#all religion gathered is money

[polyamorouspunk]

“Why Don’t You Just Move?”

A look at rural queerness and the hardcore scene.

With the recent and still on-going tragedy left in the wake of Hurricane Helene, a lot of light is being shed on southern states that make up Appalachia.

There’s a lot of misconceptions about Appalachia and the southern United States as a whole. There are a lot of good users on this website that have put a lot of effort into combating these harmful stereotypes and clearing up misconceptions.

But there’s more than just Appalachia in the south. There’s a lot of middle ground. Places that aren’t as rural as Appalachia, but places that aren’t as populated as cities like Raleigh, Richmond, Memphis, etc.

Places where people gather surrounded by other agricultural hubs.

There are queer people everywhere. In every culture, every religion, every country, in all of history, we have existed. We cannot and we will not be erased.

A common narrative that’s floated around for many years is “if red states are passing laws that are constructive to the LGBT+ community, then why don’t those people just move?”

So why don’t we just move?

I’m sure you can find a lot of well-written posts on here explaining many reasons why queer people not just in the southern states, but all over the world don’t “just move”, and one reason I’ve seen echoed over and over again is that “we have thriving communities here too”. We exist too.

How does one “be punk”?

It’s a question my mutuals and I get a lot, and a lot of us are tired of hearing it.

What does it mean to be punk?

Is it about the music? The clothes? The politics? Can you be punk if? Is it punk if you? Who? What? Where? When?

One common beginner tip to “being punk” is to find and join the local scene. This can lead to a lot of other questions, though. What is a scene? Where does one find the scene? How does one participate in the scene? Is there a minimum requirement?

Rest assured, literally no one is asking this offline.

A hardcore scene is so much more than just hardcore. A scene is a group of people where music is a common thread that builds the basis of other connections. A hardcore scene isn’t necessarily even hardcore.

“You have to listen to punk music to be punk”. Sure. But here’s the thing. In your local hardcore scene you will find: metal musicians, rappers, and more. You will attend shows with blues music, orchestras, and more.

Sometimes it’s not even music at all! Sometimes there is drag! Sometimes there are movie nights! Sometimes there are group outings!

It’s almost like… it’s just a social construct.

What is the local scene? The local scene is loud music. It’s smoking and drinking. It’s stopping by the corner store and the smoke and vape. It’s carpooling. It’s movie nights. It’s text chains. It’s group chats. It’s he-said-she-said. It’s they said. It’s AMAB enbies. It’s people who don’t care about “passing”. It’s DIY HRT. It’s she was a lesbian until she met him. It’s situationships. It’s hooking up and coming down. It’s bouncing from place to place to meet up with each other. It’s showing up someplace and seeing who’s there and waiting around to see who’s coming. It’s late nights spent partying on the weekends and back to school and work come the weekdays. It’s knowing someone by looks or name even if you haven’t put the two together yet. It’s trading socials. It’s Instagram stories and comments. It’s “DM for Address”. It’s “are you going tonight?” It’s “do you need a ride?” It’s “who else is going?”. It’s going somewhere and asking who’s coming. It’s sitting around on broken chairs and lawn furniture passing around a blunt, sharing a 24 pack of beer that 4 of you ran out to get with money you all pooled together, it’s “should we order pizza?” It’s “I brought donuts”. It’s hanging out in each other’s houses and rooms. It’s respecting the businesses that offer to house you. It’s generational friendships. It’s listening to your friends as they joke about their heritage and talk about their cultures. It’s the dog you pet when you’re sitting on the curb in ripped fishnets taking drunk selfies with your friends. It’s the man playing you the harmonica as you sit outside the THC drink bar on a Saturday night. It’s sitting out in the yard listening to someone play an acoustic set where they talk about the war and poverty and politics while you slowly get high surrounded by your friends. It’s sitting on a dock in the middle of the night fishing listening to emo music huddled together with your friends. It’s autistic people showing each other the bugs they’ve found in the dirt. It’s talking about your disabilities together. It’s shoving your friends in the pit and then holding their hands. It’s seeing the cos guys in their 40s and 50s who tend the bar and work the register calling you by whatever name and pronouns you give them. It’s all of this and so much more, and it cannot be conceptualized by one single fashion style, one single music style, one single belief system. It’s not someone calling you out because you went to Chick-Fil-A and don’t you know that’s bad, it’s not someone telling you that you’re a poser because you like Chappell Roan too or your clothes were bought at Forever 21 not thrifted and DIYed.

Everyone likes to talk about folk punk and other genres that bands like Dayz and Daze have popularized- or according to some, commodified and commercialized- but if you’re going to talk about music like folk punk, you’re going to have to respect the areas that it originated in.

Everyone want’s to talk about “local punk bands” when half the bands you’re seeing don’t even fall under the genre of punk.

Your local scene isn’t always going to be skate parks and thrash music.

Sometimes it’s the mom cooking you and all your queer friends dinner on a Friday night in her kitchen with crosses and a picture frame of her family with the quote “live, laugh, love”.

Sometimes it’s sitting around and listening to men who are old enough to be your grandfather with Vietnam Veteran hats play the blues while a pig roasts in a backyard BBQ, even though you’re in your 20s and you have blue hair and pronouns.

It’s sitting around and listening to your elders talk about how the scene used to be “back in the day”. Talk about the shows they’ve been to, the bands they’ve seen in their prime.

It’s asking what you do for work, where do you live, what brought you down here, what’s your college major?

It’s people. It’s people connecting to people. Regardless of the color of their skin. Regardless of gender or sexuality. It’s people of all ages coming together to listen to music with the idea that what you all have in common is living here and now, hating politicians, and thinking that someone should do something about the shitty state the world is in. It’s not a conglomerate. It’s individuality, and there’s no real wrong way of doing it unless you’re a Trump Supporter or a Nazi, and even then, they still have their own factions of the punk scene that are going to overlap with yours on occasion. The best you can do then is stand up for what you believe in and stay safe.

There are scenes just like mine all over this country. In southern states, in rural areas, in places that other, mainly white queers have “written off”.

So why don’t we just move?

Because this is our scene, and it’s what we make it, and in the heart of the south in the Bible Belt, we’re making it a queer-inclusive space despite what’s happening around us.

[morlock-holmes]

The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 8

Jason and Danny leaving Catholic Mass.

Danny: That was sooo long.

Jason: Yeah, Father Henry spoke at length today.

Danny: I know the exodus is important and all, but there was no need for that to last 3 hours. Besides the man is ancient, how does he have that much energy?

Jason: I've been asking myself that for years. Our lead pipe issue here was so bad, the man should be long dead.

Danny: Had? Let me guess, Bruce paid to have them replaced?

Jason: Yup. Speaking of Bruce, want to go to the manor?

Danny: Sure why not?

Jason picked up his phone and called Alfred to pick them up.

Jason: Alfred should be here in five minutes or so.

Danny: Why don't we just fly there? I can carry you with me.

Jason: Kid, last thing I need is for you to be declared the anti-Christ by Father Henry.

Danny: I'm not even a baptized Catholic so...

Jason: What even are you?

Danny: Well I was raised Protestant, but after the whole ghost king thing, I more or less converted to the main religion of the Infinite Realms, called Infini. It's basically the worship of the multiverse itself.

Jason: I was half expecting you to say you were a figure of worship yourself.

Danny: No, the old king made himself a figure of worship. Once I took his place I put a stop to that.

Jason: Damn, I wouldn't have.

Danny: Luckily you're not king.

Jason: I think it's for the best.

Danny: Hmm, what about everyone else? I know Bruce is Reformed Jewish, he's taken all of us to his synagogue.

Jason: Oh, we are very religiously diverse, let me think. Alfred is Anglican/Church of England, Dick and Duke are non-denominational protestants, Tim and Barbara are Agnostic, Steph is an Eclectic Pagan, Cass is Buddhist, and Damian is Muslim. He laughed. Poor Bruce has to keep up with so many holidays.

Danny: Is that why we never do any vigilante stuff on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays?

Jason: Yes, Bruce made that clear to the rouges years ago. Besides they like the days off to make their plans.

Danny: How nice of them?

Jason: One time the Penguin tried to rob a bank on a Saturday and Bruce landed him in the ICU for a month. No one dared brake Batman's "days of rest rule" after that.

Danny: Is that why his nose looks weird?

Jason: No, he was born like that.

Danny: Hmm, follow up question why don't the others join us for mass?

Jason: Father Henry has banned from attending, after they almost burnt the church down.

Danny: They almost burn the church down!?

Jason: Long story, Father Henry has never forgiven them.

Danny: I think Big J might disagree with that.

Jason: Did you just call Jesus "Big J?"

Danny: Yes, and he cheats in Monopoly.

Jason: You've played Monopoly... with Jesus...?

Danny: Yes, it was the Annual Abrahamic Figures Assembly. That game of Monopoly was between Jesus, Abraham, Moses, Ramses, Muhammad, and myself. And Jesus was cheating! He had half the railroads, houses, hotels, and was stealing everyone's money!

Jason: Hold up, Ramses was there?

Danny: Yeah, Moses and Ramses reconciled when they reunited in the afterlife.

Jason: And you attended a gathering of Abrahamic figures?

Danny: Yes.

Jason: ...I sometimes forget you're basically a god.

Danny: Yeah... I sometimes forget that myself. They looked at each other. Oh! Also Mary makes one hell of a challah.

Jason (ruffling Danny's hair): You never stop surprising me kid.

Danny: And I have no plans on stopping.

Jason: Nor would I want you to.

Alfred rolled up in front of them.

Jason: Well Alfred's here, let's go kid.

(Master Post)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Have any ideas on how a spy's job would work? I'm struggling to write about one

Writing Notes: Spy Characters

In the intelligence world, a spy is strictly defined as someone used to steal secrets for an intelligence organization.

Also: agent or asset; a spy is not a professional intelligence officer, and doesn’t usually receive formal training (though may be taught basic tradecraft). Instead, a spy either volunteers or is recruited to help steal information, motivated by ideology, patriotism, money, or by a host of other reasons, from blackmail to love.

From an intelligence perspective, their most important quality is having access to valuable information. For this reason, a government minister might make a great spy—but so might the janitor or a cafeteria worker in a government ministry.

Espionage - process of obtaining military, political, commercial, or other secret information by means of spies, secret agents, or illegal monitoring devices; sometimes distinguished from the broader category of intelligence gathering by its aggressive nature and its illegality.

Double Agent - someone who works for two sides.

Intelligence - In the spying world, intelligence means information collected by a government or other entity that can help guide decisions and actions regarding national security. But intelligence can also mean the process by which that information is acquired

How are spies recruited? Spies are recruited via an approach or pitch by a case officer. This often seeks to persuade the individual through appealing to ideology, patriotism, religion, ego, greed, or love, or sometimes by using blackmail or some other form of coercion. 

How do spies go undercover? Intelligence officers often operate abroad under some form of official cover, perhaps as diplomats in an embassy. Others operate without the protection of their government and must create a convincing cover that explains their presence and activities in a country—a businessperson, perhaps, or a student. The Russians call these officers “illegals,” the Americans call them “NOCs” (for Non-Official Cover). If caught, they’re on their own, and face arrest, even execution.

How do spies communicate?. Face-to-face meetings can be impractical, even deadly—especially if spies are caught red-handed passing or receiving classified information or carrying spy equipment. That’s why sharing information relies on covert communication or COVCOM. Methods include secret writing (such as invisible ink or tiny microdots) or sending and receiving secure messages using special technology (often concealed or even disguised to look like everyday objects).

How much does a secret agent make? Professional intelligence officers receive salaries based on their level of experience, like all government employees. Few own vintage Aston Martin DB5s and order beluga caviar on a regular basis. Spies can earn a lot more money, though. In the 1980s, CIA officer Aldrich Ames received over $4 million from the Soviets for betraying US secrets, enough to buy himself a half-million-dollar home in cash and a flashy red Jaguar. But living beyond his salary aroused the suspicions of US intelligence, which ultimately led to his arrest.

The Intelligence Cycle

Refers to the process through which spy agencies acquire information. It consists of at least 5 stages:  

Planning: Decision-makers task an intelligence agency to acquire information on certain topics or specific issues of concern (“requirements”). 

Collection: This is where the spies, agents, case officers, tech ops, scientists, hackers, and others come in, acquiring information from different sources in a myriad of creative ways. 

Processing: Collected information needs to be narrowed down, prioritized, and put into some kind of digestible format. This might also involve having to decode information. 

Analysis: This is the stage where collected information becomes something useful that decision-makers can use: intelligence.

Dissemination: Intelligence agencies get the final product to the decision-maker or “customer.” Of course, it’s quite possible that this might prompt more questions… and the intelligence cycle begins all over again. 

Tips on Writing About Spies

Some tips from different sources:

Being a real-life spy isn’t always James Bond-glamorous. Spies are typically brilliant when it comes to reading people—your spy character needs to be curious and patient. It may take seven years for a spy to get their footing.

