history lost to time itself. Not that you’d know. It’s been centuries since you’ve been free to tread past the edges of the property. An invisible barrier, giving the impression of total freedom, but a harsh reminder when your toes collide with its intangible form when you dare to check if it’s in fact, still there.

The joke comes as you stare out the wide windows that look out upon a forest that changes around you. There’s no wall to see. Freedom is a visible reality and yet so far out of your reach. You suppose you should be proud. After so much time alone, you’ve kept your wits about you. To a weaker mind, perhaps the sentence of one’s own company would be the end of sanity. You wouldn’t have ever considered yourself particularly strong-minded. Not more than the average person at least. And yet here you are, still standing.

Sometimes you wonder if you’ve been forgotten. Immortality is not a curse you bear alone, the whole realm of the fey all burdened with a lifespan that lasts a lot longer than the typical human lifetime. And yet, in a life unending, it’s easy for things to slip the mind, and you wonder how many minds you’ve conveniently slipped out of. Or perhaps you’ve been forcibly erased from the memories of the people you once knew. You’re not quite sure how your punishment extended past yourself. It’s not worth wasting time thinking about it, you suppose. And yet, you’ve got nothing but time worth wasting.

It’s not that you’re dying of boredom. You’re not even sure you’re dying. You’re old, of course, but not that old. Still well under a millennium, if your count is to be trusted. You can’t be sure, however, as there’s no real way to mark the days. Of course, you could write it down but at this point, it’s too little too late. Back in the early days, when your mind could barely comprehend the eternity of your curse, you hadn’t bothered keeping count. Perhaps there had been some flicking, inkling of hope that it was a joke, a tease, a gross exaggeration. That one day the elders would show up at your door and let you return to the life you once knew. Somewhere around the end of the first century, that spark had fizzled out. By now, you’d resigned yourself to your fate. You no longer shed tears of frustration, nor released screams of anger.

No, instead you treated every day like the beginning of something new, a do-over of the previous. It was the only way to stay sane. As long as you didn’t linger too long on how long it had been, you could hold onto the shards of your sanity that have slowly cracked, threatening to shatter into pieces one day. Today is not that day.

The past week has been rainy. Spring’s approach has been slow, the snow lingering later than usual, but finally, as March arrived, the earth is visible again and the flowers in your garden have reared their thirsty heads, waking from their slumber. The sky responded in kind, opening its arms to feed the earth and plants. While you’re pleased to see your plants flourishing under the deluge, the stormy skies have kept you cooped up inside the four walls of your house. You wouldn’t consider yourself prone to going stir-crazy, but after centuries of living alone, you’ve grown particular. You’re used to doing what you please within the limits of your prison. You have routines. You long to go out and walk in the garden. Your hands ache to slide into the freshly exposed earth and tend to your little green friends. At least they must be enjoying themselves, you relent.

Finally. Finally, today the rain seems to have stopped. The sky is still the barest shade of gray, filtering the golden rays that your skin begs to feel. You’re aware of the mud, but the urge to go outside wins out over personal hygiene. It’s not like you’ll be seen or that you’re expecting company. What does it matter if you resemble a golem? You forgo your boots, doing your best to suppress an elated giggle as your bare feet dig into the damp surface of the earth. You flex your toes, burying them in the soil as you step off the cobblestone path that leads to the garden. You care little for the fact that your long gown trails behind you, the hems acquiring a new brown trim. The air still smells damp with an undercurrent of earth and you greedily fill your lungs with it. It feels like home.

Your garden is the closest connection you have to your old life, to your home. You don’t think your captors did that out of the consideration of their hearts, but it’s something you spend every day being thankful for. You're happiest when your fingers are burrowed in the cool earth as you tend to your plants. You relish in the squelching of your bare feet against the damp ground as you make your way to the garden. The sound, however, and subsequently your sense of peace, is disrupted by a sound that makes you stop in your tracks.

Your hearing is keener than humans’, and you pause, halfway off the path to the garden, straining to catch the sound again to ensure you’re not hallucinating from too much time spent indoors. But there it is again. Footsteps. After spending centuries alone, you’ve familiarized yourself with the sounds of the house and the property around it. This isn’t one of those. It’s been years since someone has found you. It’s happened just twice in the last three hundred and fifty years. You don’t have to strain this time, the squelch of the earth and the snags of twigs alerting you to a foreign presence. The sounds are too heavy to be an animal. More often than not a deer or rabbit will stray past the borders of the property, uninhibited by the magic keeping you trapped, and you know what that sounds like, this is different.

You lighten your steps, fingers thrumming as your powers wink to life. They’re not as powerful as they once were, another aspect of your punishment, one you’ve had to adjust to, to the point that you barely remember what their full strength feels like. You feel the energy pulsing in your fingertips as you head out of the garden, making sure to keep your weight as much off your feet as possible as you approach the source of the noises.

They’ve increased in frequency as you approach. They’re coming from the fringes of the property and you sense the end of the yard under your feet as you step into the woods beyond. Soon you’ll reach the end of your prison, running up against the barrier, but you creep ahead all the same. The sounds get louder and you round a tree now facing the back of your intruder.

His back is expansive and you can’t help the way your eyes roam across it. It’s stretching against the flannel fabric covering it. The man’s hair is dark, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it as a stray sunbeam creeping free of the clouds glints off the sharp, metal edge of the axe he’s raising.

Your heart drops as you realize what he’s here to do. The enraged cry flies past your lips as your hand stretches out in front of you. The bark of the tree slithers to life, shooting out like tendrils or fingertips, almost vine-like, and wrapping around the stranger’s forearm, stopping it mid-motion. His head whips around and fierce green eyes meet yours, widened in surprise at the intrusion. Your brows lower from their raised position of shock to narrow in furious protectiveness.

“Who dares to threaten my trees?” Your voice echoes off the trunks of the trees, imbued with your power to make you seem more threatening than you’re sure you appear, with your bare feet and muddied gown. The stranger’s eyes roam over you, surprisingly calm as he takes your appearance before his eyes and head move to where the tree itself has anchored itself to his arm. He studies the growth on his skin for a long moment before he turns back to you.

“Who indeed,” he muses, and you hear the humor in the rumble of his voice under the cautious wonder.

[queenoffishingandcookies]

Thinking on the first shower Noctis took, post-crystal.

He wakes up, and he has to know on some level that quite some time has passed, even before he reaches Galdin Quay. The scratch of facial hair on his chin, the way his hair is longer and tickles his chin now when it shouldn't have, the accumulated grime - dust and dirt and traces of black soot and gray ash on his fatigues - on his skin and clothes from the struggle in Zegnatus Keep and then a decade in stasis.

I'm not sure if the crystal just up and deposited him on Angelgard, because while Noctis was sucked into it in his entirety - we don't know of the divide between his soul/mind, and his actual body, and there's something so grim in thinking about Noctis himself was in the crystal, absorbing centuries of power, while his body is left in Angelgard.

That also, to me, makes more sense as to why Gentiana and Umbra would be there, guarding him, and later - a la Comrades expansion - the surviving Glaives.

Noctis himself wasn't there, but his body was.

Imagine the feel of that. Ten years worth of grime, or nearly.

I say nearly, and maybe it's just my bleeding heart for how Gentiana does care about Luna, and in turn how Luna cares for Noctis, but there's something very tender and bittersweet in the thought of Gentiana - the messenger and Astral in one - trying her best to keep Noctis healthy during that long decade, like sponge bathing to keep the worst off him.

If anyone had direct access to Noct, it would be her.

It wouldn't be the same as a proper bath, or real exercise, but it would be something - keeping of muscular atrophy and maintaining his hygiene as much as possible (as well as whatever crystal fuckery is going on besides Bahamut's revelation, because the amount of issues Noct should have woken up with makes no small list).

Noctis wakes up, and he walks the trail Umbra paves for him, to the shores of Angelgard - and the royal vessel is waiting there for him. Aged, probably worn, but there to bring him back to the mainland. Back to Lucis.

We never see the interior of the Royal Vessel, but there's probably bedrooms - and probably a bathroom. Considering Noctis would probably be more focused on driving the yacht itself, rather than stopping, it'd be unlikely for him to enter the bathroom - but the thought of him looking into a mirror, and looking at himself, so changed from what he remembers being...

It carves the strongest feeling of loss, down to the roots of my heart in my chest because - Noctis is grown. He's fully grown, a man, and yet - not. Ten years were stolen from him, and he wouldn't even know yet. Not until running into Talcott.

There's so much of his father in his face, but his father is dead. His father never got the chance to see Noctis grown up in life, never would have gotten the chance with the strain of the wall and the magic of their bloodline sucking his life away.

His father, who at the end of it all, would be forced to deliver the final blow which severed Noctis from his body once more.

Permanently.

I think it might be even worse, though. For Noctis to first see himself in the mirrors of Talcott's van. In glimpses, but never as a whole, because it's so damn dark and the sun hasn't risen - hasn't pierced the clouds of miasma - for near ten years.

If there was anywhere he'd be able to see his face, it would be at Hammerhead. Hammerhead, where his retinue was waiting - Prompto, and Gladio, and Ignis (who would, just like Regis, be unable to bear witness to Noctis growth).

They're all different, too. Gladio, with longer hair and more scars to count. Prompto, with a goatee a tad longer than Noct's stubble and facing down Daemons with more practice and experience. Iggy, who can't see, but learned to cook and fight again, with more lines on his face and scars on his hands from where others had helped guide weaponry or cookery away from himself before he had adjusted -

Then, Iggy being the exception (except for the visions in Altissia), they are the first people to see his face, besides Umbra, besides Gentiana, Talcott, the Glaives...

There's the feel of water dousing his hair, rolling down his spine and over his body, and it's not hot or cold - but lukewarm. People in and out of Hammerhead now, the power that goes into heating water needed elsewhere. The scent of bland soap, without any real fragrance. Clear water running dark down a drain as he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs - and he gets out, and he gets dressed in attire fit of a king.

A warrior, heading to war. A man, mortal and yet to become not, preparing to make a declaration to the heavens themselves not in words, but his own spilled blood staining the throne once built off of it.

Just. Noctis waking up after the crystal.

Feelings.

[azdoine]

Whenceforth art thou, Hell?

Nona the Ninth appears to confirm Abigail Pent's suspicion that the River has been deliberately broken or sealed, per the comments of Varun and Alecto:

The Captain’s voice was like old teeth. “He left them too long—you left them too long, my salt thing.” ... Afterward Alecto went down to the ship and stood before John, purposing to travel through the River, and was grieved to find it yet dead.

However, a common thread of discussion I see in theorycrafting goes that if John has closed whatever gates may lead beyond the River, then his actions here are somehow for the sake of sustaining necromancy as an institution - as if, at the eleventh hour, we'll learn that all magic has somehow been fueled by burning through God's giant Philosopher's Stone all along. I cannot accept this interpretation. To me, it raises an infinite regression: how could John possibly have used necromancy in order to invent necromancy?

Moreover, this kind of plot twist disregards the internal logic and deflates the significance of TLT's social critique. The Tower doesn't need to be a secret hydroelectric dam in the River for converting human damnation into worldly power, because the engine of suffering has been in the real world the entire time, and it's just called colonialism. The price to be paid for working necromancy is a price to be paid overtly and in this life, either by the coin of explicit necrocapital or by the coin of grief.

If the path to a hypothetical River Beyond has been closed, I think it's for a much more banal psychological reason: John is a mission-oriented avenger who refuses to accept any check on the reach of his judgement.