Normal people make the best spies. In real life, handlers are looking for a Regular Joe or Plain Jane with access—they don’t want someone who sticks out in a crowd or whose life is in disarray. They also want someone who is honest and immediately willing to own up to any mistakes they might have made. (Elizabeth Bentley may have had problems with this.) So, having a character who is bland as vanilla (at least on the outside) may work well in your favor.

Your spy could be overheard at any moment. It’s a good idea to have your spy flip on the radio to cover important conversations, or meet in a loud restaurant. (Which also solves the problem of having a potentially bugged apartment.) Even better is to meet near a water feature—the sound of falling water is unique and difficult to filter out even in modern-day recordings.

Spy gadgets are really cool. Ticking off the KGB is not. If your spy character runs afoul of the KGB (or one of its many predecessors), be prepared for creative assassination attempts that may or may not make use of more lethal spy gadgets. (Just ask Bohdan Stashynsky, a KGB officer who used a cyanide spraying spray gun to assassinate two Ukrainian nationalist leaders.) In a pinch, the Russians might resort to a tactic like Leon Trotsky’s ice pick to the face, but either way, it’s not going to be much fun for their target.

You need a good reason to be a spy. Idealists often make the best spies, but there are other motivations that might get your character to join up with the CIA, KGB, or some other spy organization. Does your character need the money being offered? Are they looking for a sense of purpose or belonging? Do they have an axe to grind with the government? Also, remember that the CIA doesn’t coerce people into informing for them. The Russians, on the other hand… Well, they’re a different story. 

Don’t draw portraits of spies, but draw portraits of people who happen to work as spies. The choices they make in their lives emerge from who they are, and those choices might conflict with the requirements of their spy work. The spy’s job may be to suborn friends, lie to adversaries, betray a trust, but it is the spy’s nagging, perhaps inconvenient, humanity that makes them suffer their choices, and excites the reader’s empathy.

Writing Tips: Spy Thriller

A step-by-step guide to writing a spy story with international intrigue and non-stop action:

Think of a killer concept. There are a lot of spy novels out there, so you need to come up with a story that has a new and unique angle. If you’re a history buff and have a specific area of interest—like Russian operatives, Nazi Germany during WWII, or American soldiers in the Middle East—go with where your passion lies. Come up with a fresh idea that people won’t feel like they’ve read before. Do some research. Find inspiration in real-life spy stories to tell yours.

Get familiar with spy tools. From spy cameras to surveillance equipment, the cool tools and gadgets of espionage fiction are part of what makes the genre fun. Get to know spycraft and tradecraft—the technology and techniques real spies use to track the enemy. Read news stories to see how espionage works today or in the time period you’re writing about. While espionage can also be incorporated into another genre, like science fiction, for the most part, spy novels emerge from actual events. That doesn’t mean you need to just use real tools of the trade. Create your own spy tech for your story.

Create an incredible protagonist. From Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan, a CIA agent first introduced in The Hunt for Red October, to Ian Fleming’s most famous secret agent, James Bond, the protagonists of spy stories have long been ingrained in popular culture. Create a main character who readers will root for and who will persevere no matter what obstacle you throw in their way.

Send your character on a world-saving mission. Think about James Bond. His heart-pounding missions crossed international boundaries, and they always involved more than just taking down a bad guy: He always had to stop a massive attack that would kill innocent people. You need to justify the intense action by making the consequences big. To do this, start by coming up with your antagonist. Who are they and where are they from? What is their goal in the story? Once you know that, you’ll have your protagonist’s quest that will propel your plot.

Write highly visual action scenes. Red Sparrow and The Bourne Identity are action-packed films based on bestselling espionage novels. Spy books make great movies because the action translates well to the screen. When you sit down to start your story, think in pictures. Readers are expecting action so you need to lead with a dramatic scene that shows your protagonist at work in a perilous situation. You’ll need a few of these big scenes throughout your story—not to mention the climax which has to be big, suspenseful and, yes, visual. Use descriptive words to get the reader into the middle of the pulse-racing scene.

Use page-turning literary devices. Plot twists, cliffhangers, dramatic irony, foreshadowing, red herrings: When you write a spy novel, you’ll get to employ literary devices you might not have used before. To write a real page-turning story of espionage, make sure you take advantage of the tools that literature has to offer for maximum suspense.

You can also read about real life spies to guide your writing. Some examples:

John Walker (American spy)

Donald Maclean (British diplomat and spy)

Mata Hari (Dutch dancer and spy)

Nancy Hart (Confederate spy)

Audrey Hepburn as a WWII resistance spy

Famous Women Who Were Secretly Spies

Some of history’s most notable spies

List of spies

Some Terminology: Espionage

Agent - A person unofficially employed by an intelligence service, often as a source of information.

Black Bag Job - Secret entry into a home or office to steal or copy materials.

Clean - Unknown to enemy intelligence.

Dangle - A person who is made accessible to a foreign intelligence agency with the intent of being recruited by that agency to then work as a double agent for the person’s own country.

Eyes-Only - A designation signifying who may read a specific, classified document.

False Flag - A deliberate misrepresentation of motives or identity; an operation designed to appear as if it were conducted by someone other than the person or group responsible for it.

Ghoul - Agent who searches obituaries and graveyards for names of the deceased for use by agents.

Honey Trap - Slang for use of men or women in sexual situations to intimidate or snare others.

Innocent Postcard - A postcard with an innocuous message sent to an address in a neutral country to verify the continued security of an undercover operative.

L-Pill - A poison pill used by operatives to commit suicide.

More spy-related terms: 1 2 3

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn't be watching a man undressing, especially not from the house next door."

Warning: Intolerance, toxic religion, parental relationship, Jungkook taking off his clothes 😮‍💨🤲 very dumb reader.

A/N: This is my first fanfic on Tumblr and my first BTS one. I know, it's embarrassing. The story isn't that great, and it probably shouldn't be the first one I post here, but the characters took on a life of their own without my consent, and I've been writing this since 2022 (fuck), so here we are. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language and that the reader is extremely annoying. See you on the next chapter! Thank You.

Next Chapter

Chapter 1

I organize the things from the bazaar as I go through the accessories spread out on the table. It's a calm easy task and I've done it more than a thousand times, so even with my eyes closed the job is done masterfully. My mother is next to me, quietly, listening to music on an old radio that she refuses to throw away. It seems that, since it's a radio she got as a teenager, the object has a deep meaning for her and she doesn't even like the thought of exchanging it for something more modern. I hum along too, trying to tune my voice in some parts where the music gets harder and the notes get higher.

Usually on the weekends, every Sunday, my mother and I go to church and the bazaar after the service, to raise money and help the pastor's project. Pastor Leen is a good man and always helps everyone in need, so this semester, during these last months of the year, he has been focusing on the animals that live on the streets. Everyone in the community who goes to church participates and helps in whatever way they can, whether through donations or fundraising, like my mother and I do. That’s why we gathered some clothes and items for the church bazaar, and with the sales, we can do our part. It's exhausting, but rewarding in the end.

During the week, I study at the university in my town and work at the library, so there's not much time for rest, but I like having a busy life. Although I know that, for some people, my idea of a busy life might not seem busy at all. At twenty-one, I’m supposedly supposed to be somewhere else in the world, enjoying my youth and partying with my friends, but strangely, I never wanted that. Whether it’s because of my mother, who always instructed me not to follow that path, or because I’m just introverted, I’ve never gone to parties or had adventures that I could look back on later. The most out-of-the-ordinary thing I've ever done was drink beer when I was eighteen and regret it the next day, feeling guilty for being influenced by a friend.

I’ve never left this town. I’ve never dated. I’ve never been to a party. I haven’t done many memorable things in life. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll regret not having these experiences someday, but I’m so tied to the way I live my life that it’s hard to change, even just a little. Habits are hard to break, whether for better or worse. I’m pulled from my thoughts when the store door opens and Mrs. Jeon walks in with a smile on her face and two heavy bags in her hands. I quickly get up intending to help her, but my mother is faster.

“Good morning, Eunji,” Mrs. Jeon greets my mother, letting out a relieved sigh as the weight of one of the bags is lifted from her hands. “Good morning, Y/N, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Jeon. How has your week been?” I ask, taking the other bag from her. I peek inside and notice that it’s full of men’s clothes, judging by the size and the predominantly dark colors.

“Radiant, actually. My son arrived in town last night,” she says, her smile widening. I’m surprised because I didn’t know she had a son. Mrs. Jeon moved to town six years ago, and I don’t recall any son visiting her or her mentioning him. This is the first time she’s spoken about it, at least in front of me.

“Your son, Jungkook?” my mother asks, curious, and our neighbor nods, still beaming. “Doesn’t he live in Seoul?”

“Yes, he does. But he’s been expanding his business, and I invited him to visit, and coincidentally, he decided to open a branch here,” she explains, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. My mother instantly flashes a smile. An interested smile that I know all too well.

Of course, because I’ve never dated, my mother is always trying to set me up with someone. Not that I want her to. I never asked her to make all this effort, much less to convince the church ladies to introduce their sons just because I’m single. It’s embarrassing, as if I’m not capable of finding someone on my own without my mother’s help, but she doesn’t listen, even when I had an honest conversation with her asking her to stop trying to play Cupid.

"What kind of business?" my mother asks, and I try not to roll my eyes. For a woman of God, she worries way too much about money and status. It's a controversial topic that has led to arguments between us in the past.

"He's a tattoo artist. He owns a tattoo studio in Seoul," Mrs. Jeon explains with a proud smile, and my mother's face immediately turns serious. The charm of a potential son-in-law is lost. Of course, no one is ever perfect enough for her—or for me, in her eyes.

I love my mother. She’s strong, and many times I look up to her when making important decisions, but she judges people too harshly. Ever since she joined the church when I was younger, she’s changed. She changed her clothes, the way she speaks, and even her thoughts. I can’t even remember what she was like before, and even though all these changes were a support for her after my father passed away, some aspects of the situation still bothers me. The fact that she believes people are going to hell just for having different opinions and ideas is one of them. Of course, I don’t argue with her about it and rarely express my point of view. If she knew how I really thought, I’d be a princess locked in her room, with no peace and even less freedom than I already have at home.

"He's a tattoo artist?" my neighbor nods, not noticing the bitter tone in my mother's voice. I decide to step in, anticipating some sharp comment from the woman beside me.

"Mrs. Jeon, thank you so much for the clothes and for your help. Just today we had three customers, and the clothes you donated sold very quickly," I interject, changing the subject. The tension in my shoulders eases as my neighbor shifts her focus to the bag in my hands.

"Oh, no need to thank me. I want to do as much as I can to help the animals. I adopted a puppy last week and I’m in love!" she says, placing her hands on her cheeks with joy, and I can’t help but smile. Mrs. Jeon is one of the few older people from the church that I enjoy talking to.

"What’s his name?"

"Gureum. He’s an angel," she says, forming the small size of the puppy with her hands.

"Gureum? Don’t tell me he’s all white," I guess, laughing at the name.

"He is!" she laughs with me, jingling the keys in her hand. "Anyway, I hope we get plenty of donations this month. I can't wait to see the results of our work."

"That’s true, Misuk. This month the winter will be harsher, so we have to act more quickly this year," my mother continues, and the conversation shifts to the church project. I feel more relieved as the minutes pass and Mrs. Jeon leaves. Not because of her, of course, but because of the situation itself. My mother is very straightforward and usually says what she thinks, no matter who it hurts. I don’t want my relationship with our neighbor to be ruined just because my mother doesn’t know how to hold her tongue.

"Did you hear what she said?" Eunji asks, her eyes wide, one hand on her chest as if she’s deeply shocked. "Her son is a tattoo artist! Do you think he has those awful marks all over his body?"

"Probably, Mom," I sigh, trying to focus on the clothes Mrs. Jeon just brought. "And Mom, don’t talk like that. She’s our neighbor."

"Even so! Y/N, that only happens when parents don’t know how to properly guide their children. How can a mother, who goes to church, let her son go down such a horrible path in life?"

"We don’t know how her son lives, and it’s none of our business, Mom!" I try to keep calm as I fold a large black T-shirt, but then I remember that before organizing the items, we have to wash them, and I couldn’t be happier about that.

Usually, the clothes are washed at our house, and my mother still has to stay at the bazaar for a while longer. Honestly, I don’t want to be around her listening to how good of a mother she was just because I go to church and don’t have a tattoo on my arm. It irritates me, and it’s hard not to let her notice, but for the sake of peace, I try my best, nodding and agreeing with all the nonsense she says.

"Mom, I’m going to take all these things home and get everything ready for the bazaar, okay?" I try to force a smile, but my face feels stiff. My head is throbbing, and I can’t wait to get home. I’ve been out of my room all day, and there’s nothing more exhausting than that, at least for me. She murmurs in agreement, probably annoyed that she can't keep talking badly about Mrs. Jeon’s son, but I don’t care and just leave.

I regret it a little halfway home because the bags are heavy, and even though the distance isn’t long, it’s hard to carry all the clothes by myself. I arrive home out of breath. The sky is overcast, with dark gray clouds covering it, but I’m sweating as if I just ran a marathon. I laugh a bit at my lack of fitness, promising myself that I’ll start the morning walks I keep putting off, and I head to the laundry room to start organizing the clothes.

When I open the bag, I’m surprised by the items. Not only are they of good quality, but I’m also certain they don’t belong to Mr. Jeon. He dresses well, but not in this style. I can hardly imagine him wearing black jeans or a heavy jacket. I’m intrigued by who the owner might be, but I don’t waste time pondering it, too tired to unravel mysteries that aren’t even important. I leave the laundry room once everything is organized and head to my room, throwing myself onto the bed.

My room isn’t particularly special or different, but what I love the most about it is the bookshelf filled with books covering almost the entire wall. It was my dream from a young age to get a job and buy every book I was interested in, and luckily, that’s been possible since I started working at the library. It’s the perfect job for me, even if it’s temporary. I’m studying literature to become a teacher, and I can’t wait to start working in my dream job.

I sigh and pull my phone out of my dress pocket, too lazy to take off my clothes and go shower. I groan, placing my hands over my face, knowing there’s no escaping it after being out of the house all day. There’s no way I’m going to bed like this. Reluctantly, I get up and untie my hair, which falls in waves, heavy against my neck.

I bend down to grab the hem of my dress and start pulling it up, feeling even more tired. Today was such a long day. I can’t wait to go to bed and sleep until tomorrow. I take off my socks, lifting one foot behind the other, and as I head to the towel inside the wardrobe next to the bed, I unhook the bra that’s been bothering me all day. The relief is so immense that I let out a sigh, touching my breasts with my fingers and playing with my nipple, hardened by the cold air.

On my way to the bathroom, I stop and look at the window when I notice that the neighbor’s window—the one that had never been opened until now—is, in fact, wide open. I need a few seconds to realize that there’s someone on Mrs. Jeon’s balcony, and worse, it’s not her on the other side. It’s a man. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life.

I hide behind the bookshelf in my room, afraid that he might think I’m spying on him, but for some reason, I keep watching him with curiosity, hypnotized by the way he moves around the room and among the furniture. His dark, wavy hair falls over his face when, out of nowhere, he starts pulling his shirt over his back, taking it off lazily while focusing on the phone in his hands. He gives a small smile, almost as if he subconsciously knows the effect he’s having on me. My heart beats hard against my chest, and my breathing quickens; my mind fills with fantasy images of his pink lips and large, seemingly soft hands.

He is... gorgeous. Different. With tattoos all over his body. One of his arms is completely covered in designs, and his chest is adorned with images that I can’t quite make out. My mouth waters as my eyes roam over his strong back and shoulders. His pale skin glows under the dim light of the yellow lamp, and it’s hard to catch my breath. It’s like observing a work of art. A forbidden work of art, I know. It’s wrong. But I can’t convince my mind that I should stop. The man, still a stranger, smiles at his phone as the screen lights up his face. Unlike his body, which exudes sensuality and is intimidating, his smile is sweet and gentle, and the most charming I’ve ever seen. He tosses the phone onto the bed, unbuckling the leather belt around his waist and deftly undoing the buttons of his jeans. That’s when the trance that literally had me delirious breaks. I slam the window shut, desperate at my own madness.

What was I doing? How could I have seen a stranger stripping like a complete pervert? I feel so bad, guilty for having crossed the line and done something as wrong as this. I gulp, covering my face with my hands. I let out a tortured sigh and feel my heart racing uncontrollably. I am sweating, as if I had done a heavy workout, when in fact, I had been standing still the entire time. I peek through the gaps in my window to see the room in Mr. Jeon's house, but I can't see anything anymore and I don't have the courage to open the curtains and try to look at the man again.

It's the first time in many years that I have felt something like this. Could it be desire? I can't remember the last time I felt anything like this. I recall having a small and first crush on a boy at school, something innocent, when I didn't even know what it meant to like someone romantically or as a friend. This was, throughout my life, the only consistent experience in recent years. It scares me that suddenly I feel something different for someone, even if it's minimal. I let out a sigh and cover my face, embarrassed by my own behavior. To make things worse, I'm not even wearing clothes. I rush to the bathroom and close the door, staring at myself in the mirror. I am so dazed that even my cheeks are dark red. I close my eyes tightly and head to the shower, trying to let the water wash away my thoughts. It doesn't work. I spend the whole night gazing at my bedroom window, full of images that I can't forget or erase.

I have a normal day after the almost exhausting night. I study in the morning about different approaches with children on the autism spectrum, which I find completely interesting and complex, and then I work in the afternoon at the college library on campus. This is actually great because I can study even during my work hours with free access to all available books, which has saved my life in recent months. The first semester of classes was tough, but this second one has been terrible, with piled-up assignments and deadlines that are almost impossible to meet, at best. My life has revolved around this routine, and the ordeal of exams hasn't even started. On my way home, I stop at a convenience store to buy something to eat and bike towards my house, which, honestly, isn’t very far but is extremely tiring.

I get home exhausted, collapsing on the sofa almost immediately. My mother appears from the kitchen with a serious face and a tense expression, as if something very grave had happened.

"You won't believe who invited us to dinner." she comments, placing one hand on her hip.

"Who?" I ask, just out of courtesy. Besides not being hungry, I'm not interested in the subject, too stressed with college stuff to pay attention to my mother.

"Misuk."

"And what's the problem, Mom?" I roll my eyes. Until yesterday, my mother had no problem with our neighbor, and now she acts like the woman is forbidden or not good enough to be her friend.

"Did you forget, YN?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Her son, the one from Seoul, will be at the dinner."

I turn pale, my mouth dry. How could I have forgotten this? College has consumed all my thoughts during the day, but I would never forget that man. The man I saw through the window is Mrs. Jeon's son, I suppose. I concluded this after spending the whole night mulling over my thoughts and reliving that body and face, which I can’t even recall without blushing. I’ve already eaten at college and feel satisfied, but the first thing I do when my mother mentions the dinner is smile.

"I’ll go with you." I affirm, unsure. If my heart raced so much from a distance of Mr. Jeon's son, I can't imagine what will happen if I see him up close. But I'm so curious that I can't avoid it. I want to see him. I want to prove that everything I felt last night wasn’t just a product of my imagination tainted by romance novels.

"The truth is, I wanted to cancel the dinner."

"You didn't cancel, did you?" I ask, trying not to sound too desperate. My mother shakes her head, which makes me sigh with relief.

"No, but I'm curious about the guy. I want to see what he's like and make a better judgment about him. I just ask that you don’t get involved with that kind of person. He’s a tattoo artist and lives alone, so young. Who knows what he does alone in a city like Seoul." she says, and I agree with a noise in my throat.

I’m also curious about him, Mom, but not for the same reason as you. I stay silent as I go upstairs to my room. I look for some slightly nicer clothes without much expectation but I don’t have anything different from conservative or old. I feel sad for no reason and convince myself that it doesn’t matter what I choose to wear; a man like the one I saw last night will never be interested in me, no matter what I put on. I quickly shower, then, after my mom calls me from downstairs, I look at myself in the mirror, staring at the dark blue dress that goes down to just below my knees. I roll my eyes and simply go, with little enthusiasm.

My mom has a bowl with a freshly baked cake, and after saying it's for the neighbors, we head out. It’s the house next door, but the short walk feels like an eternity to me. My heart races as we approach, and I let my mom lead the way, walking ahead. She knocks on the door with three taps, and we don’t wait long before Mr. Jeon appears. He’s a man in his fifties, but very handsome and friendly, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and comfortable house slippers. He smiles at both of us, still holding the doorknob and giving us space to enter.

"Good evening, Eunji, good evening, Y/N." he greets us. I nod, a little embarrassed. Unlike Mrs. Jeon, I don’t see him often, as he is very busy with work and doesn’t attend church regularly.

"Good evening, Yejun."

"Good evening, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for having us." I smile, genuinely grateful. I truly like the couple, as every time I see them, they always treat me very well.

"What a polite girl, isn’t she?" he says to my mother in a joking tone, then looks at me kindly. "You don’t need to thank us. We love having you two here. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable."

"I brought a cake for after dinner." my mom says with a smile. "Where is Misuk? I want to give it to her."

"She’s in the kitchen, finishing organizing things. Shall we go there?"

I follow them in silence, having little to do. My mom is more accustomed to the environment, as she comes here a few times for church meetings. I take a few steps toward the kitchen when a noise on the stairs catches my attention. Then he appears, and like magic, everything I felt before resurges, ten thousand times worse. I catch my breath as I see him slowly descending the stairs. He is much taller than me and different from what I imagined, now up close.

His eyes are dark, bright and large, which strangely complements his sharp jawline. His lips are a beautiful pink that makes me run my tongue over my mouth, enchanted by their apparent softness. Pink is now my favorite color. He exudes a powerful aura with his heavy clothes and his body built like a big mountain towering over me, but when he smiles, I am captivated. His smile is sweet, friendly, and inviting, making me want to get closer. However, the thing that catches my attention the most is the eyebrow piercing. My God. What a man.

"Hello, how are you?" he says with a boyish smile, and I blush instantly. I try to maintain a mantra in my mind, repeating several times: calm down, calm down, calm down! "My name is Jungkook, are you my mother’s neighbor?"

"Y-yes." I stammer and almost instinctively close my eyes, frustrated with myself. He smiles even more, squinting his dark eyes as if he finds me amusing.

"Nice to meet you. What’s your name?" he asks with a soft voice, and I feel embarrassed for not having said my name earlier.

"My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you." This time I don’t stammer, but I speak so quietly that I fear he might not have heard me.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. My mom talks a lot about you." he says, confirming that yes, he did hear me.

I open my mouth to try to say something, but suddenly my mother appears. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I wanted more chances to talk and discover new things about him, but all I was managing to do was look like an idiot who hasn’t left the house in years, completely antisocial. My shoulders slump, and I follow my mother to the dining room in silence, feeling embarrassed. I can almost feel Jungkook’s presence behind me, but I don’t have the courage to turn around and glimpse his expression. I almost automatically remember him taking off his clothes, showing the tattoos that are now hidden, and I flush even more, almost choking on my own saliva.

"Good evening, Y/N!" Mrs. Jeon smiles at me, already seated at the table. I feel guilty for almost drooling over her son earlier but I smile, greeting her in the same way.

"Good evening, Mrs. Jeon. The smell of the food is delicious, as always." I say, seeing the vegetables on the table and the meat next to it that looks divine. If I hadn’t eaten earlier, I’d be attacking the food, with respect, of course.

"Always so sweet, Y/N." she smiles. "Please, have a seat. Jungkook, sit next to her." she requests. I try to not choke again, just nodding, watching the man I am incredibly attracted to sit to my right side.

His parents and my mom engage in a lively conversation, and I try to pay attention in case they ask me something, but the truth is, I can’t follow along at all. Jungkook eats in silence and occasionally answers my mother’s questions, which I’m sure are meant to gather more material for judgment when we get home, but I can’t follow any of the reasoning. Besides being handsome, polite and kind, he also smells good.

With the clothes he wears and the tattoos decorating his body, I would swear his perfume would be woody and strong, but it’s quite the opposite. His scent reminds me of spring, or nature like a field full of flowers. It’s a scent I could absorb all day. Lost in thought while I play with the fork on my plate and the cabbage kimchi I served myself, I don’t notice him coming closer to me and my ear. My whole body shivers with his breath. I try to not make it too obvious, but I think it’s in vain since I hear his soft laugh even closer to my neck.

"Do you want to go to the kitchen, Y/N?" Jungkook asks in a whisper so close that I look around just to make sure no one is watching, especially my mother, who seems to have already formed a prejudiced opinion about him.

"Why?" I ask in a whisper, confused.

"I want to ask you something." he smiles crookedly, which makes me even more disturbed. I nod, still unsure about what I’m agreeing to. He quickly stands up, and I almost instantly follow him. When we get to the kitchen, he turns around quickly, watching me attentively, crossing his arms over his chest.

"W-what do you want to ask me?" I swallow nervously.

"I was thinking whether I should talk to you about this, but after meeting you tonight, I think it’s for the best, anyway." he says with a serious face. His previously relaxed attitude changes completely, as if all the fun from earlier had drained away.

I become worried, my mind filled with questions, until something occurs to me. What if last night, somehow, he realized I was watching him? My body turns to jelly at the thought, and my heart beats faster as I look at his face. I would die, seriously. I would fall to the ground and never wake up again. My hands tremble as I wait for his question.