“There can be no forgiveness for those who walked away,” he said. “Just as there can be no forgiveness for me—even though I rip the very fingers from my hands … throw them into the jaws of the monsters who hunt me … as I run from them across the universe, end to end. Something will satisfy them eventually, but nothing satisfies me. Nothing.” He drew his gaze away from her—his black-and-white, chthonic stare—and looked out over the dunes. He said, “But that’s the grace of it, Harrow. If I’m God, I can start over. The flood, you know? You can wash things clean. That’s all the end of Earth was … making things clean. It gets dirty again, you clean it again. Like those old power-washing ads. Spray and walk away, right? Sometimes I think the only reason I haven’t done it already is that I can’t bear the idea that I wouldn’t be able to touch them—that they’d still be out there…"

People regularly overlook the psychological significance of John's long reach in the context of understanding his behavior. Death and physical distance are no escape from a sufficiently powerful necromancer, because his enemies can be summoned out of the River - which bridges locations across unimaginable gulfs of space - and subjected to further torments in person.

(this is another reason I don't believe that John's expansionist project is being carried out in order to hunt down and slaughter the resettled generational descendants of the trillionaires; based on what we've read, John simply shouldn't need to settle for such a pointless blood feud, let alone carry out his revenge-by-proxy in the physical world. however it came to be that the dead are trapped within the River, everyone who lives is certain to enter his kingdom of death eventually, to sit and wait for him to sieve them from the waters.)

From here, it also makes sense on John's part to arrange for a specific place for the interment of problematic souls. He has to be able to keep some people pinned in place in the palm of his grave-dirt hand - otherwise he leaves a potential attack surface for anyone to try to summon the dead as their witnesses and ask for incriminating information about the King Undying. John certainly admits to deliberately leaving many souls on ice in proportion to their moral desert, for which Harrow accuses him of malfeasance:

"We’ll get them all back … some of them, anyway … or at least, the ones I want to bring back. Anyone I feel didn’t do it. Anyone I feel had no part in it. Anyone I can look at the face of and forgive. And my loved ones … The ones I left, I’ll bring back." ... "I want to know how many of the Resurrection are left, and how many you began with, and what the discrepancies are. I want to know where you put them. They didn’t go into the River. I want to know why she was angry … and why you were terrified."

Alecto The Ninth is set to invoke the harrowing of hell, but I still think we have to be very careful not to overstate these mythological allusions or buy into John's mystique here. The Locked Tomb is a setting with an intensely organic and visceral metaphysics, where the embodiments of the divine - Alecto and John, John's hands and gestures, the human soul itself - are "merely" congregations of smaller powers. "God is a dream, Harrow, and you all dream me together" - the secular minutiae of life and magic are divine only where we remember they're worth deifying!

As John's godhood was once demystified to expose him as an oversized Lyctor, if I want to understand the nature of Hell and the Tower in advance of Alecto, I think I have to let go of my assumption that the answers to all of these questions isn't hidden in plain sight, that there must be a dizzying twist. Let's assume a man did it, and not a god; and ask, how would any man go about trapping ten billion souls or damming the River?

[her-satanic-wiles]

Masterlist ⛧ Lost in Translation Masterlist ⛧ Ao3

Words: 10.3k.

Reading Time: 41 min.

Warnings: None, omfg??? Me??

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

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

Previous Part ⛧ Next Part

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As you stepped into the ancient Gothic library, the heavy wooden door creaked behind you, sealing you within the hallowed halls of knowledge that had stood for centuries. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faint mustiness of time, a fragrance that wrapped around you like a shroud as you navigated the labyrinth of towering shelves.

Dim, flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, revealing the solemn architecture of the almost 2,000-year-old building. The ceiling arched high above, adorned with intricate, time-worn frescoes that seem to watch over the countless tomes below. The air was hushed, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages or the distant echo of footsteps.

The shelves, made of dark, polished wood, stretched endlessly in all directions, each one bearing the weight of centuries-old texts and forbidden knowledge. Some books seemed to sag under the burden of their age, while others stood tall and proud, their leather-bound spines cracked and weathered. Dust particles floated in the air like eerie specters, catching the magical glow of the candlelight, like tiny pixies living in a forest of learning, where they kept silent track of the branches most chosen, and the branches that hadn’t seen sunlight in decades.

You ran your fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the rough texture of ancient leather and the smoothness of well-worn pages. The occasional draft sent a shiver down your spine as you uncovered volumes that seemed to emanate a mysterious energy, their covers adorned with symbols that sent an excited chill through the very core of your being.

The library became your refuge in the middle of the never-ending chaos of Ministry life; a place where the noise of the world outside was subdued by the unhallowed whispers of long-forgotten histories and forbidden knowledge. The weight of the powers that be and the pressures of the everyday world evaporated as soon as you crossed the threshold, to be replaced by the warm embrace of worn books and the ageless knowledge that had endured countless tragedies and disasters.

Compared to the hectic world outside its doors, the library’s air felt like a bubble of peace and quiet. There was something almost sacred about the ambiance induced by the flickering candles and the ethereal glow of the old books. You knew you were leaving the busy Ministry hallways behind when you heard the heavy wooden door behind you creak. This was your second home’s unholy atmosphere, and in it you were its queen.

Surrounded by soaring shelves that appeared to extend forever, you effortlessly made your way through the intricate web of knowledge. The books whispered secrets only those tuned into their complex language could understand, bearing witness to the growth and fall of civilizations. As you wandered among the literary treasures, the smooth oak flooring reverberated with the gentle rhythm of your footfall.

The volumes were bound in leather and some had symbols on them that suggested powers beyond this world. They were waiting for you to touch them, begging for attention that they hadn’t received in Lucifer knew how long. Turning a page felt like travelling through time, and as your fingers danced over the antiquated bindings, you were deeply connected to humankind’s collective wisdom.

The library was not merely a repository of books; it was a living entity, a companion in solitude, a guide through the vast tapestry of human history and the mysteries that transcended it. The ambient sounds of turning pages and the occasional distant murmur of scholarly discourse became a symphony that orchestrated your moments of introspection and revelation.

In the dead centre of the library, atop a reversed pentagram, stood a statue of a snake made from white marble, sat upon and winding around a black, marble pedestal. The snake’s jaw was unhinged enough to comfortably hold an apple between its sharp fangs, the apple itself had been painted the most delectable shade of richly dark red, and polished as though it were a real apple, so shiny you could see yourself in it. It represented the most famous of His triumphs: presenting “God’s children” with the knowledge they’d need to withstand his criminal behaviour. Standing in front of the snake, you very much felt how Eve would have: curious, enraptured and tempted.

The pentagram the snake lived upon was also a marvel to behold. The pentagram itself was carved into the pentagonal shaped stage, each of the corners of the star lining up perfectly with the points of the pentagon. Each straight side leveled out the different heights of the flooring using two, wooden staircases separated by a thick ramp - the ramps themselves covered in artistic portraits of all animals associated with Him, showing goats, cats, bats, owls and crows - all animals that have been demonized by the bible. All incredibly intelligent animals, no wonder the Catholics feared them. In a circle surrounding the pentagram were intricately carved atropa belladonna flowers and vines, floral representation of His existence. The petals of the belladonna were subtly stained a purple hue to replicate their natural colours.

The front desk sat in front of this statue, a ways back from the large, Gothic doors but in their line of view. You hated when you had front desk duty, because you could always feel the snake’s eyes burning through your soul, tempting you to dive into the shelves and devour more knowledge, as if Lucifer himself were watching you and guiding you toward salvation.

The library was your first job since joining the Ministry all those years ago, and you had fought tooth and nail to stay there for as long as possible. Every other job within those unhallowed halls required human interaction, but in the library and the Ministry’s archives, any interaction you had with fellow humans was always about books and knowledge. You didn’t have to worry about petty small-talk with strangers, you could just share what you knew or point others in the right direction and you’d fulfilled your social quota for the day. The Siblings you worked with, Sister Aisha Banerjee and Sibling Riley Martinez would often berate you for your quietness, but they were more than happy to take a more social role as you went about your business organising the shelves and staying out of the clergy’s way.

The front desk was an enjoyable distraction from the maze-like bookcases, and with you, Sister Aisha, and Sibling Riley gathered around it, there was an undeniable feeling of community that sprang from shared experiences among the old books. You heard Sister Aisha’s laugh as she saw you hobbling from the shelves excitedly with another new book she hadn’t seen.

Sister Aisha, her warm smile illuminating the dimly lit room, looked at you with a playful twinkle in her eyes. “Alright, our silent guardian, spill the tea. What fascinating secrets have you unearthed today in the depths of the archives?”

You chuckled, appreciating the good-natured banter and slamming the heavy book on the front desk. You cringed a little at the sound. “Oh, just ancient prophecies and forgotten alchemical recipes. You know, the usual light reading.

Sibling Riley, sipping their tea with a mischievous grin, chimed in, “I’m convinced this one here has memorized the entire contents of the library. Probably knows the Dewey Decimal System in her sleep.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Maybe I should add that to my resume. ‘Expert in organizing, cataloging, can speak multiple dead languages and decipher Satanic codes, and can recite the Dewey Decimal System in a hypnotic whisper.’”

“That’s hot.” Sister Aisha said. “What’s that, though?”

“Ah! Thisparticular book just so happens to be the lost diaries of Papa Indesiderabilis.”

Sibling Riley, “The infamously ugly one? He kept diaries?”

Sister Aisha, “What I’m more concerned with is why he called himself Indesiderabilies?”

You grinned at Sister Aisha’s question, she’d asked the right question and she only had herself to blame. “Well, turns out Papa Indesiderabilis wasn’t just concerned with dark arts like we thought; he was also quite the poet. Seems he had a penchant for self-deprecation.”

“A penchant for personal poetry.”

“Try saying that five times fast.” Sibling Riley challenged.

Sister Aisha nodded and wet her lips, cracking her knuckles and beginning the challenge. She failed.

Sibling Riley chuckled, setting down their tea. “So, what secrets does the infamous ugly poet have to share with us mortals?”

Flipping through the aged pages, you scanned the text. “Poetry mostly, surprisingly eloquent for someone with such a gloomy alias. But here’s the kicker - he wrote about the beauty he found in the ‘undesirable.’ Called it a reflection of the soul that society deems unworthy. It’s oddly poignant.”

Sister Aisha raised an eyebrow, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Papa Indesiderabilis, the poet with a flair for the dramatic. Who would’ve thought?”

Sibling Riley leaned in, their eyes glinting with curiosity. “And the Satanic codes? Anything juicy?”

You winked, running your fingers over the text. “Oh, the codes are there, but decoding them might require a bit more than just wit. Maybe a dash of the supernatural.”

A mischievous gleam sparked in Sister Aisha’s eyes. “Well, if anyone can summon the supernatural, it’s our quiet library guardian here. Maybe you can ask the spirits for a decoding key.”

You chuckled, “I’ll add ‘Ghost Whisperer’ to my ever-expansive resume.”

Sibling Riley leaned back, swirling the remnants of their tea. “You know, this Papa Indesiderabilis might have been onto something with that whole ‘undesirable’ perspective. It’s like finding beauty in the shadows, isn’t it?”

Sister Aisha nodded in agreement, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the ancient desk. “Some people’s beauty should remain in the shadows, I fear.”

Sibling Riley rolled their eyes. “She’s back on her Cardinal Copia bullshit again.”

“Listen, it’s not my fault the leader of the Satanic Church isn’t as hot as they used to be.”

You picked up the book with both of your hands, as they continued to argue. “I’m leaving before Sister Imperator comes and tears you a new one.”

“Look, we had Papa Terzo before and he was the epitome of dreamy. Now we have this random ass Cardinal who looks like the arse-end of a baboon!”

Sibling Riley picked up the defense, “How are you still out here riding the dick of a dead guy?”

“He shouldn’t have died, though.”

The argument about the aesthetic preferences of the Satanic Church’s leaders continued as you swiftly made your exit. The atmosphere at the front desk shifted from decoding ancient texts to decoding the mysteries of Sister Aisha’s particular brand of humour, or rather, her taste in men.

The sound of Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley teasing each other echoed in the air as you navigated your way back through the maze of shelves. As you walked, the atmosphere seemed to carry the warmth of camaraderie, an intangible presence that wrapped around you like the scent of ancient parchment. The occasional teasing and lively debates reached your ears, creating a symphony that harmonized with the hushed whispers of the books.