"Are you and my mother very close?" he asks in a whisper, this time with a weak voice, looking at his own intertwined hands. I nod in agreement, even more confused. Since Mrs. Jeon moved to my city, we’ve become something like friends, despite the significant age difference. I consider her, even if mistakenly, like a mother.

"Yes. I think we have a close relationship. Why the question?" he shifts uncomfortably. He tries to smile but can’t. I am worried but silent, waiting for his answer.

"My mother is sick, Y/N." he says quietly, with a weak voice. My eyes widen at the news. I never imagined this is what he wanted to talk to me about. From his seriousness, it seems to be something very grave. "That’s why I came to the city. She had depression years ago and last month she tried to take her own life for some reason."

"She didn’t tell anyone, I’m sure." I say as much as I can, still shaken and shocked. Mrs. Jeon seems so happy lately that I could never imagine something like this. My eyes fill with tears, but I try to contain the flood of emotions inside me, embarrassed to act this way with a previously unknown person.

"I know. I was shocked when I found out." he explains, running his fingers through his dark hair as if he were tired. "She wants to spare people from the situation, but I wish everyone could know and support her. She shouldn’t be thinking about anyone’s well-being right now, except her own. That’s why I came to Busan, to take care of her."

"I understand." I whisper with a lump in my throat. I want to take his trembling hands and assure him that everything will be okay, but I don’t have that much courage. I wish I were casual and authentic and had the ease to simply say what I’m thinking. It’s the first time that not being this way makes me upset and sad. I wish I could be someone else right now. I wish I could help more.

"I apologize for bringing this up so suddenly. I hope I haven’t ruined your evening. I’m sorry." he smiles awkwardly, puffing his cheeks, and a previously hidden dimple appears. His face turns red and I can’t help but like him even more.

"Don’t worry. Really. Thank you for telling me the truth. I want to help in any way I can. I'll try to keep her company more often."

"Thank you so much, Y/N." he smiles, with his eyes shining. "I knew it was a good idea to tell you the truth. I knew I could count on you."

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

[sulfies]

If I Lead (pt3)

Part 2 here

Vincesco stood true by his word.

 Desmond didn't even need to use most of his skillset which he was happy about. He took it easy and dodged when he needed and accepted some punches when It seemed like he was going overboard. He was not trying to climb the ranks in a race and make a name, he just needed to be off the training wheels. And It had worked. The young lad looked a bit pissed off about not winning against him but Desmond didn't care much about it.

The next day he was given instructions and pocket money to get himself some gear that fitted him. Now equipped with warmer clothes and shoes that actually fit he was faring better. 

Marsilio also was paying him quite a good amount of money for basically doing nothing but walking around and swinging his sword to train every now and then…. He really couldn't understand why the mercenaries complained about Ezio cutting their wages since he became in charge, just how much Mario was paying them before?

A month passed in this new lazy routine.

He made home in his guard tower. He was used to sleeping outside and wasting money on rent seemed unnecessary when he had little to no belongings. He bought himself some extra blankets to cushion the stone ground and shield from the cold wind at night. His lodging was enough for him.

He was rarely in it unless he was sleeping anyway.

He would wake up before dawn, bathe in the stream right outside the village a few minutes away if he needed, and then he would make his way to the barracks.

It was peaceful really…

He was terribly bored.

There was not much for him to do, sometimes he would get called to patrol outside the woods to see if any bandits were camping around but they have yet to see one since he has been here. Every now and then he would group with some people for training, but most of the time he was left alone as long as he reported to the barracks first thing of the day.

He had taken hunting as a hobby, going out around mid-noon to catch some small game to bring to the butcher. It gave him food and some extra savings money. He wanted to save enough to buy a horse so he could travel without problems, taking detours if he needed but horses were expensive. 

The barracks stable had a few but they all had their owners and the ones that did not were there if the need arose.  Also, he really wasn't looking to be known as -the horse thief-.

Sometimes Vincesco would call him over to go for a drink at the tavern, each time he would accept with the guilt eating him from inside out. He was not supposed to lay around and get drunk. He had people he needed to get back to, people who he was to guide but he could not refuse his bosses.

So he would drink a mug or two of the piss-tasting beer, the cheapest money could find as slowly as he could till the rest were drunk enough for them to not realize he was faking his stumbles on the street. Once everyone parted he would climb up to his den and force himself to sleep.

He was going mad.

Desmond wasn't used to being this useless. He was used to waking up and having a mission to complete.

Find us a new water-source Desmond, We need food Desmond the field has yet to yield any, Desmond help us move this rocks over so we can prepare the shelter, Desmond climb up the mountain to see if there is anything that survived

and he did it all without complaints.

He travelled for days or months to see if there was anything new, he noted down any new changes he could see. He helped Shaun with whatever he needed his strength or body for. He helped Rebecca gather whatever supply she was going to need to make their lives easier. That was his job.

He was there to calm the people down, remind them that gods had not forsaken them but they had been given a new beginning. To not panic but have hope so humankind could survive long after them.

It was all bullshit really, to keep the leftover people from going mad. 

In the darkest times, religion was most of the time the home of hope they needed to shelter in. But it had worked.

They had a functioning farm, bushes that yielded berries, small huts that gave lodging to people. They were actually seeing growth after 20 years, grass was filling the land and young trees were growing taller. They were finally getting somewhere so Desmond had left on a new expedition to find some more survivors further back from the camp to see if anyone was left.

And then he was here.

Lying on his blankets he watched the stars, tracing the groups with his eyes trying to remember the names Shaun taught them, the ones he couldn't remember without his books, Rebecca had made up stupid nicknames for.

He missed them terribly nowadays… Even his father.

William had died just three years ago. The grief lingered more than he had expected. All the issues they had before seemed so small after the flare, they never patched things up but they didn't fight like they used to. Desmond knew he bore some guilt about convincing him to not go through with the shields. They all did.

They each had their turns to cry, shout and laugh crazy about it then cry some more. The three blamed themselves which in turn made Desmond blame himself more. It was an endless cycle they decided to put behind themselves to focus on the now. 

Desmond turned to his side, inhaling deeply, his hair tickling his neck from the wind. He listened to the nocturnal birds and closed his eyes. He hoped they were safe above all else. 

---------------------------

Two weeks passed by fast and Desmond's routine did not change. Wake up, bathe, barracks, busywork, hunt, do something… anything… then sleep. He had taken to sharpening the unused swords and upkeep of them for today's activity since no one else was bothering to do it. 

Near a clearing around the stable, he was sitting on a stool, sharpening one sword after another with a whetstone on his lap, adding them to a pile. 

“Actually working for your coins Domenico? You should join the others inside for a few cups.”

He looked at the voice that was calling him. Angelo, one from Marsillios circle. He gave a polite smile back. “Not much to do and I don't like drinking while the sun is up, gives me issues at night.” 

“Smart man, keeping your soldier ready for when it's needed.”

Desmond made a face at the joke, He never stepped a foot in the brothel. A lot of the recruit's freshly earned coins ended up in there almost the day they gained them… then trickled back into the economy. He did not want to think about the amount of STD’s circulating around. Even if everyone was magically clean… sex had been the last thing on his mind for a long while.

“Please, If the wife learned I even dared to breathe next to one of the honey pots she would have my head.” 

“Oh come on, how would she even know?”

He hummed in answer and smiled “Trust me she would… and I like to keep my manhood intact till I die”

Angelo laughed and walked near him. Eyeing the swords lying on a pile on the side, the ones that were ready to be polished.

“Needed me for anything?” 

The other man shifted his weight “Marsillio wanted me to let people know to be extra sharp the next few days, actually do what he says and whatnot… not that you need a reminder.”

“Why is that? Is Ser Mario coming to check the barracks again?” He had seen him a couple of times, the man usually looked around for a few minutes then joined the backroom to talk about what he needed to.

“Nah, the actual big boss is coming back any day now. Sent in a word with his bird, arrived just an hour ago to the villa.”

Desmond's whole body tensed in a second. It was not hard to figure out who the nickname belonged to.

Ezio was coming back.

He forced himself to relax. “A-ah… so we need to be on our best behaviour?”

“Mmhm. You might be asked to go to the training grounds a bit more and longer than you are used to, we need to look busy lest we want more budget cuts. The young master has already been bleeding us dry…”

Desmond gave a nervous chuckle and placed the sword in his hand on the pile. “Alright, no problem for me but I know a lot of the kids are going to groan and moan about it”

“Yeah they already are, Vinchesco is not happy about it so I'm sending you up next to him for morale.” A soft pat landed on his shoulder “Think yourself as second in charge. A small promotion with no pay raise”

Angelo left his side with a smile.

“Great”

Not great… he couldn't even hide next to the recruits as they trained.

He might visit the church just to pray and hope that Ezio doesn't give a shit about the training area and just passes by it. 

Maybe he could fake a stomachache or the plague… ask for a toilet break as soon as Ezio stepped foot through the gates…

---------------------------

For two days Desmond’s every limb was aware of every movement and talk around him. They were patrolling a lot more and training a lot longer. 

He wished he was just given the duty of cleaning around the barracks but Vincheso liked him for some reason enough to ask him to stick by his side.

“If I have to hear any more whining I might actually have them train till sunrise…”

Desmond shrugged his shoulders and he listened to him complain, not much different than the recruits. He figured it out the second day while Vinchesco’s job was to babysit the newbies, Desmond’s job was to babysit him. “You know if you guys were more strict from the get-go they wouldn't feel this comfortable crying about it.”

“And make my own job harder? Training doesn't teach a man how to swing a sword anyway, they actually need to fight to become man is what I think. I sure didn't learn how to kill from stabbing these stupid straw dummies couple times a day.”

“I'm not sure just charging into the enemy will teach them much is all I’m saying… well other than dying.”

Vinchesco leaned back onto the railing “Meh, I send the ones that show promise to the others that actually put them to work.” he waved his hand around “All this is just, keeping the meatshields sharper.”

Desmond sighed, what a way to raise an army… Ezio really needed to keep tighter reins around these bunch and overhaul the system… but he rather Ezio do that once he got to Venice and away from here.

“You are way too uptight Dominico. It's good here. We get coin, we get food, we drink then we fuck and then we sleep. Living it up like nobles almost… you should enjoy it more, I’m sure you fought plenty of battles in your youth but this is not a battlefield and we got Ser Ezio behind us if else happens. The man is his own army.”

Desmond's jaw clenched, old memories of the fall of this Monterriggioni flashing in his mind. No wonder no one was alerted till it was too late… he always thought the Village was captured way too easily.

“Mmhm… I'll try” he smiled back with a strain “Old habits die hard, that's all… the guard schedule back in Florence was way more strict.”

“More the reason to-”  “HE IS BACK! SER EZIO IS BACK”

A shout cut off Vinchesco’s word, The messenger ran towards them. 

Desmon felt the anxiety boil in his gut

“Shit…”

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 19 - Filming

Papa Terzo x Reader

The Satanic Church hired a new PR manager to keep the Church afloat during these online times. To establish yourself, and to bring in new people, you suggest a 24 hour charity stream where the Ghouls and Papa complete challenges, play games, and create donation incentives. If they raise $1 million, Papa Terzo joked that he’d start an Only Fans. They didn’t expect to smash that goal so quickly. So who should he fuck online first than the person who suggested this whole ordeal in the first place?

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 10k.

Reading Time: 42 min.

Warnings: clothed man/naked woman, creampie, cunnilingus, filming (with consent), mentions of orgies, PIV sex, this is absolutely 100% a crack!fic, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You didn’t think they’d actually go for it, or that they’d believe it was a good idea. When you stood in the meeting room in front of Sister Imperator, Papa Emeritus III and the other upper clergy members and suggested a 24 hour live stream, you thought their boomer asses would sneer at the thought and turn the idea down. But one minute you were discussing activities to do during the stream, the next they were all nodding and looking at you incredibly impressed.

You’d only been here three months… this was your first major job as a PR manager. You knew what you were doing in theory but the execution could be messy as hell. Yet, there they all were, patting you on the back and taking notes.

Taking notes!

This was either going to make you, or break you - and you could only believe that the latter would come to pass.

Planning took place immediately, people turning Papa Terzo’s office into a streaming zone for that extra peace and quiet, but also to force him to be involved. He just thought he could leave the majority of the hours to his ghouls to entertain the world, but you knew that having him there, the head of the Ministry and the face of the Ghost Project, would make the money roll in. And they needed the money.

The Vatican had wormed their little Catholic tendrils into the Italian government and refused funding for the Ministry on account of mortal enemyship. And, with bribes in hand, the government thanked the Catholic church for “bringing their attention” to “such an evil in the country”, and tried to denounce Satanism as a genuine religion. This was, of course, a few decades ago now, but since then the Ministry never recovered and relied heavily on donations given from Lord Lucifer’s followers around the world - who gave and did so gladly. This live stream and the funds that were generated from it, would fund a huge restoration project and would help bring the facilities up to scratch. There were parts of the Ministry that were crumbling into disrepair, and you had the builders for it in house, but not the materials. It would be the biggest restoration project in the Ministry’s history… and you’d be the one to gather all that money.

No pressure.

The rewards were to be as follows:

€10,000 - First Steps

Reward: Ghouls play a game of “Never Have I Ever” live.

Bonus: Papa Terzo takes a shot of absinthe every time he loses (as suggested by Papa Secondo.)

€50,000 - Peek Behind the Curtain

Reward: A live virtual tour of the restricted parts of the Ministry, including the infamous Chapel of Shadows.

Bonus: Papa Terzo takes a shot of absinthe every time he falls over (as suggested by Papa Primo.)

€100,000 - Ghost Unplugged

Reward: An exclusive acoustic performance of “Cirice” by Papa Terzo and Ifrit.

Bonus: All donors up to this point get access to a downloadable recording of the session.

€250,000 - Makeover Madness

Reward: The audience votes on a ghoul who gets a full drag makeover by Alpha and Omega, live on stream.

€500,000 - Ritual Tease

Reward: A special candlelit ritual performance is conducted by Papa Terzo and the Ghouls.

Bonus: All viewers get early access to a limited-edition Ministry-themed candle collection.

€750,000 - Mystery Caller

Reward: Papa Terzo and the ghouls call random fans live and serenade them.

Bonus: The first person they call will receive signed memorabilia from the band’s archive.

€1,000,000 - Pomona Invitations Unlocked

Reward: Five random donors will receive a VIP invitation to the Ministry’s exclusive Pomona Festival, including an overnight stay in the Ministry’s guest quarters.

Bonus: All donors who contributed over €100 will be entered into a raffle for a personalised blessing from Papa Terzo during the ceremony.

€1,200,000 - Ghouls’ Playground

Reward: The Ghouls will perform a “Ghoul Games” Olympics, complete with ridiculous challenges and hilarious forfeits (e.g., eating the hottest pepper, trying to summon spirits while blindfolded, etc.).

€1,300,000 - One Night Only Concert Announcement

Reward: Terzo announces a one-night-only concert exclusively for the stream’s viewers, with tickets going on sale before the stream ends.

€1,400,000 - The Grand Restoration

Reward: Papa Terzo and the Ghouls reveal the blueprints and restoration plans for the Ministry, with construction to be documented and shared with all donors.

Bonus: Everyone who contributed will have their names included on a commemorative plaque placed inside the restored wing of the Ministry.

The Ministry knew that everyone’s ultimate goal was to be invited to the Festival of Pomona, knowing exactly what went down during the Ministry’s celebrations. The festival may or may not have included eating ripe fruits off of consenting naked bodies, drinking wine and fucking each other stupid (sometimes with the fruits) in the Basilica di Lilith, where the majority of festivities would take place at the Ministry.

Every holiday, a video would emerge on the Hub from the same group of wine ghouls who would all verbally consent to sharing their videos online before taking part in a small orgy in the wine cellars. Honestly, that did more for the Ministry’s applications than anything else, which is why the Papas allowed it to continue. Of course, Papa Terzo relished in the chaos, and would even hold screenings of the videos a few days later, which would then trigger another orgy.

On the days leading up to the livestream you found yourself buried in preparations, hands deep in spreadsheets, schedules, and legal disclaimers (because, unfortunately, someone had to pretend to be responsible). The Ministry was buzzing with activity as the wine ghouls polished off their favourite barrels, giggling over their plans for this year’s video. Every time you passed them in the halls, their smug little grins made it clear they knew exactly what kind of mayhem they’d cause this time around.

And, of course, Terzo was no help. His contribution to the stream planning was strolling into meetings late, lounging in chairs like a cat who knew he was untouchable, and occasionally chiming in with suggestions like, “What if we did a segment where I read fan fiction about myself?”

You thought he was joking. He wasn’t.

The ghouls thought it was hilarious and, before you could veto it, had already spread the idea like wildfire through the Ministry. The next morning, a surprisingly professional-looking flyer had been tacked to your office door:

“Papa Terzo Reads Smut, LIVE: Midnight Madness. BYOB (Bring Your Own Bible).”

You crumpled it up, threw it in the bin, and prayed to whatever deity would listen that it would quietly die off. It didn’t.

By the time the final schedule was drafted, not only was the reading segment officially included, but it was slotted right after the wine ghouls’ “Live from the Cellars” broadcast from last Lupercalia—just late enough in the night that most of the viewers would already be a little too deep into the wine themselves to complain about it.

And that wasn’t even the half of it.

On the days leading up to the livestream, every inch of the Ministry was being scrubbed, polished, and sensually rearranged to fit both the theme of the stream and the aesthetic of the Pomona Festival. The Basilica di Lilith—usually a solemn, shadowed space reserved for the highest rituals—was now being transformed into a bacchanalian paradise. Silk drapes hung from the rafters, embroidered cushions littered the floor, and massive fruit platters were set up along low tables, each piece of produce almost obscenely ripe and glistening.

And the bodies… oh, the bodies.

Ghouls, clergy, and a few familiar outside guests all volunteered to participate in the festival as living platters, lying still beneath the fruits, wine drizzling from lips to thighs as they practiced holding seductive poses in the chapel’s soft candlelight. You’d walked in on a practice session once, seen the trainee ghoul, Cirrus, with her legs spread and an apple resting precariously between them, and immediately backed out before you could make eye contact with anyone. They were committed, that much was certain.

Every time you tried to reign things in, Papa Terzo was already two steps ahead, unravelling your sense of control faster than you could stitch it back together.

“Relax, tesoro,” he’d purr with that infuriating grin, “if things get too wild, we’ll just call it ‘performance art.’ The Vatican loves that stuff.”

You tried to tell yourself it would all come together in the end. Somehow.

But the truth was, it was all spiralling out of your hands, and you were beginning to understand just how the Ministry ran: beautifully chaotic, gleefully immoral, and completely unsupervised.

The livestream kicked off at 10 AM sharp, cameras switching on to capture a shot of Terzo, lounging like a king on one of the deep leather armchairs in his office. His ghouls crowded around him on plush rugs and sofas, bottles of wine and spirits scattered among them. The viewers flooded in—thousands of curious souls watching live from around the world, eager to witness just how far the Ministry would push things. And the Ministry, predictably, wasted no time.

The first stretch of the stream was “Never Have I Ever,” a brilliant icebreaker orchestrated by Terzo, mostly so he could make a mess of his ghouls and drink far more than any of them. The stream chat was exploding—“👀” emojis and donations flying in at an alarming rate. Terzo swirled his wine lazily, the corners of his lips curling as he surveyed his crew.

“Let’s begin, no? Something easy… a little warm-up, sì?” Terzo purred, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Alpha, you start.”

The hulking fire ghoul—Alpha—grinned around the rim of his whiskey glass. “Fine. Never have I ever…” He paused for dramatic effect, his forked tongue flicking between sharp teeth. “Slept with someone in this room.”

A murmur of anticipation rippled through the chat, and almost immediately, Terzo raised his glass with a devilish grin, along with Ifrit and Mist. The others exchanged knowing looks before following suit, with Aether muttering, “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Ember chuckled, leaning into Ifrit. “I think it’s safe to say we’re all guilty on that one.” He raised his glass, and Ifrit gave him a playful nip on the ear as he took her sip.

Mountain, quiet as ever, drank with a casual nonchalance, his enormous form relaxed despite the debauchery in the room. The chat was frothing at this point—donation notifications pinging nonstop.

“€50,000 milestone reached!” the notification flashed across the screen, followed by a flood of comments:

“Omg I KNEW IT”

“These ghouls are feral”

“Terzo already drunk and it’s only 10:30 AM lmfao”

Omega, perched cross-legged on the rug, hummed thoughtfully. “Never have I ever… worn someone else’s clothes during sex.”

Terzo nearly choked on his drink, laughing as he took a sip. Earth grinned and drank as well, along with Air, who added, “It’s called resourcefulness.”

“Resourcefulness?” Aether snorted, downing his wine. “It’s called kinks, my dude.”

Ifrit, already a little tipsy, leaned back and drawled, “What, you’ve never seen Terzo in someone else’s robes? Guy looks like sin incarnate.”

“Shut up,” Terzo smirked, tipping his glass in salute, completely unbothered by the growing chaos. “I wear them better than any of you.”

The conversation spiraled quickly as the questions became increasingly personal—partly to outdo one another, partly because no one in the room could resist poking at old memories.

Mist, looking deceptively innocent, said next: “Never have I ever faked an orgasm.”

The room erupted in laughter. Aether coughed into his wine, Air raised both hands in mock surrender, and Terzo gave an exaggerated scoff before drinking. “Che bastardo,” he muttered, making everyone cackle harder.

Mountain, as usual, simply shrugged, sipping without comment.

The viewers were losing their minds, donations piling up by the second as the room dissolved into drunken, irreverent chaos. Every time someone revealed something incriminating, the chat flooded with emojis and exclamations:

“MOUNTAIN FAKED AN ORGASM????”

“The AUDACITY of Terzo omg”

“MORE STORIES I BEG YOU”

The first hour of the stream passed in a blur of laughter, spilled wine, and wild confessions. They’d already blown past the €100,000 mark, and Terzo, glancing at the tracker on the screen, grinned like a man who knew exactly how this was going to end.

“Ah, we’re just getting started, miei amici,” he purred to the camera, raising his glass. “I hope you’re ready for a long, sinful night.”

The chat exploded again, the stream rolling on without a care in the world—just as the Ministry had planned. One hour down, twenty-three to go.

You made the executive decision—Terzo, with his wine-drunk smirk and half-lidded gaze, was definitely not in a condition to lead a coherent tour of the Ministry. There was no way he’d make it through the halls without getting distracted, lost, or deciding to take a nap on a velvet chaise halfway through. So you shifted it to later in the week, hoping his sobriety would at least slightly improve by then. But keeping things on track for now? That was another challenge altogether.

Ifrit—already three drinks deep—got it in his head that it was the perfect time for a little music. Before you could stop him, he grabbed an acoustic guitar someone had stashed in the corner, strumming out a chaotic, out-of-tune chord.

“Oh no…” you whispered, dread setting in. But it was already too late.

The chat went feral, donations flying in faster than the counter could register.

“LIVE Cirice karaoke??! I CAN’T”

“50€ if Ifrit makes it through without completely botching the chorus”

“Papáaaaaa, serenade us pls 🥺”

“Okay, okay!” Terzo swayed dangerously as he stood, grabbing the mic someone handed him with more enthusiasm than skill. “You want music? I am music!” he declared dramatically, then immediately stumbled into the edge of the coffee table.

The ghouls erupted in drunken laughter, Aether and Mist clutching each other as Terzo tried to recover his dignity, shooting them a lazy glare.

Ifrit fumbled with the guitar for a second, plucking out a hilariously off-key rendition of the opening riff to “Cirice.” The stream chat exploded with emojis—crying-laughing faces, wine glasses, and musical notes flooding the screen.

“What in Lucifer’s name is happening rn?”

“This is the most chaotic version of Cirice I’ve ever heard and I love it.”

“NOTHING is in tune but I’m still crying”

“I feel your presence… among these ghooooouls,” Terzo slurred into the mic, drawing out the notes like some unholy lounge singer. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned too far back, nearly tipping over.

The ghouls cackled—Air doubled over on the floor, slamming his hand into the rug. Mountain kept it together, though his shoulders shook from suppressed laughter, while Omega helpfully chimed in, “That’s definitely not the line, but go off, Papa.”

“Shhh!” Terzo hissed, dramatically pressing a finger to his lips. “Art is fluid, Omega. Fluid!” He turned back to the mic, swaying as Ifrit fought to stay somewhat in rhythm. “I can feel your mother… I can feel your mother, beating in the dark…”

And then came the chorus—oh, the chorus.

Ifrit made a valiant attempt to hit the right chords, but by then, his fingers were as drunk as his brain. He strummed something that might have once resembled music, but now sounded like a cat falling down a flight of stairs.

Terzo launched into the refrain anyway, shamelessly belting out:

“Can you feel the thunder?”

“Ciriiiiiiiiiiiiiiice!” he wailed, voice cracking beautifully.

The chat lost it.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS LMFAO”

“This is camp. This is art.”

“€200 if they finish the song without laughing.”

The laughter in the room reached dangerous levels—Aether and Air wheezing on the floor while Mist buried her face in Omega’s shoulder, her whole body shaking. Ifrit gave up halfway through the next verse, falling back onto the couch in defeat, still cradling the guitar as if it had personally betrayed him.

Terzo powered through, eyes closed, arms spread dramatically wide, like a man possessed by the spirit of the song—or possibly just too much wine. He staggered toward Mountain, shoving the mic in his face.