You couldn’t help but smile as their voices faded into the distance, the library itself seeming to absorb the energy of the shared moments at the front desk. The sacred space, filled with the echoes of laughter and banter, became a living testament to the unique camaraderie that flourished among those who sought solace in the company of ancient tomes.

With each step, you felt the library envelope you, not just as a guardian of its secrets but as a participant in the ongoing narrative of those who found both refuge and joy within its hallowed walls. The laughter and teasing were threads woven into the rich tapestry of the library’s history, making it more than a repository of knowledge—it was a living, breathing entity that thrived on the human connection forged within its silent halls.

Monday’s Black Mass was one of your favourite events in the whole weekly calendar. Your Ministry life was routine and conventional, but the excitement of this ceremony provided a little something extra to the ancient tomes and sacred halls.

A faint energy began to fill the air as the day went on, indicating that the Black Mass was coming. When 6 p.m. hit, you became acutely aware of the shadows created by the dimly lit hallways and flickering flames had an enigmatic charm that matched the covert activities as you made your way to the Basilica di Lilith.

The Ministry had multiple places of worship, but only one that was open for anyone at all times: Basilica di Lilith, named after Adam’s first wife before Eve was even thought about. A beautiful woman who was cast out of the Garden of Eden for asking for equality and dared to disobey Her husband. ‘Our mother who never was’ cursed to live the remainder of Her life as a demon and feared by all of humanity forevermore, unwelcome and unwanted by all except the Satanic Church. To honour Her and give Her the respect she truly deserved, the main space of worship was dedicated solely to Her, and was largely decorated and maintained by Her daughters.

Lilith’s basilica was the largest and one of the most beautiful buildings the Siblings had ever built. Pristine, white stone stood tall and proud over the congregation, carved into Gothic archways and propped up by filigreed Italian columns on either side of the dark wooden pews that outlined the centre aisle. The ceiling was cream coloured with pointed arches that connected to the three storey tall columns in both the nave and choir loft.

There were four rows of pews that extended far back - almost the entire length of the church. Gothic arched windows had been created specifically for the church, the three main ones that decorated the sanctuary depicted Lilith’s time in Eden, Her fall and Her demonification.

Right in the centre of the sanctuary was a statue of a disrobed Lilith with Her arms outstretched, fair hair blowing in the wind and cloaked by Baphomet, standing behind Her with one hand over Her stomach and one on Her shoulder. This was created to represent Her significance in the Church, and reminded them that though they worshipped Lucifer, Lilith was just as important as Him. The statue was placed in a small, dark wooden alcove built in a Gothic exterior style, including steep arches, a small gabled roof and turrets. In turn, the statue was a bright, white marble to really pop out against the alcove. It stood approximately two meters tall and weighed more than humanly comprehensible.

You took your seat at the aisle with both Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley to your right. This was your seat because it had a perfect view of the pulpit. A perfect view of him.

Shrouded in secrecy, the Black Mass promised something out of the usual. A spirit of rebellion against conventional standards permeated the environment as the Ministry members discreetly glanced at one another and whispered quietly to one another.

The complex and dramatic ceremony, along with the ritual’s grandeur, left an impression on the senses that went beyond the typical respect one has for knowledge. The Black Mass’s forbidden charm was in its departure from tradition and the unholy rituals that characterised the remainder of the week, and even the holy rituals of the Church’s righteous counterpart.

The entrance of the Clergy Officials, adorned in their striking black and red regalia, created a palpable sense of awe among the congregation, signaling the imminent commencement of the Mass. With a collective sense of respect, everyone rose to their feet, including you and the rest of the congregation, acknowledging the solemnity of the moment.

You observed with a profound admiration as these figures, each a pillar of the dark hierarchy, took their seats, their presence casting a formal and commanding aura over the gathered worshippers. Their eyes, veiled by the mysterious depths of their Cardinal makeup, seemed to hold a captivating gaze, as if they could perceive the profound depths and innermost sanctuaries of those in attendance. The air was filled with a sense of reverence and curiosity, as the congregation awaited the unfolding of the sacred rituals led by these enigmatic figures.

Following closely behind the officials, with an air of regal authority, came the figures you found most intriguing: the Sister Imperator, and the charismatic Papa Nihil. Their commanding presence exuded an aura of formidable power, their very essence a testament to the captivating legacy that had entrenched itself within the heart of the Church.

The subtle smile etched across Sister Imperator’s face as her gaze met yours sent a shiver down your spine, her confident expression contributing to the enigmatic atmosphere. She radiated assurance and authority, a leader who had navigated the complexities of the Church with unwavering confidence. You felt a warmth of excitement, a potent mixture of anticipation and curiosity as you observed the central figures of the congregation.

And then, there he was, entering with a confident stride. The cardinal’s robes were a symphony of rich, deep crimson, a color that seemed to capture the essence of devotion and authority. Crafted from the finest silk, the fabric cascaded in graceful folds, accentuating the dignified stature of the wearer. Each stitch, meticulously placed, whispered of skilled hands that had labored to create a garment befitting its esteemed purpose.

The robe’s skirt, adorned with intricate gold and black embroidery, depicted sacred symbols and religious motifs that told tales of faith and tradition - the Grucifix mostly. The golden threads shimmered in the ambient light, casting a subtle glow that highlighted the reverence with which the garment had been crafted.

A matching red sash, elegantly tied across the cardinal’s chubby waist, bore the weight of centuries-old wisdom, but also hid the many buttons that ran the length of the garment. Its edges, crisply pressed and perfectly straight to show his precision and need to look as clean as possible.

The Cardinal’s sleeves, were straight, yet too long for him, as was the rest of his attire. As tidy as these lines were, as much care went into keeping it pristine, it was far too big for him like it had been handed to him from someone else that used to wear it perfectly. The cuffs, ended up creating “sweater paws”, and ending midway down his palms, which, themselves, were hidden beneath leather, black gloves.

Underneath the bellowing short cape, emblazoned on the cardinal’s chest in shiny, gold chains, the scarlet robes bore the distinctive pectoral Grucifix, a symbol of faith and authority. The Grucifix, adorned with jewels that glittered like stars in the night sky, reflected the divine significance of the cardinal’s role within the Church.

A majestic cape, cropped to above his elbows, flowing like a river of cardinal red, cascaded down the cardinal’s mid-back. Its edges framed the figure with an aura of spiritual majesty. As the cardinal moved, the cape danced in silent rhythm, a visual hymn to the sacred responsibilities carried by those who wore such garments.

Atop his head sat a typical cardinal’s hat, unfolded at the front into a bat wing, a traditional element of the Satanic Clergy.

The cardinal turned and his gaze stopped you dead in your tracks. An all-too familiar face looked at you with mismatched eyes hidden beneath the traditional, dark black, circular paints surrounding them. His face was long and rectangular, weathered with age and displaying all the signs of a life long lived. Long? Perhaps not. He was only in his early-fifties after all. But his face had wrinkled gently around his forehead and eyebrows as if to announce the world that he was wise beyond his years. His nose was large and pointed at the tip, creating a striking profile that you could have spent the rest of your life looking at if you were allowed to. A pencil moustache adorned his upper lip, a mousey-brown strip of hair that was offputting to most, but to you it added maturity to his character. His top lip was painted black, again, another traditional piece. His strong jaw met at his chin, creating a “butt chin”, another quirk that made the Cardinal, well, him.

Cardinal Copia entered the hall, his visage a captivating blend of charisma and authority in your eyes, as though he effortlessly accepted his position. As he ascended the dais to lead the congregation in the unholy proceedings, you felt a surge of fascination, a potent mixture of respect and curiosity directed at the figure who now wielded power in the name of the malevolent forces that governed the realm of darkness, and his lineage who had taken a comfortable seat on the wooden pews of the front row.

Cardinal Copia had always seemed somewhat enigmatic to you, a character whose uniqueness and charisma had once been palpable, but it appeared that he had undergone a transformation of sorts, now imbued with a newfound confidence that emanated from his position as the leader of the dark congregation. He was introverted and possessed a unique charm, which made him a target for some members of the Ministry. Rumors about him spread like wildfire, and all of them were more captivating and mysterious than the last. Rumours you wouldn’t give the time of day to. Given how much everyone loved Papa Terzo, the idea of him being succeeded by a Cardinal who had his own distinct identity was an intriguing prospect. Cardinal Copia often stumbled over his words and spoke quietly, had a unique posture and a gaze that always lingered for moments too long. A leader tasked with taking command of a congregation, he defied conventional expectations. He never should have stood a chance, yet there he was, captivating the audience with his speeches and reading dark texts, challenging the conventional norms with a voice that echoed with an enigmatic resonance.

The congregation, an eclectic mix of followers, now hung on Cardinal Copia’s every, captivating, word, their devotion to the sinister doctrines palpable in the reverent silence that pervaded the hall. As he intoned incantations and recited dark liturgy, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of fascination, a thrill that mingled with your respect for the man who had once been a mysterious figure but now held a position of dark power.

You were engulfed in a world where the lines between the known and unknown dissolved as the Black Mass took place and the murmurs of long-forgotten secrets became more audible. Your comprehension of the mystical arts was enhanced by the forbidden knowledge that was shared at these meetings; knowledge that extended beyond the text of worn books.

You saw Monday’s Black Mass as more than just an occasion; it was a meeting with the enchanted, a trip into the dark where the unusual and the forbidden came together. And a chance to see the Cardinal who lead you all down the path of dark righteousness, a man whom you admired wholly and fully. A man whom you daresay even loved - but he didn’t know you. He barely even knew that you existed.

There were times that he would enter the library and ask for assistance when you were on the front desk, and you’d always stutter over your words and talk so quietly from the nerves that he could barely hear you. It got so bad, that when you saw him enter, you’d run from the desk and fetch another Sibling to deal with him, while you hid in the shadows like a coward. You didn’t want him to forget you, but sometimes it felt like him forgetting you would calm your nerves entirely. Sometimes, during Mass, he’d make eye contact with you and give you a small smile, or acknowledge your presence, and you’d feel your heart skip a beat. You reveled in the possibility that, just for a fleeting instant, he recognized you as more than a face in the darkened congregation.

But those were just dreams for the books that held your company. Words on pages that had no business in the real world. The distance between your heart and the truth of your commitment grew with every page you flipped and every muttered chant you heard during Mass. A bitter realisation gnawed at your spirit as you stood in the shadows, watching the Cardinal lead the congregation with a compelling presence.

The quick looks and disappearing smiles were like fragile ghosts, stalking your dreams with the painful awareness of love that was never returned. Your feelings appeared to dwindle into the background the more you hid in the shadows, like a ghostly presence that hovered but was never acknowledged.

The books were your lonely companions, silent witnesses to your silent yearning, the weight of unspoken confessions weighing down their ancient pages. In stark contrast to the terrible reality that played out behind the black halls of the Ministry, you frequently found comfort in their stories and sought sanctuary in the worlds they presented.

The gloom that crept into your heart persisted as the Black Mass went on. What was always a joyous occasion to honour the dark had joined into an agonising and bittersweet reminder of the unfulfilled bond you so desperately sought. The Cardinal’s voice reverberated across the auditorium, every word a sharp reminder of the gap that existed between your quiet respect and the recognition you so desperately wanted in the real world.

The final act of Gratiarum fell upon the proceedings, indicating the end of Mass and the sinking of your heart. All clergy members lined up in the aisle, taking their position in the queue and moving forward to receive their final blessings. The Catholics would usually call this part “Eurachrist”. Whereas the Satanists called it Gratiarum.