“Sing with me, amico!” Terzo demanded.

Mountain blinked slowly, stone-faced as ever. “…No.”

That sent the ghouls into another wave of hysterics, and even Terzo couldn’t hold back his own laughter this time. He stumbled back to his seat, collapsing into it with a satisfied grin, cheeks flushed pink from wine and joy.

As he tried to catch his breath, he slurred into the microphone: “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all day.”

The donations ticker shot past €150,000, and the stream chat devolved into chaos:

“This is peak content, nothing will top this.”

“€50 IF THEY DO ANOTHER SONG PLS”

“Terzo’s laugh is the sound of the gods.”

“Terzo autotune confirmed.”

The next ten hours passed in a blur of activities, laughter, and enough chaos to keep the viewers glued to their screens. Terzo had sobered up remarkably quickly—though that may have been aided by an embarrassing amount of pizza consumed during breaks—and the ghouls shifted gears, transitioning from tipsy karaoke to various challenges that had the chat on the edge of their seats.

Challenges ranged from food tastings (courtesy of the Ministry’s kitchen staff) to hilariously bad attempts at crafting—some ghouls were surprisingly talented, while others were definitely not. Mist and Ifrit attempted to decorate a cake, and after a chaotic hour of flour flying and frosting disasters, they presented what looked like a mangled abstract art piece that was more comical than edible.

The stream’s chat exploded with laughter:

“This is the worst cake I’ve ever seen, I LOVE it!”

“Is it a cake or a cursed artifact?”

“I’m convinced Ifrit was trying to summon a demon with that frosting.”

As the hours dragged on, they tackled more physical challenges—like an impromptu round of “Twister” where Terzo quickly found himself tangled with Earth and Ember, both of whom were giggling uncontrollably. Mountain, being the quiet powerhouse he was, nailed his positions, winning the game without breaking a sweat while the others fell into a heap of limbs and laughter.

Then came the 15-hour mark. The energy in the room had shifted, weariness creeping in as they gathered around the coffee table for a much-needed pizza feast. Boxes of steaming hot pizza piled high, and the ghouls dove in with reckless abandon, conversation flowing easily as they rehashed the day’s absurdity.

Terzo plopped down beside Aether, pulling a slice of pepperoni from the box. “I swear if I see another cake like that, I might just lose my mind,” he said between bites, crumbs speckling his robe.

“If you keep eating like that, it’ll be your mind that gets lost in the cheese,” Aether shot back with a cheeky grin.

The laughter was punctuated by the chatter of pizza grease and a chorus of “Ooooh, I love this topping!”

Then, the notification chimed in—the stream hit €1 million raised. It was a monumental milestone, and the chat erupted in celebration, accompanied by a flurry of donations and cheers.

“YESSSS!!!”

“THIS IS WHAT WE CAME FOR!”

“CIRCUS OF HORRORS, MORE PLEASE!”

The ghouls, momentarily distracted from their pizza, erupted into cheers and hugs, Terzo’s laughter ringing out above the rest as he stood to address the camera, waving his arms like a conductor. “We did it! One million! Can you believe it?”

Ifrit, eyes slightly glazed but clearly enthusiastic, lifted his slice of pizza high. “To one million euros! And to our loyal fans—cheers!” he declared, taking a massive bite.

The viewers went wild. Donations poured in as they celebrated the milestone, fueling the ghouls’ energy once more. Terzo, clearly enjoying the attention, began to plan the next segment.

“Okay,” he said clapping his hands, trying to keep his eyes open. “If we reach our goal in the next two hours, eh, tesoro,” he looked at you, “how much more is left?”

“€400,000, Papa,” you replied.

“They won’t do it. €400,000 in the next two hours and I’ll start an Only Fans.”

The chat exploded with a mix of disbelief and excitement.

“NO WAY!”

“THIS IS A THREAT AND A PROMISE.”

“I need to see this!”

You felt your face flush at Terzo’s bold declaration. “Papa, are you sure that’s a good idea?” you blurted, half-laughing, half-worrying about the chaos that would ensue if he followed through.

“Absolutely!” he replied, puffing out his chest as if the prospect thrilled him. “Think of the money! And all the juicy content…” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned closer to the camera, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I could do a series called ‘Cooking with Terzo’—a little bit of spice, a little bit of… you know!”

“I’m dead,” someone typed in the chat.

“This is going to break the internet.”

“We’ll donate if you promise to wear that robe.”

Ifrit nearly choked on his pizza, laughter bubbling up as he pointed at Terzo. “Oh, please do! I want to see how many ghouls will actually pay to watch you cook in that!”

Terzo threw his head back, laughing heartily. “You’re all sick! But fine, if that’s what it takes!” He turned back to you, eyes sparkling with an idea. “And let’s sweeten the deal. If we hit that €400,000 mark, I’ll also do a live reading of my favorite poetry… in the most seductive way possible.”

The chat lit up with renewed enthusiasm, and you couldn’t help but shake your head, half-amused and half-concerned about what exactly Terzo was proposing.

“THIS IS A GOLDMINE!”

“I’m about to donate my entire paycheck.”

“Can’t wait to see this sexy poetry reading!”

The only problem was, that goal was reached in less than 30 minutes after Terzo’s suggestion, leaving everyone speechless. Especially Terzo. While he didn’t actually have a problem with going through with what he’d promised, he never expected it to actually happen. He didn’t think anyone would donate multiple times, nor that some would donate such high amounts. He was prepared and so sure that he’d be safe. He was wrong.

When the live stream had ended, over €2 million had been raised for the Ministry’s benefit, and while the clergy were overjoyed with the donation goal exceeding, there was now the concern of Terzo’s Only Fans page. In a feedback meeting with the upper clergy, you were both praised and scolded for allowing Terzo to announce something so stupid, especially as no one could go back on their word.

Sister Imperator put you on content control, whether you liked it or not.

“I do not think,” Papa Secondo began, frowning at Sister Imperator, “we should force ___ to take part in my idiota fratello’s Only Fans. He should be the only one punished, no?”

Sister Imperator sighed. “I didn’t suggest she stars in them.”

Terzo began picking at his nails. “I was thinking she would.”

The entire room looked at him, your mouth agape. “Come again?” you asked, disbelief laced in your words.

“Well,” Terzo donned his famous cheeky expression, “you were the one who suggested we do the live stream in the first place.”

“I didn’t tell you to suggest making porn to reach your goal! You did that all on your own.”

“I would not have suggested it if we didn’t do the live stream in the first place.”

Sister Imperator tried to interrupt but you stopped her. “You were one of the first people on board with the live stream, if I recall.”

“I cannot force you, of course, Sorella,” he began.

“No you fucking can’t!” you exclaimed.

“But, the money made would be… well, a lot. And if I do not have you, I’m going to have to make love to someone else.”

You nodded and stood, straightening your habit. “Perfect, I’m sure the wine ghouls would offer themselves up willingly.”

Terzo leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Ma dai, you know they wouldn’t hold a candle to what we could create together. Besides, it’s not just about the money, tesoro. Think of the divertimento, the thrill of it all.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Immagina the stories we could tell, the cose we could do… and all the fans watching, begging for more.”

You felt your resolve wavering as his words wrapped around you, the promise of adventure tingling in the air. “And who’s to say we couldn’t make it fun for ourselves? Sei d’accordo? Just a little taste of our wild side, and then we can go back to our proper lives.”

He tilted his head, those charming eyes locked onto yours, an irresistible challenge hidden within his gaze. “What do you say? Shall we give them a show they’ll never forget?”

You thought for a moment. “Do I get paid?”

Terzo chuckled, the mischievous glint in his eye growing more pronounced. “Certo, tesoro! You will be compensated handsomely. Think of it as your stipendio for the best performance of your life.” He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms, a grin playing on his lips. “Besides, it’s not just about the money; it’s about creating something special, something that will make waves for the Ministry.”

He leaned in again, his voice low and inviting. “And who knows? We might even enjoy ourselves along the way. After all, this is a nuova avventura—and I promise, you won’t regret it. Just think about it.”

And, oh boy, did you think about it. Long and hard. On the one hand, you’d be on the internet for the rest of your life as the person who was filmed fucking Papa Emeritus III. On the other hand, you’d be the person who fucked Papa Emeritus III. The people on that list was actually quite long, but still, it was a tempting prospect. You knew people who were on that list, who would sacrifice anyone they could get their hands on if it meant another chance with Terzo. And you were sat there, in the dark, at the witching hour, contemplating whether you should or not. The rest of the Ministry would have your guts for garters.

Ultimately, the choice was yours.

And you took it.

The careful deliberation had landed you to the conclusion that you very much wanted to be the person who fucked Papa Emeritus III for the world to see. There was something undeniably hot about being vulnerable in front of an audience, letting the world into your private realm. The thought of it was exhilarating. It transformed sex into a performance, turning every sigh and gasp into a piece of art, a story shared with countless viewers. You could almost hear the murmurs of anticipation as people tuned in, eagerly awaiting the unfolding drama.

And it wasn’t just about the audience; it was about him. With every glance, every teasing comment he threw your way, you could feel the electric connection sparking between you, the tension building until it became impossible to ignore. To be desired so openly, to have someone like Terzo wanting you—really wanting you—was intoxicating. The allure of exploring that passion on camera, of giving in to your desires while the world watched, sent heat pooling in your core.

What made it even hotter was the thought of pushing boundaries. The idea of sharing an experience so deeply personal and yet so public made your pulse quicken. You could imagine the way his hands would explore your body, the weight of his gaze as he looked at you with hunger while the cameras captured every moment. It was an act of surrender, a dance of dominance and submission that could leave both of you breathless and craving more.

And there was a thrill in knowing that the final product would live on forever, a digital record of your passion. You could already picture the comments flooding in—words of praise, envy, desire from viewers who wished they were in your place. The idea of turning the tables, of being the one who brought Terzo to his knees while being cheered on by fans, was undeniably intoxicating.

Ultimately, the choice you made was about seizing the moment, about embracing the adventure that lay ahead. You wanted to explore the depths of your own desires, and what better way to do that than with someone who exuded confidence and charm, all while the world watched?

With a deep breath, you felt your decision solidify. You were ready to step into that spotlight, to become a part of something that was larger than life. Let the world see you. Let them see what it means to be with Papa Emeritus III. The idea ignited a fire within you, and you knew, without a doubt, that you were ready for whatever came next.

You took charge of the preparations, determined to create an atmosphere that matched the grandeur of the moment. Terzo’s room was the perfect setting—opulent and gothic, adorned with rich purple drapes that cascaded down the walls and a massive four-poster bed draped in velvet. The dim, flickering candlelight cast playful shadows, enhancing the sultry ambiance while adding an air of mystery.

You meticulously arranged the space, making sure every detail was just right. A few strategically placed pillows adorned the bed, their deep colors complementing the purple hues around you. You placed a vintage mirror nearby to capture the angles and reflections, knowing it would only add to the allure of the performance.

As you moved about the room, the thrill of anticipation thrummed through you. You set up the camera, ensuring it was perfectly positioned to catch every moment without obstruction. There was a certain rush in knowing you were about to share something so intimate with the world. You checked the lighting, adjusting it to create a soft glow that would enhance the sultriness of the scene.

You stepped back to admire your handiwork. The room looked stunning—every element came together to create a setting that felt both enchanting and erotic. You could almost feel Terzo’s presence there with you, the energy crackling in the air as you imagined how he would take in the space.

Terzo walked into the room with an effortless swagger, his attire embodying the perfect blend of gothic elegance and seductive flair. He wore a fitted black velvet jacket, the fabric glimmering softly in the candlelight, its high collar framing his face and emphasizing his striking features. Underneath, a deep purple silk shirt peeked out, the material clinging to his form and accentuating the subtle curves of his torso.

His pants were tailored and sleek, hugging his legs perfectly and tapering down to black leather boots that gleamed like polished obsidian. The ensemble was completed with a few silver rings adorning his fingers, catching the light with every gesture he made.

As he moved closer, the rich colors of his outfit contrasted beautifully with the opulent purples of the room, making him the focal point of the scene. The combination of textures—velvet, silk, and leather—added an element of sensuality that was hard to ignore. His presence was magnetic, and the way he carried himself with confidence only heightened the air of seduction in the room. “Che spettacolo!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of awe and admiration. “You’ve outdone yourself, tesoro.”

The way he looked at you—filled with excitement and desire—sent a thrill coursing through your veins. “It’s perfect for what we’re about to do,” you replied, your heart racing.

He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “I have a feeling this will be a night to remember.” The promise behind his words was undeniable, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

With a deep breath, you stepped over to the camera, your heart pounding in anticipation. You flicked the switch, and the red light glowed ominously, signaling that you were being recorded. The moment the cameras turned on, a rush of adrenaline surged through you. You adjusted the angle slightly, ensuring that Terzo would be perfectly framed in the shot.

“Ciao a tutti!” Terzo called out, flashing a charming smile at the camera, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Welcome to the Ministry’s most scandalous event yet!” His playful tone set the stage, and you could feel the energy in the room shift, becoming electric with the prospect of what was to come.

You moved back to the bed, positioning yourself beside him. “Are you ready to give them a show they won’t forget?” you teased, your heart racing as his gaze locked onto yours.

“Oh, I intend to make it memorable,” he replied, his voice low and sultry. With a playful wink, he leaned in closer, the warmth of his body brushing against yours, igniting a heat that spread through you. The cameras captured every nuance of your interaction—the chemistry crackling between you, the unspoken promises lingering in the air.

Slowly, he closed the gap, capturing your lips with his in a deep, hungry kiss. The taste of him—sweet with a hint of wine—was intoxicating. As he kissed you, he pulled you closer, his hands finding your waist and drawing you against him, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you.

With a confident grin, he broke the kiss and looked deep into your eyes, gauging your reaction. “I want them to see how much I enjoy you,” he said, his voice dripping with seduction. He began to explore your body with his hands, his fingers tracing the curves of your hips, slowly sliding up to your waist. The touch was firm yet tender, igniting your skin and heightening your senses.

“Let’s give them a real show,” he murmured, a wicked grin forming on his lips. He leaned back, taking a moment to admire you, and then turned to the camera, making sure to address the viewers. “Are you ready for this? Because I am.”

With that, he directed your body to turn slightly toward the camera, giving the audience a view of you both as he began to slowly undress you, his fingers deftly working the buttons of your attire. Each small reveal felt monumental, the thrill of being watched heightening every sensation as he pulled you deeper into the moment.

With each button he undid, the anticipation built, your heart racing faster as Terzo’s playful yet deliberate touch left a trail of heat across your skin. He took his time, his fingers grazing your sides, lingering just long enough to make you gasp before continuing the slow descent.

“Bellissima,” he breathed, taking in the sight of you, his eyes dark with desire. “I want everyone to see how stunning you are.” His gaze was intense, locking onto yours as if he were the only one who mattered in that moment.

Finally, he pushed your clothing aside, baring your skin to the dim light of the room and the eager eyes of the audience. You felt exposed yet empowered, knowing that Terzo was right there beside you, guiding you through this exhilarating experience. He leaned in closer, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing and nibbling, making you arch into him as the sensations intensified.

“Let them see how I worship you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. He pressed soft kisses along your collarbone, each one igniting a spark that sent shivers through your body.

As he continued to explore, his hands roamed freely over your curves, and he made sure to play up every soft gasp and moan that escaped your lips. The thrill of being on camera only heightened the pleasure, every touch feeling more electric under the gaze of the viewers.

“Now, let’s give them what they came for,” he said, his voice a sultry promise as he pulled back just enough to position you perfectly in front of the camera, ensuring every tantalizing moment would be caught on film.

He looked at you with that mischievous glint, his eyes flickering between your lips and the camera. “Are you ready for your audience, tesoro?” His tone dripped with playful seduction as he grasped your chin gently, tilting your head back slightly.

You nodded, the thrill of it all making your heart race. “Yes,” you breathed, feeling a rush of excitement as he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue teasingly brushing against yours.

With that, he began to take control, guiding your body to move with his as he pulled you down onto the bed, the plush surface cradling you both. He hovered above you for a moment, his presence dominating yet undeniably magnetic.

“Ti mostrerò,” he said with a cheeky grin, “I’ll show you how it’s done.” And with that, he began to explore your body with renewed fervor, kissing a path down your torso, savoring every inch of you as the camera captured it all—every sigh, every movement—immortalizing the moment for his audience and for you both.

Terzo’s kisses trailed lower, his lips leaving a warm, tingling sensation in their wake as he moved down your body. He paused for a moment, taking the time to admire the way you responded to his touch, the way your body arched instinctively towards him, craving more.

“Sei così bella,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so beautiful.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked up at you, clearly relishing the moment.

With that, he settled between your legs, a playful glint in his gaze as he teased the hem of your garment. He took his time, pulling it up just enough to reveal the smooth skin of your thighs, pressing soft kisses along the inner seams as he ascended. The sensation was intoxicating, each kiss igniting a fire deep within you, fueling your anticipation.

“Let them see you,” he whispered, glancing up at the camera before continuing his exploration. “Every inch of you deserves to be admired.” His mouth moved closer to your core, but he stopped just short, relishing the way your breath hitched in your throat.

“Dai,” he coaxed playfully, his voice low and teasing. “Let me taste you.”

With that, he finally pressed his lips against you, the warmth and softness of his mouth igniting a spark that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. His tongue flicked and danced, teasing you with gentle strokes as he expertly coaxed you closer to the edge. You could feel the camera capturing every moment, amplifying the intensity of the experience.

He locked eyes with you, ensuring you felt every ounce of pleasure as he brought you closer and closer. “Voglio sentire i tuoi gemiti,” he said, his voice a sultry growl against your sensitive skin. “I want to hear your moans.”

The thrill of being on camera only heightened the sensations, and as he continued to pleasure you, the weight of the moment settled in—this was not just a private encounter, but a spectacle, a performance where every gasp and moan would be immortalized for the world to see.

Terzo knew just how to play the audience, and as he worked his magic, he made sure to encourage you, his voice a steady stream of encouragement. “Sì, così, bella… Let them see how much you enjoy this.” His words were like a balm, igniting a passion within you that couldn’t be contained.

With a sultry silence enveloping the room, Terzo continued his devoted ministrations, his tongue moving in tantalizing patterns that drove you wild. Every flick and swirl of his mouth sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, as if he were orchestrating a symphony of sensations tailored just for you.

He expertly explored every sensitive spot, his lips pressing against your skin in soft, teasing kisses before returning to his focused work. The weight of the moment became more intense as he leaned into his task, his dark hair falling into his eyes, creating an intimate veil between you and the world outside the camera’s gaze.

Your breath quickened, each gasp escaping your lips louder than the last, and the sheer thrill of being recorded made everything feel heightened. The warmth of the room mingled with the heat radiating from your core, every sensation amplified as Terzo’s mouth worked its magic.

As he continued to feast on you, you could see the way he savored the experience—his eyes occasionally glancing up to meet yours, ensuring that he was bringing you the pleasure you craved. The intimate connection shared between you felt electric, even with the cameras rolling, capturing every moment of your shared desire.

You could feel the familiar tightening in your belly, the sensation building within you as Terzo pressed on, his dedication unwavering. It was as if he was lost in the rhythm of it all, completely focused on bringing you to the brink of pleasure.

As he pulled back slightly, just enough to tease you, you felt a surge of frustration mixed with desire. Your body craved more, urging him to take you to that precipice. Yet, Terzo seemed to enjoy the slow build, prolonging the anticipation, the delicious torture that left you breathless and begging for release.

You squirmed beneath him, your hips instinctively grinding against his face as you sought more friction, more contact. He responded with a deep hum, sending vibrations coursing through you that only heightened the pleasure. The noise escaped your lips unbidden—a soft, needy whimper that echoed in the intimate space.

With every passing moment, the pressure inside you intensified, winding tighter and tighter like a coiled spring. Terzo’s skilled mouth was relentless, coaxing you closer to the edge, and you could feel that familiar warmth pooling in your core, the unmistakable sign that release was imminent.

He alternated between gentle kisses and fervent licks, knowing precisely how to keep you on the brink. Just as you thought you might tumble over, he would pull back slightly, letting the waves of pleasure wash over you without allowing you to reach that sweet release.

The thrill of being filmed only added to the excitement, a spicy undercurrent that made everything feel more urgent. You wanted to cry out, to let the world know just how good he was making you feel, but instead, you bit your lip, savoring the delicious tension that hung in the air.

As he shifted slightly, deepening his focus, the intensity rose to an unbearable level. Terzo’s fingers slipped under your thighs, lifting your legs slightly, opening you up even more for him. The change in angle allowed him to explore deeper, his tongue delving into places that made your back arch and your breaths come in gasps.

Terzo seemed to sense the shift in your energy, and with a renewed fervor, he dove back in, his mouth working at an even more fevered pace. You felt the tension build, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, and as he locked eyes with you once more, his gaze was filled with that same playful intensity that had drawn you in from the very beginning.

You could feel the coil inside you tightening, ready to snap at any moment. Just as the waves began to crash, Terzo’s movements became more fervent, his tongue flicking faster, more insistently, driving you over the edge. The world erupted in a blur of sensations as your body responded, pleasure flooding through you, making you writhe beneath him.

“Terzo!” you cried out, the name a desperate plea as you surrendered to the waves of ecstasy washing over you. Your body tensed, every nerve ending alive with pleasure as you finally fell, spiraling into that euphoric release that left you breathless and trembling.

Terzo didn’t let up, continuing to work you through it, his mouth still latched onto you, drawing out every last moment of bliss. The camera captured everything—the passion, the pleasure, the pure ecstasy of the moment—and as you came down from the high, you realized you’d just shared something intensely personal and thrilling with the world.

In that heated aftermath, as your body slowly settled, you looked down at him, breathless and dazed, and caught the satisfied grin on his face. He pulled back slightly, his lips glistening and a playful glint in his eye. “Che esperienza incredibile,” he said, his voice low and sultry.

You could taste yourself on him when he kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth and capturing you in a passionate kiss. You forgot the cameras were there until he looked one in the eye, staring down the barrel of the lens with a smug expression on his face that told everyone he knew just how fucking good he was. The arrogance he wore, on another man, would be the most obnoxious thing. But on him? Right now while your cum dripped from his lips and onto his chin, his body weighing yours down into the mattress and eyes wild with lust? This was the hottest thing you had ever seen, and you needed more of that arrogance while he fucked you silly.

“You came so hard, tesoro,” he teased, staring down at you once he finally looked at you. “Who made you come like that?”

“Y-you did,” you replied, breathlessly.

It wasn’t enough for him. “Tell everyone at home, the people who have their hands on themselves and are stroking wildly as they watched you… who made it happen?”

“Terzo!”

He hummed, a pleased rumble coming from him. “Esatto. Such a good girl for her Papa. What do you want next, hm? You have to tell us or we won’t know.”

Us. Including the audience in this as if they had any decision over what was about to happen to you. But the idea, knowing that so many people were watching this happen, and that Terzo was prioritising your pleasure on camera had you clenching around nothing. You wanted him deep inside you, touching all those spots that no one had ever been able to touch before. You wanted him to fuck you until you passed out and had the entire world watching as he did so.

“I w-want your cock, Papa,” you told him, naked hips bucking up to rub against him.

“Davvero? Where would you like it, tesoro?” He ran his index finger over your lips. “In your mouth?” He moved his hand down to in between your breasts. “Against these glorious tits?” He continued his movements, skipping over your sensitive snatch with his hands and rubbing your inner thighs teasingly. “Here? Where do you want my cock?”

“Inside me.”

“Il mia angela, more specific. Do you want me in your mouth?”

You shook your head.

“Words.”

“N-no.”

“Your ass?”

“No, Papa. Please.”

“Then where?”

“M-my cunt. Please fuck my cunt Papa.”

He giggled. He leaned down and bit your neck, playfully. “So polite. Begging so sweetly. Va bene,” he sat up and pulled off his jacket, throwing it over to the other side of the room, “Papa will give you what you want.”

He never undressed much further than that besides him rolling up his sleeves like he meant business. He pulled his cock out from beneath his slacks, teasing the audience with him still being clothed. The entire Ministry had seen this man naked innumerable times, but the rest of the world would have to wait.

From the sides of your body, he lifted your hands and trapped them beneath his own above your head. “Feel me,” he whispered in your ear before sliding himself inside you slowly.

As Terzo slowly pushed inside you, your body arched instinctively, desperate to take all of him. The initial stretch was exquisite, your walls clinging tightly to his cock as he sank in deeper, filling you inch by inch. The weight of his body pressing yours into the mattress was intoxicating, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered sweet nothings in a mix of Italian and English, each word sending shivers down your spine.

“Così stretto,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “So tight for me, tesoro. You feel incredible.”

The cameras were still rolling, capturing every moment of your connection, but in that moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you. The sensation of being so completely filled, so utterly claimed, had your heart racing, and the thought that others were watching only added to the intense heat pooling in your core.

Terzo held your hands firmly above your head, his fingers digging deliciously into your wrists as he began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts. Each time he pulled out just enough to leave you wanting, only to thrust back in with a firm, measured pace. His cock hit all the right spots, the delicious friction building a heady pressure inside you.

“Fuck, Papa!” you gasped, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, urging him to go deeper, harder. But Terzo, ever the tease, kept his pace slow and torturous, drawing out your pleasure until you were trembling beneath him, desperate for more.