The word Gratiarum wasn’t a standard Latin word, rather, a bastardisation of “gratia” that translated to “grace” or “thanks” in English. “Gratia” was often used in expressions of gratitude or to convey a sense of goodwill, and thus transformed to the closing ceremony of Black Mass where one would kiss the statue Lilith’s cheeks to thank Her for bringing life to you, for holding you in Motherly comfort, for giving you all the knowledge and courage you could ever possibly want. You’d then receive a final blessing from the Head of the Church, usually a Papa but in this case, Cardinal Copia, before he bids you farewell and sends you on your way.

As the congregation progressed in the queue, you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. The air became thick with a bittersweet mix of reverence and longing. Each step forward echoed the inevitable end of the ritual, a departure from the sacred space where your unspoken emotions swirled in the shadows.

Finally, it was your turn. You approached the statue of Lilith with a mixture of solemnity and yearning. The cold, carved features seemed to hold the weight of centuries, and yet, in this moment, they embodied a profound connection to the divine. You softly kissed Lilith’s cheeks, sensing a momentary warmth that hinted at an ethereal connection.

“Thank you, Mother.” You whispered into her stone ear. “For everything.”

Then came the pivotal moment. Cardinal Copia, the enigmatic leader of the dark congregation, stood before you. His eyes, veiled by the dark makeup, held a depth that seemed to pierce through the shadows. He paused, briefly, staring at you for some reason you couldn’t comprehend. Your brain, of course, now overthinking and feeling the pressure of the silence, forced a whispered, “ciao” to fall from your trembling lips, an action you regretted immediately when you realised he’d heard you.

The Cardinal’s face changed from dutiful to flooded with warmth, eyes sparkling with adoration - the kind of look you’d give a puppy when it did something cute or particularly hilarious. “Ciao, bella.” His smile grew wider, eyes brightening as your cheeks heated at the sound of his voice speaking his beautiful mother-tongue. He paused for a moment, drinking you in, before a clearing of the throat pulled him out of his brain.

“Your Dark Eminence,” called one of his Ghouls from seemingly far away, but as it happened, he was immediately beside the Cardinal, “the blessing?��

“Ah, sì, grazie.”

As he extended his hand in blessing, the ache in your heart intensified. The brief touch felt like an electric current, a conduit of unspoken emotions that lingered in the air.

The final blessing resonated like a melancholy melody, and as Cardinal Copia bid you farewell, you felt a pang of sorrow. The Black Mass, a weekly sojourn into the mystical, was ending, and you were left with a heart heavy with unfulfilled desires. The shadows seemed to close in, casting a veil over the sacred space that held the echoes of your silent devotion.

You left the hall, the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams accompanied you like a silent companion. The Gratiarum had concluded, and you were left to carry the lingering ache of longing as you stepped back into the mundane world, where Lilith’s statue and Cardinal Copia’s fleeting acknowledgments remained confined to the sacred space of the Black Mass.

Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley, your companions in the Ministry, were astute observers of your unspoken affections toward Cardinal Copia. They possessed an uncanny knack for teasing and never missed an opportunity to poke fun at the not-so-subtle nuances of your feelings.

Their banter echoed in the dimly lit corners of the library, creating an atmosphere of playful mockery. Sister Aisha, with her warm smile and mischievous eyes, often led the charge, while Sibling Riley, known for their quick wit, contributed to the good-natured ribbing.

“Look at our silent guardian, blushing like a schoolgirl whenever the good Cardinal so much as glances in her direction,” Sister Aisha would remark, a playful twinkle in her eyes.

Sibling Riley would add, “I’m convinced they’ve written sonnets about Copia in their secret diary. ‘Oh, Cardinal, with your mysterious gaze and awkward charm, won’t you ravage me in the night?’”

“‘Won’t you enter upon my chambers and live out my wildest fantasies?’”

“‘Oh, Cardinal, your nose is so big, may I use it to rest a while?’”

“‘Won’t you hold me on this frosty, winter’s morn, dear Cardinal?’”

The two would share a laugh, their camaraderie evident in the banter that danced around the ancient shelves. Despite the teasing, there was an underlying warmth in their jests, a testament to the deep bonds forged within the Ministry.

You, on the other hand, would play along with a good-natured eye roll, attempting to deflect the attention. “Oh, please, I don’t have wild fantasies.”

Sibling Riley scoffed, “Baby, we’re all librarians. We live our lives surrounded by books-”

“Non-fiction, mostly!”

“None in this Ministry are more depraved than us.”

“Besides,” you jabbed a finger into Sibling Riley’s chest, being careful to avoid any of their scars, “I’m just appreciating his leadership skills. It’s not like I have a shrine dedicated to him hidden in the darkest corner of the library.”

Sister Aisha, never one to let an opportunity slip by, would respond with a sly grin, “Sure, sure. Just leadership skills. And the way you stutter whenever he’s around? Classic admiration, my friend.”

Sibling Riley, “Ciao.”

Sister Aisha grabbed hold of Sibling Riley’s hand, and lowered her voice, “Ciao, bella.”

Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley revelled in their playful banter, the lingering embarrassment from your verbal slip during the Gratiarum weighed heavily on your shoulders. You attempted to regain composure, shooting a playful glare at your companions.

“Alright, enough with the fantasies. Can we get back to the Dewey Decimal System and ancient prophecies, please?” You retorted, hoping to shift the focus away from your unintentional confession.

Sibling Riley smirked, looking at you with a mischievous gleam in their eyes. “Oh, don’t worry, we won’t judge. Cardinal fantasies aside, we’re still a team.”

Sister Aisha, with a chuckle, added, “Besides, it’s not every day our silent guardian reveals a hidden shrine of adoration. Who knew our dear librarian had such a passionate side? A passionate side that gets her worked up over ugly, middle-aged men.”

You feign a dismissive wave, attempting to downplay the comment. “Worked up? I assure you, it’s merely an appreciation for his leadership skills. I’m here for the dark knowledge, not a beauty contest.”

Sibling Riley raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “But you can’t deny, he’s got that awkward charm going on. It’s like watching a cult leader struggle with small talk.”

Sister Aisha nods, her warm smile persisting. “And let’s not forget the nose. A real showstopper. Perhaps that’s what captivates our silent librarian’s heart.”

You roll your eyes, knowing that attempting to defend yourself against their banter is a losing battle. “You two are relentless. I’m getting back to work, and I suggest you do the same.” You turned to walk away, waving them goodbye as you headed to your stack of books that needed organising.

Sibling Riley, still grinning, raises their tea cup in a mock salute. “To the mysteries of the Ministry and the enigma that is Cardinal Copia.”

Shooting them a middle finger seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

The days turned into weeks within the confines of the ancient library, the world outside continued its relentless march through time. Seasons changed, and winter descended upon Rome with a ferocity reminiscent of a freight train on icy tracks. The city, once bustling with life, now wore a quieter demeanour as the chill settled in.

The library, insulated from the external world by its towering walls and centuries-old secrets, became a cocoon shielding you from the biting cold of winter. The scent of ancient pages and the soft illumination of candlelight provided a comforting contrast to the frosty breath of the outside world.

With each passing day, you continued your duties as the guardian of knowledge, organizing shelves and deciphering cryptic texts. Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley, your companions in this sacred space, brought warmth with their laughter and camaraderie. The front desk, where banter and conversations flourished, became a refuge from the winter chill that had gripped the city.

Outside, Rome transformed into a winter wonderland, with frost-kissed architecture and the occasional snowfall turning the historic streets into a serene landscape. Yet, within the library’s hallowed halls, time seemed to follow its own rhythm—a rhythm marked by the turning of pages, the soft murmur of shared conversations, and the enduring presence of ancient wisdom.

As the Ministry’s only archivist, you found yourself being inundated with work to be done, that took you away from the main library life. A welcome change, but a cold one: holed up in one of the offices, surrounded by ancient, indecipherable texts that hadn’t seen the light of day in so, very long. This time you were translating some Akkadian texts from Ancient Babylon. The weight of responsibility lay heavy on your shoulders, yet there was a sense of excitement and purpose in deciphering the cryptic symbols and long-forgotten languages.

The chilly atmosphere within the office felt like it was mixing with the echoes of old Babylon, taking you back in time. The long-mysterious story was revealed by the Akkadian manuscripts, which included elaborate ancient letters.

Warm light streamed from the burning candles onto the parchments, revealing snippets of a civilization lost to the pages of history with each brushstroke. The language that you once heard in Babylon’s bustling marketplaces and opulent temples now whispered its secrets to you in the calm of your office.

You found yourself acting as a bridge connecting the past and the present while surrounded by the stillness. The tales of ancient Babylon painted themselves onto the chilly desolation, bringing to life the traditions, convictions, and dreams of a people long since extinct.

The beat of the language became into a wordless chant as you dug further into the nuances of Akkadian grammar and syntax, a melody that spoke to the wisdom of ages past. The books brought to life stories of kings and gods, conquests, and trade that had lain forgotten for generations, transporting you to a world long since forgotten.

That was, until, there was a knock at the door.

Disturbed, your head shot up to the source of the sound and you cleared the surprise from your throat. “Come in!” You called, eyeing the door handle as it turned and the door was pushed open.

Sister Aisha stood there. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Sister. You’re needed at front desk.”

“No bother at all, Sister Aisha. What’s happening at the front desk?” You inquired, your mind quickly shifting from the mysteries of ancient Babylon to the present demands of the Ministry.

“C-” She paused, or rather, it was more of a hesitation than a pause. She clearly thought you didn’t pick up on it, but you did. “Someone needs your expertise. They’re asking questions we can’t answer, and Googling it is too much hassle.”

You sighed, trying to think your way out of this as quickly as possible. “But, Cardinal Whitman said this was urgent, I really shouldn’t-”

“Sister, this is far more important than anything Cardinal bloody Whitman has to trap you with. You’re needed… now.”

The urgency in Sister Aisha’s voice caught your attention, and her candid revelation about the nature of the situation raised an eyebrow. As you gathered your most important belongings, a sense of curiosity mingled with a tinge of apprehension.

The weight of responsibility settled over you, and you couldn’t help but acknowledge the gravity of the situation. The front desk, once a place of banter and camaraderie, now beckoned with a sense of urgency and mystery. You followed Sister Aisha through the twisting corridors, the rhythmic echo of your footsteps matching the pulse of anticipation that gripped the Ministry.

Sibling Riley stood there, keeping their guest entertained - though the look on his face made it seem like he was less than enthusiastic about the company he was forced to keep. A man stood to the side, his face hidden to you as he was deep in conversation with Sibling Riley - a cardinal, by the looks of their attire.

“Ah, here she is now, Your Dark Eminence.” Sibling Riley said, gesturing to you and Sister Aisha as you approached.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you realised who it was - Cardinal Copia. The unexpected presence of Cardinal Copia at the front desk sent a shiver down your spine. You exchanged a quick glance with Sister Aisha, who wore a knowing smile, as if she had orchestrated this rendezvous herself. There was an air of secrecy about the unexpected encounter as the mystery surrounding the library seemed to deepen.

Sibling Riley, with a mischievous grin, introduced you. “Your Dark Eminence, may I present our diligent librarian, Sorella ______.”

Cardinal Copia turned toward you, his dark eyes meeting yours. The air seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension. You cleared your throat, struggling to maintain composure in the presence of the enigmatic leader of the Ministry.

“Sorella ______,” he greeted, his voice resonating with an odd blend of formality and charm, and then he recognised you. “Ciao.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and the Cardinal quickly regained his composure. Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley covered their mouths and turned away from you, but it was obvious they were laughing.

“Ah, no. Chiedo scusa, Sorella.” He cleared his throat. “I find myself in need of your expertise. A matter of considerable importance, sì?”

You nodded, trying to conceal the flutter of nerves beneath a facade of professionalism, but words wouldn’t form.

“I am in search of information on a relic of great significance to the Church. Its history and location remain elusive. I trust you can handle this matter with the discretion it requires.”

You nodded once more, your weight shifting from one foot to the other. Despite the initial awkwardness, the weight of responsibility settled over you, and you steered the conversation toward the mysterious relic. With a newfound determination, you led the way into the depths of the archives, the shadows of ancient tomes casting a cloak of secrecy over the unfolding mission.

“Please follow me, Your Dark Eminence.” You told him, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Apologizing profusely for the perceived mess in your office, you led Cardinal Copia through the twisting corridors to the intimate space where your work unfolded. The dim light filtered through the ancient windows, casting a soft glow on the cluttered but meticulously organized shelves. The scent of old parchment and the mystical atmosphere of the room created an ambiance that seemed to intrigue the Cardinal.

“I’m terribly sorry for the state of things,” you said, a hint of nervousness in your voice as you tried to tidy up a few stray sheets of paper. “I didn’t expect such esteemed company.”

The Cardinal, however, waved off your concerns with a gracious smile. “No need to fret, Sorella. I appreciate the authenticity of a working space.”

His curiosity got the better of him, and, for a while, you watched as Cardinal Copia roamed around your office. He picked up sheets of your work, his gloved fingers delicately handling the pages. His eyes scanned the intricate details, and a contemplative expression crossed his face.

“You have a remarkable mind, Sorella,” he remarked, his gaze still fixed on the contents of your desk. “Your dedication to the Ministry’s knowledge is evident in every stroke of your pen.”

A mix of surprise and gratitude washed over you. The Cardinal’s acknowledgment held a weight that transcended the typical interactions within the Ministry. You took a moment to observe him, the way he seemed genuinely interested in the details of your work. It was an unexpected turn of events, transforming the routine nature of your duties into a rare moment of connection.

As he continued to peruse your writings, you couldn’t help but wonder about the relic that brought him here. The air in the office seemed charged with the anticipation of uncovering a hidden truth. With a newfound sense of purpose, you joined Cardinal Copia in examining the intricacies of the Ministry’s mysteries, the boundaries between librarian and Cardinal momentarily blurred in the pursuit of ancient knowledge.

“What relic are you looking for, Your Dark Eminence?”

The question lingered in the air as you joined Cardinal Copia in inspecting the contents of your office. His gloved fingers traced the lines of your work with an almost hesitant touch, and his gaze seemed to dance between the papers and your eyes. The room held a quiet tension, as if the weight of the ancient knowledge and the mystery of the relic were too much for even the Cardinal’s composure.

The Cardinal, displaying a touch of awkwardness that was endearing, began to explain his quest. “I am in search of an ancient text, written in Hebrew, of course, because they usually are. Well, not usually but our texts are either Hebrew or Latin… or Greek.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I am in search of this text depicting the original story of the Garden of Eden. It is said to have insights and perspectives not found in the widely accepted accounts of modern-day Catholicism.”

As Cardinal Copia explained the gravity of his task, your curiosity was stirred and you paid close attention. The weight of the request seemed to shimmer in the office. The Cardinal was looking for a version of the Garden of Eden story that went beyond the well-known legends.

“Why this particular text?” you ventured, your mind already racing to recall any relevant volumes within the vast archives of the Ministry.

The Cardinal hesitated for a moment before responding, his gaze fixed on the unseen horizon. “There are whispers, Sorella, of a deeper truth concealed within the ancient Hebrew, uh… scriptures. A truth that challenges the current understanding of our origins. I believe this text may hold the key to a different perspective, a hidden narrative that could reshape our perception of the Garden and its forbidden knowledge. And perhaps, it may benefit the Ghost Project in some way.”

Cardinal Copia pondered the question, his gloved fingers awkwardly tapping on the edge of a nearby shelf. “Well, I mean, it’s a thought. The Vatican’s got these archives, right? All hush-hush, keep Mama quiet.”

What?

“They might have stashed away things that didn’t quite fit the Sunday school narrative. Hidden truths and all that.” He cleared his throat.

The idea of rummaging through the Vatican’s records imbued the mission with an unusual thrill, and the clumsy charm of the Cardinal appeared to heighten the sense of adventure. Maybe the whispered mysteries of the Garden of Eden were hidden in a dusty corner, just waiting to be unearthed.

You sighed. “But, Your Dark Eminence, they’re not going to let two strangers go poking around the archives in search of a text that makes the enemy look good, let alone two Satanists.”

You sighed, a tinge of practicality creeping into the conversation. “But, Your Dark Eminence, they’re not going to let two strangers go poking around the archives in search of a text that makes the enemy look good, let alone two Satanists.”

The Cardinal shifted awkwardly, his gaze momentarily fixed on the worn carpet beneath your feet. “Yeah, you’ve got a point there. I mean, it’s not like we can just waltz in and ask nicely, huh?”

You recognised the difficulties of the effort with a nod of agreement. “Exactly. It’s a bit, you know, delicate. They might not take kindly to our little excursion.”

Cardinal Copia scratched his head, a sheepish grin on his face. “I’m not exactly the best at, uh, delicate matters. I tend to… stand out, no?”

The thought of the flamboyant Cardinal trying to blend in within the hallowed halls of the Vatican brought a faint smile to your lips. “Yeah, subtlety might not be our strong suit. We’d need a plan.”

The Cardinal’s eyes brightened with a hint of mischief. “A plan, huh? Well, I’ve never been much of a strategist, but we can give it a shot, can’t we?” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps you could go.”

Your eyes widened in fear. “Me?”

“Sì! They’ll let you in - you’re pretty.”

Somehow your eyes widened further.

“Well, no.” The Cardinal began to panic. “I mean, no, aspetta, you are pretty but they might not let you in just because you are pretty.”

A mixture of amusement and disbelief played across your face as you processed the Cardinal’s stumbling attempt at reassurance. “So, you’re suggesting I charm my way into the Vatican’s archives? That’s the plan?”

The Cardinal scratched his head awkwardly, a sheepish grin appearing. “I mean, they say beauty has its advantages, right?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the proposal. “Sure, Your Dark Eminence. I’ll just flutter my eyelashes, and they’ll hand over the secrets of the Garden of Eden. Easy.”

“Ecco lo spirito! You sneak in, take the text, voilà! The text is ours, we convert people. I don’t die.”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, non importa. So, what do you say, Sorella?”

“I mean, we don’t even know for sure that the texts are in the Vatican archives. They could be elsewhere.” The uncertainty in your voice mirrored the practical considerations that lingered in your mind.

The Cardinal shrugged, his expression reflecting a mix of determination and hopeful anticipation. “True, true. But, hey, it’s worth a shot, right? We won’t know until we try. Plus, it’ll be an adventure!”

“I don’t know, Your Dark Eminence. I think we should research this before we go charging into enemy lines.” The caution in your voice carried a weight of practicality, a desire to approach the quest with careful consideration.

The Cardinal nodded in agreement, though a subtle hint of dejection shadowed his features. “Yeah, you’re right. Research is good. I just got a bit carried away with the whole sneaking-in-and-taking-the-text thing. Old habits, you know?”

A small smile played across your lips as you appreciated the Cardinal’s honesty. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

He chuckled awkwardly, his demeanour lightening. “Apparently so. Let’s dig into those books and find out what we’re dealing with, Sorella.”

The Cardinal took off his hat for the ease of the search, and extended his hand in a kind and cooperative gesture. The library was waiting for you to explore, filled with old books and the smell of knowledge permeating everything.

Grinning, you pulled your hair away from your face, and took the Cardinal’s hand, feeling the warmth of the shared objective and the excitement of the journey to come. You entered the enormous library together, eager to solve the secrets that awaited you on its sacred shelves. The age-old walls, keepers of ageless stories, observed the unlikely pair set out on a voyage that combined the holy and the forbidden, constrained by the search for the truth and the whispers of information that was only known to a select few.

Within the sacred walls of the old library, you and Cardinal Copia leafed through the vast array of books, the air heavy with the odour of old parchment and the accumulation of wisdom. The Cardinal, for all his showmanship, addressed the assignment with unexpected concentration, his gloved hands slowly skimming over the book covers.

“Let’s start with texts on ancient Hebrew literature and biblical interpretations,” you suggested, leading the way towards a section dedicated to the rich tapestry of ancient languages. The Cardinal followed, his eyes scanning the titles as he navigated the labyrinth of shelves.

The Cardinal copied you as you took out books and started leafing through them, murmuring under his breath some Italian words now and again. The common spirit of your studies seemed to hum in the library, a mute testament to centuries of inquiry.

Whispered discussions and pages turned into a haze of hours. Every now and again the Cardinal, who was remarkably well versed in old languages like yourself, would give insights that even you found surprising. It became clear that there was a curious mind hiding behind all the showmanship and theatricality.

As the hours went by, the library engulfed the two of you in an enclave of research. Occasionally, the Cardinal would erupt in an animated exclamation or a lighthearted giggle, his facial expressions capturing the peculiarities of the old tales he had come upon.

“Listen to this, Sorella,” he exclaimed, drawing your attention. “Apparently, in the 15th century, there was a clandestine group of scholars who sought to preserve forbidden knowledge. They hid texts in secret locations, protecting them from prying eyes.”

Your eyes widened with intrigue as you leaned in to read the passage he pointed to. “That sounds… convenient. Do you think our text could be among those hidden treasures?”

The Cardinal scratched his head, a habit that seemed to accompany moments of contemplation. “It’s a possibility. Let’s keep digging.”

You searched through the library’s maze-like passageways as day gave way to night, travelling through different eras and fields of study. The Cardinal never wavered in his enthusiasm, his charisma being apparent despite the library’s impressive collection.

Nestled among stacks of old language books in a quiet nook, you came upon a mention of a Hebrew manuscript that described a different account of the Garden of Eden. You both felt a surge of excitement as you discovered a possible lead.

The dim light of the library accentuated the excitement shared between you and Cardinal Copia as you uncovered a potential lead in your quest for the alternative narrative of the Garden of Eden. The mention of a Hebrew manuscript held the promise of hidden truths and forbidden knowledge, tantalizingly close yet shrouded in mystery.

“That’s it, Sorella! We’re onto something here,” the Cardinal exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with a mix of anticipation and determination.

You took great care of the Hebrew manuscript’s specifics, noting its author, title, and any other characteristics that would be useful for the search, writing them on the palm of your hand with a ballpoint pen. The whispers of scholars spanning generations seemed to reverberate off the library’s ancient walls, pointing you in the direction of a revelation that had been hidden for a long time.

“Let’s cross-reference this information online,” you suggested, glancing at the Cardinal. The two of you gathered your findings, an eclectic mix of historical accounts and tantalizing clues, and made your way to a computer terminal situated in a secluded corner of the library.

The Cardinal drew up a chair next to you as you got comfortable in the swivel chair, his curiosity unrelenting. As you browsed the digital world, the excited smiles on both of your faces were lit up by the gentle glow of the screen and the hum of the computer You were incredibly aware of his presence beside you, the feel of his breath on your cheek sending shivers down your spine. From this vantage point, you could smell him, his cologne dancing in your nose and nearly distracting you from the task at hand.

You typed the Hebrew manuscript’s details into the search engine and waited impatiently for the results. The screen blinked, revealing a list of entries that each provided a potential location for the illusive text.

“There it is,” you breathed, pointing at a specific entry that seemed to align with your discovery in the library. The title read, “Eden’s Veiled Chronicles: A Hidden Perspective.”

The Cardinal leaned in, his eyes scanning the screen. “That’s our text! But where is it now?”

Your fingers danced across the keyboard as you refined the search, hoping to unveil more information about the current location of Eden’s Veiled Chronicles. The search engine yielded unexpected results, leading you to a digital catalog that cataloged private collections worldwide.

“I think we’ve hit the jackpot,” you said, excitement lacing your words. “The manuscript is listed in a private collection in London. Of course it is, the English have everything.”

Cardinal Copia’s eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. “London? Well, that’s not too far-fetched. What’s the collection called?”

You continued typing, uncovering the name of the esteemed collection that housed the coveted manuscript. “The Crimson Archives. It seems to be a repository for rare and ancient texts, and they have Eden’s Veiled Chronicles in their possession.”

The Cardinal leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “So, we need to get our hands on this text. Any ideas?”

The library appeared to pulse with the energy of exploration, a quiet witness to your journey. A wordless understanding developed between you when the Cardinal’s eyes locked with yours. Obtaining the manuscript from The Crimson Archives emerged as a concrete objective, a first step towards deciphering the secrets contained in Eden’s Veiled Chronicles.

“We’ll need a plan,” you mused, your mind already whirring with possibilities. “Perhaps a diplomatic approach to begin with. Let’s try not to spend money if we can help it. A letter expressing our genuine interest in the manuscript and a willingness to make a fair purchase.”

The Cardinal nodded, his eyes reflecting confidence. “I like it. Let’s compose that letter and see if we can secure an audience with the head of these archives.”

As you delved into drafting the letter, the library’s ancient walls bore witness to a new chapter in your quest—a chapter that extended beyond the confines of its hallowed shelves. The digital realm became your ally as you navigated the complexities of acquiring forbidden knowledge, and the pursuit of Eden’s Veiled Chronicles took a decisive turn towards the intriguing possibility of securing the manuscript from The Crimson Archives in London.

Negotiations took far longer than anticipated. The man in charge of the Crimson Archives was burdensome to say the least. He dragged out proceedings, and made it abundantly clear that he wouldn’t part with the Chronicles, at first. You weren’t even allowed to see them. Then he changed his mind, and would be willing to let you go and see it, but no touching. Then you could copy it, but it wouldn’t be allowed to leave the archives, then it was able to go for a hefty sum. Every new suggestion put forward by the Ministry ended up costing more and more.

The Cardinal wasn’t an impatient man, but even he was having difficulty finding the patience to deal with the Crimson Archives. Every day for a month, he would come into the library and ask for you, give you updates to how the Ministry’s lawyers were dealing with the guy and ask about you - how your day was going in comparison and if there was anything he could do to help you.

One day, he arrived as you were stacking the shelves, and watched as you placed the books in their proper places. Your voice, as quiet as it was, still sounded like an earthquake in comparison to the deathly silence of the shelves surrounding you. At first, he thought you were humming, a tune that he couldn’t quite place. But as he got closer, he was able to make out the lyrics.

I don’t wanna end like this

But the sting in the way you kiss me

Something within your eyes

Said it could be the last time

‘Fore it’s over

His heart leapt in his chest when he realised you were singing one of his songs from the Ghost project. He’d heard siblings sing along to Ghost, of course. They’d been doing so since his father created the band back in the 50s, so he’d grown up hearing his peers sing along to his father’s voice, then the voices of his brothers in his adult years. But there was something about you singing his own lyrics that had him enthralled by you - almost bewitched.

Your voice was beautiful, even more so than the Ghoulettes who had joined his team. You were soft with your tone, gentle with each lyric that melodiously fell from your lips. You were perfect. He couldn’t bring himself to interrupt you, purely for the fact that he just didn’t want to. With every passing second you sang his song, he found himself becoming more and more infatuated with you.

As the last note lingered in the air, he found himself applauding softly, unable to contain the genuine admiration that welled up within him. “Bravissima, sorella,” he praised, his voice carrying a blend of awe and appreciation. “I must confess, I didn’t expect to hear my own songs sung so beautifully by someone within our sacred walls.”

“Y-Your Dark Eminence!” You turned, a subtle blush painting your cheeks as you realized the Cardinal had been an unintended audience to your impromptu performance. Your words were stammered out of nervousness, not just because of your present company, the fact that you’d been caught, or even that he’d been watching you for Lucifer knew how long, but the radiant Cardinal had travelled to your side and had begun dirtying his hands with ‘peasant work’, as Sibling Riley called it, but if Sister Imperator saw this, both of your heads would roll.

The Cardinal just shot you a polite smile, “Buongiorno, Sorella. I hope you’re well.”

“I was. Your Dark Eminence, I appreciate you helping but I-”

“Alphabetical by author’s surname, sì? Then by language? Anything else I should know?”

He was a bit too perceptive, that or you were too predictable. “No… that’s it.”

“Eccellente!” He picked up each book individually, carefully and with kindness - no different to your own movements. You watched him for a little while, partially to make sure he was doing it correctly, but also because you were still in disbelief. Unlike the Papas before, the Cardinal had taken it upon himself to help you out unprompted, something like this, at least not that you could recall - especially in your own lifetime - had ever happened. Yet, there he was, rolling his sleeves up and getting on with it, emulating you completely. It was astounding. “Sorella, I don’t mean to be rude, but, uh, you’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry!”

“Have I made a mistake?”

You turned back to your own duties and continued. “No, Your Dark Eminence. No mistake.”

Copia chuckled. “‘Your Dark Eminence’. You’re very polite.”

“Th-thank you.”

“It’s a mouthful, isn’t it? You know,” he trailed off for a moment, his voice getting low, “you could call me Copia. Much less trouble, no?”

He made sure to keep heavy focus on the books, not wanting to see your face. You could see his brows furrow in… fear? Nervousness? You couldn’t quite pinpoint it exactly, but he certainly wasn’t relaxed.

He asked you to call him Copia. It certainly wasn’t something he was supposed to do. He was head of the Satanic Church, for all intents and purposes, he was Papa just without the title. He should be given the utmost respect at all times. You wanted to call him ‘Copia’. You wanted to hear how his name would roll off your tongue. You were very close to doing so, but you stopped yourself just as you were about to. If anyone heard you, you’d be in serious trouble - it would make trouble for both of you. You shouldn’t. You expressed as much to the Cardinal, ending with a soft and genuine, “thank you.”

He smiled and finally looked at you. He wasn’t sad, or disappointed. There was just warmth in his eyes. “I think, Sorella, you may be the kindest soul I have ever met.”

You forced yourself to turn away from him, lest he see your bright red cheeks and your heart on your sleeve. Your face was warming at the feeling of his compliment, and something else was, too. You had to tighten your stance and clench your thighs to stop your core tingling at a mere compliment. Up until that point, you had no idea just how whipped you were for the Cardinal, and just what strength of an affect he had on you.

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[mosthatedlivingburden]

Dead Rising x Punch out au‼

So I found this au on my note app so decide to share it, warning the characters are probably OOC and my English can be bad since English is not my first language. Also no art since if I remember correctly I did do arts for this au but it was erased and gone forever.

Survivors

Little Mac and Doc Louis :

"It seems that Doc Louis been framed to be the cause of the apocalypse. Thankfully, Mac is there to help him prove his innocence and save everyone, but can he defends him from the others?"

Little Birdie :

"While in the middle of his training, he found himself surrounded by the zombies, thankfully Little Mac manages to help him. Little Birdie wants to help Mac clearing Doc's name as well, will he succeeds?"

Peter Champion (Yes that's what I used to call the green hair protagonist guy) :

"He was the first person that discovered the zombies in the town. He was resting in his house in his boxing retirement, but then greeted by the zombies breaking into his house. He manages to survive and become a part of Little Mac's group."

"Psychopaths"

Glass Joe :

"Joe found a new way to cope with his terrible losses in boxing. As soon Joe manages to defeat those zombies with his hands, he found satisfaction of defeating them even if they're incapable of fighting back. He was the first boxer Mac was trying to join them, but he's not acting like himself..."

Von Kaiser :

"The apocalypse really cause him to goes overboard. He locks himself in his house, places traps everywhere even inside the house, and uses all his weapons from his past military service. He'll attack everyone believing that everyone is either zombies or psychopaths that is going to get him."

Disco Kid :

"Disco Kid seems to be unaware about the apocalypse. He just sees his friends acting weird and decides to stay in the party house for a while. He does seems to be acting weird, he looks rather pale and have desires to eats people, maybe he's also unaware about the infection that got him..."

King Hippo :

"Even when his people turns into zombie, King Hippo still wants to protect them as for he was their king. He refuses to let other people hurts them despite it's for the best. The zombies do follow his orders, but probably not for long."

Piston Hondo :

"Hondo's been surviving by himself with his strength, speed, and the samurai that he used for training. Hondo doesn't seems to appreciate Doc Louis around, I mean, would you like to see someone that cause massive zombie apocalypse that kills hundred of people in front of you? If only he knows the truth."

Bear Hugger :

"After being left out by the group and witnessing Mr. Squirrel's death, Bear Hugger become more protective towards Ms. Bear. He already lost a lot of friends, he will not let anyone hurts Ms. Bear, but he seems taking this a little too far."

Great Tiger :

"Because he used his magic many times, his clones seems to had enough of him and decides to take control of his body. Now that the real Great Tiger is no longer be able to take control, the clones decides to take this apocalypse as the opportunity to take over the city. They can't die since they are clones, however if his body died..."

Don Flamenco :

"Poor Don, he hasn't been the same since the zombies killed Carmen, everyday feels like torture to him. You can tell that he doesn't like Doc to be around, but this is his chance to get his revenge towards him."

Aran Ryan :

"He seems to enjoying this apocalypse a lot, killing zombies in many way and all the time. He's the only one that isn't concerned about the zombies, and even happy that it happens. Nothing bad happens to him, he's just being himself."

Soda Popinski :

"Soda don't know how much longer he can stay without drinking any sodas during this apocalypse. It's driving him crazy, he desperately looking for any sodas and he wasn't so friendly to the survivors either."

Bald bull :

"He manages to survive the zombie apocalypse and find himself a hiding place, unfortunately for the survivors, their hiding place just happens to be the same as his. Bald Bull already have bad relationship with Doc from their past, but now he doesn't even want to talk to him knowing "the problem" he caused."

Super Macho Man :

"The apocalypse happens in the middle of him shooting the best movie he'll ever be in. Despite that, he insisted to continue the shooting, he's not letting his staffs go until they finished making the movie. Seeing Doc around him makes him mad, but it's also a good opportunity to become everyone's hero."

Mr. Sandman :

"Through all the adventures the survivors have been, it seems someone been following them for so long. That person is no other than Mr. Sandman himself. He have only 1 goal for now, and that is to make sure Doc faces his consequences of "his actions".

Also, I think I was in the middle of writing Pizza Pasta so I assume that I was gonna add everyone but then give up. Chat, should I continue this?

[affectionate-team]

Picture-perfect fairytale romance 1/3

Synopsis: Fairytales help tell children of all sides of human life without exposing them to real dangers. But what will happen if a child keeps their favorite story far too close to heart, projecting fantasies onto reality?

TW for mildly delusional Neige (only hints of it in this part), kinda ooc, MC only gets called 'knight' one time with no real descriptions, so you could say they're gn, barely proof read. I'm going to write two more parts later, as I cannot allow myself to write a story without at least attempting to look at it from all possible angles. :P

"...Trees parted before the brave knight, bowing in respect and opening the path ahead. Soon he came to a clearing in the woods.

Among the flowerbeds and tall grass laid a cloud of white and pink sateen. Upon coming closer, the knight realized that it was a person! A beautiful young woman with a face fresh like first snow. Her locks gently framed her face, bringing out its soft shape. The lady's lips, red like old wine, were barely open. Beads of tears sat on her lashes, glistening like morning dew. As if enchanted, the knight kneeled over the sleeping beauty, reaching out a hand to touch her and make sure what he was seeing was no dream.

No matter what, the woman wouldn't wake up, lost in her slumber - or perhaps a heavy spell cast on her. Concerned animals peered at the man from behind the bushes, hopeful at the thought he'd finally awaken the princess. The hero kneeled at her side, brushing a stray strand of hair aside to take a proper look on her face. Then, slowly and carefully, he leaved closer, connecting their lips in a kiss....

The spell fell, and the beauty's eyes opened once again..."

Stories like this one are a classic. A princess, a knight and a kiss of true love. What happens after is always the same. Every child has heard at least one of such tales, many have and still do dream to live out a magical story like that.

"...And they lived happily ever after."

Forever and ever, even after eternity.

A woman in her twenties sat on the bed of a small boy. Resemblance between them was clear as day - hair dark like wood, skin white as snow, lips red as fresh blood. The woman shut the book in her hands and placed it on a nightstand. She leaned down to place a kiss on top of her son's forehead. The boy giggled, rubbing his face with a chubby hand to wipe away a lipstick stain.

"Now, dear, it's time to sleep."

With a light motion, she tucked the blanket in at his sides to keep him warm at night. Beady-eyed plush animals and soft frilly pillows surrounded him. With a final fond gaze, the woman snuffed out all lights, disappearing after turning a corner.

The boy clutched his blanket, turning on a side to look into the open window. Darkness enveloped the night sky; only stars, usually outshone by the great Sun, dared to come out and hold their post, spilling light on all that's hiding in the dark. They stay high up to bear witness to all wishes shared with them at late hours, hearing out desperate calls of hopeful hearts. And that night, the stars heeded a young soul's wish.

"Maybe... Someday My Princess Will Come?"

Ringing of school bells was resonating through the entire building. Students flooded from classrooms, crowding in halls, desperate to escape classes as soon as they could. The commotion they were causing could be heard from outside, some students rushing to Mirror Hall, some staying back to turn in their assignments, attend clubs or hang out with friends. You could see all of that through the windows 

Rook promised to meet you near front gates to escort you to the gardens. He was assigned as your personal alchemy tutor by Professor Crewel. As eccentric as this particular junior seemed, his vast knowledge was deserving of recognition - as expected of a vice-leader of Pomefiore, a dorm specializing in potionology, and his strictness regarding practical assignments could rival even that of the Professor himself. So, a perfect solution for a poor magicless student that has never had anything to do with magical herbs. Originally, both you and Grim had had to attend tutoring sessions, but the latter turned tail at the last moment, and even if he were to be brought back forcefully, he'd be more of a distraction than anything else. That's where it leaves you - in front of the gates, glancing at your phone every few seconds in doubt and growing disbelief. Rook was running late.

The hunter told you specifically to wait for him after seventh lesson as it was supposed to be the last in his schedule, so where is he? Could he have been held back by his dormleader to discuss important matters, or stolen by co-members of science club that were in need of advice and assistance, or perhaps even lost in a pursue of a curious non-human student he wanted to observe before they escape his sights?

As if there was nothing on your to-do list for today, other than loitering around, waiting for him. It's hard to suppress a sigh. You took the waiting time as an opportunity to look around.

And there was a reason to it. With how wild Night Raven is, it had been near impossible to take a breather (or was it just your luck?) and enjoy something as simple as fresh air. A shame it is - there is so much to see in Twisted Wonderland. Try and find a single fairy, dragon or fire-breathing flower on Earth; but there, nothing of such is a novelty. To think about it, ever since arriving to NRC, you haven't spared a thought to how this world works: Where does magic even come from, and how exactly does it work? Why don't mages try and reuse accumulated blot, like humans in your world do to wastes? How did they manage to advance in technology when they seem to rely so heavily on their magical abilities? Do beastmen and merfolk actually have any biological relation to humans or-

Rustling of leaves took your mind away from daydreaming. For a second you expected Rook to emerge from the bushes, or maybe even from the top of a tree, picking a stray leave out of his hair and greeting you in his own special manner, but what appeared before your eyes did not resemble the hunter in the slightest. In his stead before you stood a... deer? Doe-eyed, absent-minded creature on four long trembling legs - undoubtedly a deer, but what would it be doing on school grounds?

The dreamy animal seemed to pay no mind to your presence, taking a step out of the forest and heading down the main street. It sniffed around, possibly looking for something or just lost, before averting its attention to a small shiny object lying in the grass. The deer picked it up it its teeth after a few awkward attempts and turned back to where it had come from, steps hurried and unsure.

The prefect has seen things. They have seen creatures of many magical kinds, most curious of artifacts and wildest of spectacles. They've been through it all. But suddenly, what they found to be fascinating is a regular deer, same as any other one inhabitating the Earth, carrying a little treasure - most likely a trinket lost by a careless student - into the forest. And as they always did, they decided to follow their heart's impulsive call in favor of satiating their curiosity, stalking after the animal carefully, as not to alert it, - tutoring session be damned.

Trail had turned many times, but eventually you noticed a clearing from afar. As if a picture taken straight from a fairytale book, the area was enveloped in light and surrounded by tall trees, serving as a barrier between that piece of paradise and the outside world. Blankets of grass were laid upon the ground, so each of your steps was silenced - nothing could disturb peace there. It almost seemed like time had been frozen. And among all the beauty of nature sat a figure. Flowers bloomed brighter, grass felt softer, predating animals were peaceful and pliant - all in their presence. If not for the most vigilant of them, sensing your smell ever since you passed the barrier, you would've stopped to admire the sight; alas, after receiving a message from one of their little friends, the figure turned around, catching you approaching them.

Their beauty took your breath away.

The first thing - person - your mind brought up is Snow White from the old children's tale. What uncanny resemblance. Cherry-red lips, contrasting unbelievably pale complexion, shiny ink-black hair, and obvious innocence oozing off of every fiber of their being. His being.

"Ah... hello?"

Staying silent would be awkward... and weird. He probably had come here to escape from noisy school grounds and find a sliver of peace and privacy, but here you were, disturbing the angelic boy, having uncovered his secret place, and-

"Hello! What brought you here? Have you perhaps gotten lost?", his smile is something made high above, as that's the only reasoning you could give to the sudden calm that overtook you when you saw it.

"No, not exactly. I just noticed a-", you noticed the oh-so-familiar deer nudge the boy before you with its head, dropping the stolen shiny item off onto the ground near him, "that one deer! It stole something from the school grounds; a student must've lost it, so... as a prefect, I wanted to...", his eyes brightened up upon inspecting the trinket - it turned out to be a keychain - with such child-like wonder, "...as I prefect, I wanted to make sure it got back to the owner, but if you like it, I guess it can't be helped! Doubt I would've been able to find who it belongs to anyways, so...haha.."

"How could I! I am sure this accessory must be precious to its owner, I cannot take it for myself.", in one graceful motion, the stranger got up to his feet and approached you, holding the keychain in both palms, as if offering a fragile and expensive gem, "It's so nice of you to take initiative and go all the way here to retrieve this. Please, bring it back safely, I hope it'll make the person who lost this happier."

He was saying all that like he was entrusting you a task of ultimate importance, and with such a serious expression, too...

"Yeah, sure, I will..", you received the item from him, accidentally brushing fingers against his skin - soft, so soft and gentle... A flash of light blinked in the corner of your eye, but died down as soon as it appeared.

"By the way," it was only at that moment that his uniform catched your attention, "Aren't you a Royal Swords Academy student? What are you doing so far away, especially near Night Raven?"

"Oh, you noticed.. To put it simple, I enjoy taking walks around there. It-", he stumbled over words, first time in the last few minutes, "I got bored of sights near my school, and decided to find someplace different. Surely, I'm not bothering anyone nearby?"

Avoiding questions now? "You're not, don't worry, I was just curious, never seen you around there. Care for introductions?"

"...are you saying you don't know me?", the boy inquired with cleat disbelief in voice.

"If I knew you, would I be asking for your name?"

Still unsure, he shook his head gently, clutching at his vest. "You wouldn't... So you really haven't seen anything?", his tone changes suddenly, "That's fine, more than! My name is Neige, pleased to meet you."

You took the hand he offered for a handshake and gave Neige your own name. Wind picked up a notch, kicking up fallen leaves and dust and blowing right in your face; while you were blinked profusely, the boy still looked like he came out of a magazine cover, if not better than before.

Soon you both went your separate ways, the sparkly keychain clinking in your blazer pocket. Trying to retrace your steps back to Night Raven must be bothersome, but not impossible - you'll be back before dusk.

So thought Neige, staying back behind a tree to have one more chance to look at you. So kind, so simple - knightly, even! So eager to help out a schoolmate in need. And here he thought Gran had been right about NRC students being crude. Or was there a mistake, and you had been sent to a wrong place?

"They would fit in with us well... Dominic would surely like them."

[hetn-3]

vampire! dazai x reader??

OK so to begin with it's the first time I'm writing so bear with me 🥲🙏

then I don't think I need to warn about anything since I find it soft 👀 anyway thank you for this first request 🙏🙏

My request is open so don't hesitate to ask me anything else. I prefer requests with Dazai or chuuya 👀

good reading

Reader, a reserved young woman, received an invitation to a masked ball from her friends emphasizing the chance to meet fascinating souls.

Reader, reluctantly, went to the masked ball, convinced by her friends that she would meet fascinating people there. In the large room, Dazai, and looking for a victim to satisfy his hunger, Dazai then noticed Reader in a corner of the room and therefore decided to go see her.

With his mysterious charm, he approaches Reader in the ballroom.

“Mademoiselle, this starry night deserves a memorable dance. Would you agree to grant me this grace?”

Reader, surprised but intrigued, smiled slightly. “I'm not really a dancer, but why not? It would be a pleasure.”

Dazai, with a smirk, delicately takes Reader's hand.

Dazai: "The stars can witness our fleeting waltz. Let yourself be carried away by the magic of the night."

They danced together, a strange connection being established between the dark vampire and the young woman. At the end of the ball, Dazai, attracted by Reader's captivating personality, invited him to his home to continue the evening.

"Would you like to discover some of my mysteries, Mademoiselle? The night is still young."

Reader, with a wink: "Why not? I'm ready to dive into the unknown."

At Dazai's, the mysterious atmosphere of the night enveloped them. They shared stories, laughter and moments of complicity. Dazai, far from his usually detached appearance, discovered a strange fascination for Reader's company.

Dazai, sliding his fingers gently along Reader's cheek, approaches with hypnotic sensuality.

Dazai, whispering in Reader's ear: "Miss, behind this mask of charm hides a much deeper thirst. The real reason for your presence here tonight is none other than to become a part of my nocturnal world."

Reader, feeling a chill: "Wait, what do you mean?"

Dazai, with a mischievous smile, slowly approaches his lips to Reader's neck, whispering, "My appetite is special, Miss, and your exquisite blood is what will complete my night. Give in to this sensual temptation, for from now on, you belong to me ."

Dazai sinks his fangs into Reader's neck, a sensation of softness mixed with a hint of pain. The night becomes a sensual dance between the vampire and his prey, sealing a mystical union under the light of the moon.

[the-apocrypha]

Asking about Crispy Crispy Hob just in case no one else has yet ❤️‍🔥

You're the first! I've posted a bunch of snippets on my discord, so it is probably not news to anyone that this picks up like 10 minutes after part 4 ended. This is, however, definitely the most spoilery snippet yet, so it's under a little cut.

“He is dying,” Dream snarls, blood spilling over his tongue and dripping down his chin.

“And so you have brought me to bear witness?” Lucienne demands, throwing a hand out in Hob’s direction. “To assuage your guilt for your part in his death? You speak of magic even though you well know that I have no real power. I hold no skill in the arts of healing. I have no connection with the fae which you might exploit. I am as useless as you are!”

Dream draws in a breath, and closes his eyes.

A hundred, a thousand times he has heard these words, but never from his own lips. Never has he understood the desperation that drives mortals to speak them again and again, heedless of the consequences or the price.

“I would make,” Dream says, nails digging into the palms of this hands, "a bargain.”

[elisacaleisa]

I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE TUMBLR ANSWER FOR MY REDACTED OCS INBOX QUESTION AND IM SO SORRY FOR THAT. I KNOW WHO R U WERE ASKER @vind3miat0r

BUT UH YEAH HERE THOSE ARE MY REDACTED OCS

I got ton of them as you see. So here are some I worked on the most: Edge, Natal, Alioth, Bliss. Also Elaine and Jakub!

Edge (xe/he/they) (real name: Cahya Rifai) is a Graviton Energetic, who used to be an antagonist towards FL, due to his once existing friendship with Kody. Xe used to be an asshole to them at first, because of Kody's lies, gaslight and manipulation. After being confronted, FL also learned that he is a Bridging victim as well and tell him the actual truth. When xe learn that, xe confronts Kody and after an argument and potential fight(?), xe ends the friendship and apologizes to FL, like ton of times, even after FL says they forgave him.

Edge is an omnisexual (w male pref.) polyamory demiboy, who looks like a jerk, but is actually just a big space and car nerd with anxiety and autism. And Edge is actually taken as well! He is in a relation with my partner's oc, who is an air elemental, my friend's freelancer healer oc and Alioth, my incubus oc! Xe also has a pet kitten, calling her Miss Angelica.

MORE OCS HERE

(Also side note, Natal actually had two last names, but the first one was crossed from documents, as he never wanted to be refered as.)

Natal Shaw (18) (used to be Costales) (he/him) is a humanborn (cis male, gay asexual) werewolf, that was abused and ran away from home when he was 14. Homeless until 17, where he got imprisoned by D.U.M.P. for breaking covert by recording videos of magical abilities and inversion (from the outside, he was a witness only) and uploading them on the internet. As he wasn't trained to even shift properly without hurting himself, David was sent to the D.U.M.P. to teach him and take care of him, until he is capable of doing it himself (or when he is 18). These two had a very rocky start, as Natal was very mean and an asshole to everyone. David, Asher, Milo, the listeners, . love. After like a year, Angel and David adopted Natal as their own kid and he became a part of the family, changing his name.

---

Alioth, named after a star in Ursa Majora, is a young (25), incubus (bigender queer) (he/she) (younger than Gavin), who is very into fashion, works at Build-a-Bear in a human disguise and is very preppy (I'd say). He is also one of Edge's boyfriends (also is also dating mentioned air elemental and freelancer healer, even before Edge was part of their polyamory!!)

Alioth is very talented at shapeshifting magic, unfortunately to the point he becomes obsessed with changing himself to please everyone so much he lost his sense of identity once, which terrified Gavin, who then left. Alioth used to be a big fan of Gavin's, following him everywhere, asking him questions, throwing compliments, etc., while Gavin wasn't very much into that HAHSHjdjsns. After they reunite, they have some unstable friendship, arguments, blah blah blah, they apologize to each other, learn about boundaries around shapeshifting and become actual friends! Yay! Unfortunately, Alioth still suffers from losing control over shapeshifting, HEHE.

---

Bliss Killian (18) (any prns) (pangender pansexual) is an energetic freelancer, who is so positive (and people pleasing) its actually toxic and currently, he is learning to deal with depression, while coping and regulate their emotions in a healthier way. They actually go to a different academy, which is stricter than D.A.M.N. and they have issues with their energetic powers, as it feels like they're not listening to him and they do whatever they want. Their mom was an asshole and deceased, they dont know their dad, they broke up with their ex (friend's werewolf oc, same age as Bliss and Natal.) who they still love, it's wild for them HSHSJS.

[joshuasumter]

Onward II Exandria: Sir Barley and Sir Ian and The Legend of Vox Machina' (aka 'Onward to Critical Role')

SYNOPSIS: The two teenage elf brothers - Ian and Barley from Disney/Pixar's 'Onward' - are back! This time, swords and sorcery just got real as they've been crossover to the world of 'Critical Role', full of real magic, real epic adventures, and real wizards, bards, and no modern technology!

Life's still full of magic and wonder for Ian and Barley Lightfoot in the city of New Mushroomton after their epic, extraordinary journey to bring back their late father. Now the Lightfoot brothers became closer together than ever and they can't wait to see what new adventures will bring as they are ready to explore a world full of wonder together. But during another ordinary day, everything around them began to twist, turn, and swirl around them when one magical mishap led to another, and the Lightfoot brothers suddenly find themselves magically thrown into...Critical Role's Exandria, a whole other world that exists in the Material Plane full of real fantasy and beyond.

But getting back home won't be so easy as Ian and Barley. As they explore and investigate their bewildering, new surroundings while adjusting to it since they can't go back to their own world, Ian and Barley tried to play out their part and make sense of this strange new world since this may or may not be unlike anything similar to Barley's favorite historically role-playing board game, Quests of Yore.

There, amidst a sea of seriousness and crazy bar fights, Ian and Barley accidentally got involved and changed the campaign of the unlikely, boisterous, ragtag crew and band of unlikely heroes, misfits, and adventurers known as Vox Machina -- twin half-elf siblings, the quick-witted Vex'ahlia "Vex" Vessar and the cunning Vax'ildan "Vax" Vessar; charming gunslinger Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III; clever cleric Pike Trickfoot; half-elf red-headed druid Keyleth of the Air Ashari; gnome bard Scanlan Shorthalt; goofy goliath barbarian Grog Strongjaw; and their giant grizzly bear, Trinket.

At first, Ian was a bit off by the wild behaviors of this rowdy group, but he and an excited Barley allow themselves to be joined by Vox Machina and chose to do what they can to help save Exandria from the evil and destruction of dark, magical forces, terrifying power couples, and even a group of not-so-friendly dragons.

Despite all the epic dangers, magical surprises, comedic fun, and even the heartwarming romance of such an epic saga in another world, will Ian and Barley ever make it back home to their own world in one piece? Or they aren't so sure anymore as their fate of being isekai'd and stranded in Exandria began to change...forever?

Then, Ian and Barley find themselves in yet another saga when they are joined by another group of criminals and misfits – The Mighty Nein adventuring party, comprised of Veth Brenatto, Caduceus Clay, Fjord, Jester Lavorre, Beauregard Lionett, Yasha Nydoorin, and Caleb Widogast.

A list of inspirations for the crossover:

Disney/Pixar's Onward

Critical Role

Critical Role's The Legend of Vox Machina and the upcoming animated Mighty Nein series

Scoobynatural

Disney Channel Original Movie, Teen Beach Movie

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2003): Fast Forward (Season 6)

Scooby-Doo! The Sword and the Scoob

The Super Mario Bros. Movie

DreamWorks' The Road to El Dorado

Jeff Smith's Bone

Dungeons & Dragons: The Cartoon, the classic TV show from the 1980s. (Including The Adventure Begins! (Dungeons & Dragons) (Little Golden Book) and Dungeons & Dragons: Saturday Morning Adventures)

Iron117Prime's Frozen Turtles

Hero Central's Ben 10 and She-Ra: Heroes of Power

[ladamedusoif]

I have been a bit quiet of late on here...but for once, it's a good thing. I was off having the time of my life in NYC!!

I rarely feel immediately comfortable in a place in the way I did in NYC and I'm still at a loss to explain why. It just...fitted with my brain. There are too many magic things to recall - the view from 30 Rock, witnessing a total solar eclipse along with half of NYU in Washington Square Park...

I saw artworks I never expected to see in real life (the Signac portrait of French writer Félix Fénéon at MoMA, on the left) and that chimed nicely with my vibe (the painting of the young woman on right, at the Met, called...'A Rose').

I cried at the Tenement Museum in dealing with my family history, and had one of the greatest martinis of my life at Bemelman's Bar.

And best of all, I got to hang out with @paulmescal-s in real life, eat Spanish food, walk the High Line, blush like sluts at t-shirts featuring That Man, and answer the question "hey, are you both wearing Diego Luna t-shirts?" while buying cheesecake.

Next time I'm going back to the NYPL to work in the reading room that bears my name.

Oh, and obviously I bought these, in Economy Candy on the Lower East Side.

I miss that goddamned city so much.

[lanitalay]

The fool they made

so this is different for me but i had this idea: what if tamlin was in love with reader before amarantha's reign? And she has to live in the literal darkness knowing that salvation lay in him finding love with another.

pairing: kind of tamlin x reader

warnings: under the mountain violence but nothing graphic

word count: 900

It had all been for nothing.

All the waiting.

All the sacrifice.

All for nothing.

You watch in detached horror as all of the high lords drop their powers into the human girl. Amarantha was overthrown, like she should have been a long time ago. Her bones lay somewhere on the dias, fae clamoring over them to spit at or step on. Returning the cruelty she so freely gave out. 

But it was wrong. It was all wrong. The human wasn’t supposed to break the curse. She was never meant to be in Prythian. She was never meant to fall for Tamlin. Tamlin was never supposed to- 

You have been here for fifty years. Longer than that girl has been alive. After Rhysand dropped his bit of power her body glows with fae healing and transformation. 

You witness her rebirth into immortality, the male you love cradling her. 

How dare he. How dare he let you spend the last five decades in this gods forsaken pit for him.

Before Amarantha took over he had promised you a life by his side. It was because of this very reason she had invited you to tea before the masquerade. She was testing the potion she would use on the rest of the guests. Dulling your magic and throwing you into the dungeons. 

You remember everything about that day. How your spring dress was replaced by a burlap sack, which you had to tear with your teeth to make holes for your head and arms. It barely covered anything. It provided no warmth. No dignity. 

She brought you out when Tamlin refused her. “You’ll have nothing but time to complete the bargain without your distraction.” And you saw it, through his mask was real undiluted fear. You tried to reach for him but as your hand lifted, Amarantha returned you to the dungeon with a flick of her wrist. 

And so life as you had once known it had ended. The days spent by the starlight pool, picking flowers in the ever blooming fields,  getting lost in the gallery, sleeping until the sun already marked midday were nothing but memories. It had been so long they began to feel like a mirage. 

Months he had been here, sitting beside her, and never looked your way. “He’s doing it for your benefit, Amarantha won't hesitate to use you to break him.” 

“Do me a kindness and stop lying, Lucien. I don’t serve that purpose anymore.” He doesn’t respond. It’s just as well.

Rhysand rushes off the dias and walks directly towards you. 

“What are you going to do now?” 

“Find something more appropriate to wear.” 

“Not planning to reunite with your star crossed love?” 

You scoff, “spare me, High Lord.” 

“He does seem… busy.” Yes he does. The girl is holding his face, looking in awe because she hasn’t known him without it. Rhysand winnows away without another word. You’ve had enough bearing witness to Tamlin’s betrayal but you can’t think of where to go. Spring was your home. It had always been your home, ever since your family had traveled from Vallahan. 

There wasn’t a room for you here. You’d rather rip out your own throat than spend another night in the dungeon. 

There was one room that would be empty. Its owner a pile on the dias. 

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips. If Amrantha’s gone… 

Your magic is back, the court is emptying out with fae winnowing away as fast as they can. 

Magic is back and the thrum of energy that had been missing from your every breath has returned. You flex your hands as the familiar warmth threatens to manifest in its usual bursts of wind. A motion of your fingers delivers a cool breeze across the cavern. 

Your cavern. It's your tears, your blood that stain these floors. No one here offered you a glimmer of kindness and now they get to return home? While a stranger will sleep in yours? 

So you slink through the crowds, and walk to the bed chambers of the now former queen.

The next day, a few fae still wander the court that for the most part has been deserted. 

You blast Amarantha’s throne away, causing the people in the room to startle. 

“To remain in this court you will bow to me or leave. You have one hour to decide.” 

It's months before you get word of the happenings in Spring. Of Tamlin’s wedding. It sparks true joy to hear he was scorned just as you were. But you don’t like that he’s here. 

“Y/n we need to strengthen the wall and I can’t provide anymore of my defenses, they are spread thin as it is.” 

You’re enjoying this. The strain in his voice, the bags under his eyes. It’s pleasing to hold power over him. You toy with the fabric of your throne. Dragging fingernails over the swirling patterns. The flicker of hope in his face as you exhale, the same way you did when you said yes to his whims during your youth. 

“I’ve given it thought. My answer is no.” You nod towards your guards “escort the High Lord back to the border.”