“Patience, bella,” he teased, his lips brushing against your jawline. “We have an audience, remember? We want to give them a show they’ll never forget.”

You moaned in response, the heat of his words matching the fire building inside you. The idea that so many eyes were on you, watching you writhe beneath Papa Emeritus III, was electrifying. You could practically feel the weight of their gaze, knowing they were all waiting, eagerly anticipating the moment he would finally take you as hard and fast as you craved.

“Pl-please, Terzo,” you begged, your voice breathy and desperate. “I ne… need more.”

He grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying the way you were pleading for him. His pace quickened slightly, his thrusts becoming deeper, more insistent, but still not quite enough to push you over the edge. It was maddening, the way he kept you teetering on the brink of ecstasy, his cock filling you completely with every slow, deliberate movement.

“Look at you,” he purred, his voice dripping with arrogance. “So needy, tesoro. You want Papa to fuck you harder, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you breathed, your hands gripping his tightly as your hips bucked up to meet his. “Please, f-fuck me ha-ah! Harder.”

He chuckled darkly, clearly savoring the power he had over you in this moment. “Brava,” he praised, his lips ghosting over yours. “You ask so sweetly. But I think they want to hear you beg a little more.”

With that, he shifted slightly, adjusting his angle so that his cock hit that perfect spot deep inside you with every thrust. Your eyes fluttered shut as a moan escaped your lips, your body tightening around him in response. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

“Tell them,” Terzo commanded, his voice a low growl. “Tell them how much you want it.”

You opened your eyes, glancing at the camera that was focused on your every move, your heart pounding in your chest. “I want it,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “I want Papa to fuck me harder. Please.”

“Perfetto,” he purred, his pace finally picking up as he drove into you harder, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The bed creaked beneath you as he moved faster, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythm that was as punishing as it was perfect.

You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, that familiar pressure building rapidly as he took you harder, deeper, his cock hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. The sound of your combined moans filled the room, the lewd slap of skin on skin only adding to the intensity of the moment.

Terzo’s grip on your hands tightened as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come for me, cara,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. “Let them see how good I make you feel.”

His words sent you over the edge. Your body tensed as the orgasm crashed over you, your walls clenching around his cock as you cried out his name. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that left you trembling beneath him, completely undone.

Terzo didn’t let up, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm, his thrusts unrelenting as he chased his own release. The look on his face was one of pure ecstasy, his eyes dark with lust as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

“Buona ragazza,” he growled, his pace becoming erratic as he neared his own climax. “You’re perfect.”

As Terzo’s thrusts became rougher, his focus shifting to his own pleasure, the sight of him above you was utterly mesmerizing. His sharp, angular features were illuminated by the soft, purple glow of the room, casting shadows that only added to his allure. His slicked-back hair was now slightly disheveled from the intensity of the moment, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, rubbing his paints off him with every bead that dripped onto your body. Every movement radiated raw, untamed power, as he lost himself in the rhythm of his own need.

The fabric of his shirt was slightly wrinkled now, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the strength in his forearms as he braced himself above you. Every muscle in his body was taut, working in perfect harmony as he plunged into you over and over. He was fully in control, and he knew it. The confidence he exuded was magnetic, the way his body moved with precision and purpose made it impossible to look away.

You could see the tension building in his jaw, his lips parted as he breathed heavily, and the deep, guttural sounds escaping him were enough to send shivers down your spine. His eyes, still dark with lust, never left you, watching intently as you squirmed and gasped beneath him. The combination of his powerful movements and the way his clothes framed his body only added to his allure—this man, still so composed and dignified, was fucking you like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The way he thrust into you now, hard and fast, each movement rougher than the last, sent waves of pleasure crashing through you all over again. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you in all the right ways, and the sound of his hips slamming into yours echoed through the room, mixing with your breathy moans and the wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

Terzo’s head tilted back slightly, his eyes half-lidded as his pleasure began to crest, and the sight of him, still fully dressed, so composed in his authority even while chasing his release, made him look more powerful than ever. He was gorgeous—perfect in his calculated roughness, his eyes locking onto yours as he growled, “Sì, tesoro, I’m close.”

The power he held in this moment, the way he dominated the space around you, both on camera and within the confines of the bed, left you in awe. You could feel the tightening in his body, the way his body tensed as he pushed himself toward the edge, and the sound of his raspy breathing only deepened the sexual haze you were already lost in.

He was fully in control, fucking you with a raw intensity that left no doubt about who was in charge.

As Terzo’s pace grew even more frantic, the pressure within him reached its peak. His grip on your wrists tightened, his body moving with an unrestrained force as he chased his release. With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his head thrown back, and a guttural groan ripped from his throat as he came.

You could feel his cock pulse within you as he spilled inside, the heat of his release spreading through your body. His hips stuttered slightly, pushing deeper as his orgasm washed over him, his face contorting in a mix of pleasure and relief. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of his panting and the subtle creak of the bed beneath you.

His body was still pressed firmly against yours, his cock softening but still buried deep inside you, and you could feel his weight resting heavily on you. Slowly, Terzo lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a look of satisfied arrogance that only made the moment hotter. The smirk that curved his lips was smug and lazy, a man fully aware of the power he held over you.

“Perfetto,” he murmured, his voice husky and breathless. He lowered himself slightly, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, heated kiss. You could taste his satisfaction, the faint saltiness of sweat and the lingering traces of your own pleasure on his tongue.

When he finally pulled back, he released your wrists, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin as he sat up, his cock slipping from your body. You felt the cool air hit you, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his release that still dripped from between your thighs.

Terzo leaned back, fixing his gaze on the camera, his signature smirk in place as he casually straightened his clothing. He looked powerful and composed, a stark contrast to your naked, trembling form beneath him. Without even needing to say a word, his eyes conveyed everything—he knew exactly what he’d done, and how many people would watch him do it when this finally got uploaded.

Turning his attention back to you, he offered a hand, helping you sit up with a surprising gentleness, given the ferocity with which he’d just fucked you. His touch was still warm, his thumb brushing your skin as he whispered, “Che bella performance, tesoro.”

Terzo’s eyes glinted with a playful mischief as he reached for the camera, effortlessly lifting it with one hand while the other brushed against your thigh, still slick with the aftermath of your pleasure. He aimed the lens down towards you, and the moment he captured the view, he chuckled, his voice dripping with seductive satisfaction.

“Ecco,” he said, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “Look at what I’ve done.” He held the camera steady, ensuring that every detail was perfectly framed—the way your thighs glistened, your pussy swollen and glistening with his cum spilling out, a true canvas to his art, and to the intense pleasure you’d just shared.

“Non è bellissimo?” he purred, clearly enjoying himself as he glanced between you and the camera, making sure his audience soaked in every tantalizing second. “This is what happens when you give yourself to me completely. Who wouldn’t want to see how beautifully you take me?”

With that, he tilted the camera closer, as if to tease the viewers with a closer look at the remnants of your passion. The sight of you, still panting and flushed, made his grin widen. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, pride lacing his tone. “Just look at you—perfectly ravaged and mine.”

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, the mixture of embarrassment and thrill sending a shiver down your spine. Terzo, ever the showman, basked in the moment, letting the camera linger on your beaten pussy, the remnants of his cum a stark reminder of the wildness that had just unfolded.

Terzo turned the camera back to his face, still beaming with that signature cheekiness, and waved at the viewers. “Ciao, darlings! Until next time!” He flashed a wink before shutting off the feed, the air between you buzzing with the echoes of laughter and satisfaction.

As the last light from the camera dimmed, he leaned over, an earnest expression replacing the playful grin. “Beautiful girl,” he said, brushing a stray hair from your face, “you were incredible. Are you alright, amore?” His voice was soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nodded, still feeling the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you, but his worried brow made you chuckle. “I’m fine, honestly. Just a bit… well, worn out,” you replied, giving him a teasing smile.

“Worn out?” he echoed, feigning shock. “I’m shocked—absolutely shocked! It’s as if I’ve just put you through a rigorous training regime.” He chuckled, moving down to grab a soft cloth from the bedside table. “Well, allow me to be your humble servant and clean you up, then.”

With a gentle touch, he began to wipe you down, the softness of the cloth contrasting with the heat still radiating from your body. “If I’d known this was part of the gig, I’d have charged more,” you joked, trying to stifle a laugh as he focused intently on his task.

“Ah, ma bella,” he grinned, “I’d pay any amount just for this privilege.” His fingers danced over your skin as he cleaned you with care, his eyes sparkling with affection. “I must admit, though, this isn’t how I expected our little escapade to go. I thought I’d just get to show off my talent.” He winked at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“You certainly did show off,” you replied, giving him a playful nudge. “Who knew you were such a—what did you call it? A ‘humble servant’?”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “I do believe that’s my new title. Papa Emeritus III, Humble Servant of the Ministry of Pleasure. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Very catchy,” you replied, fighting back another laugh. “I’m sure the Ministry will put that on your business cards.”

“Esatto!” he exclaimed, puffing his chest out proudly. “Right next to ‘Professional Heartthrob.’” He finished cleaning you up and tossed the cloth aside with a flourish, as if he’d just completed a masterful performance.

“Now, how do you feel?” he asked, genuine warmth flooding his tone.

“Like I just had the most exhilarating experience of my life,” you replied, smiling widely. “And surprisingly, I’m not complaining about the aftermath either.”

“Good!” he exclaimed, his eyes brightening. “Just don’t forget to tell all the viewers how marvellous their Papa is, alright?” He nudged you playfully, his voice a teasing sing-song. “I wouldn’t want to lose my fanbase just because I’m a bit of a messy lover!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics, feeling a rush of affection for this man who could seamlessly blend charm and humour, even in the most intimate of moments. “I promise, I’ll tell them you’re an absolute delight.”

“Delightfully messy, perhaps!” he corrected, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. “But no one can resist a little chaos, can they?”

“Indeed,” you replied, leaning against him, feeling the warmth of his presence envelop you. “Especially when it’s this much fun.”

Translations:

Amico - Male friend.

Ma dai - “Come on” or “Oh, come on.”

Tesoro - “Treasure,” often used as a term of endearment like “darling” or “dear.”

Immagina - “Imagine.”

Cose - “Things.”

Sei d’accordo? - “Do you agree?”

Certo - “Of course.”

Stipendio - “Salary” or “wage.”

Nuova avventura - “New adventure.”

Bellissima - Beautiful

Ti mostrerò - I will show you

Sei così bella - You are so beautiful

Voglio sentire i tuoi gemiti - I want to hear your moans

Sì, così, bella - Yes, like that, beautiful

Che esperienza incredibile - What an incredible experience.

Esatto - That’s right.

Davvero? - Is that so?

Che bella performance - A beautiful performance.

Ecco - here.

Non è bellissimo? - Isn’t it beautiful?

Prev./Next

[imissylou]

Hello, I'm Missy! I've created many challenges in the past, and I'm best known for the Herbs and Spices Legacy, which I co-created with my friend @sunboyish. If you know me, you know how much I love butterflies—I even have multiple tattoos of them! I searched everywhere on Tumblr but couldn't find the original butterfly legacy challenge. If you happen to find it, please tag me so I can give proper credit.

Since I couldn't find the original, I created my own version, and I hope it's refreshingly different for you. I get bored of legacy challenges easily (it's not you, it's me), so I designed each generation to stand out with unique traits and stories. Feel free to skip or modify any parts that don't suit your play style. This challenge includes elements from all the packs (except the Star Wars pack, ew). If it becomes popular, I'll make a base game version or add base game options.

You're welcome to add to this challenge or create graphics for it—just tag me! Without further ado, here are the RULES! [TW: Neglect, Abuse, Substance Use, Murder, Religion, PTSD, Abortion]

Rules and first Generation under the cut!

Click here for the Doc

Butterfly Effect: A Legacy Challenge

Rules

Start out with 0 simoleons or enough to make a starter home then take the money away

Each gen only takes 20% of the funds your last generation accumulated

I love mods, so go ahead and get every mod out there, but just don't make the challenge too easy, trust me it gets boring if its easy

All CC is allowed

You don't have to level up any skills to level 10, they're just there so you have an idea on what you're going to do that generation - mostly from the career you're doing

Must complete each goal before moving on to the next generation, optional goals are optional

You don't have to complete any aspiration, unless it says

Life span can be on any, it's up to you

Make sure you look ahead each gen there may be overlap

You don't have to make this a berry challenge, but i did put a colour pallet if you want to use it

I haven't played through it yet so feel free to comment any suggestions or email me at imissylou1@gmail.com

Please tag me in all posts that are about my legacy - I’m nosey and want to see your lets plays or sim making, if you use insta you can find me @ imissylou5

If you play this challenge please use the #butterflyeffectlegacy or #BEL

Have Fun, this is your game after all!

Let's kick off this legacy with the epitome of elegance and grandeur—the Monarch! As the trendsetter of the family, your fashion sense is unparalleled, radiating style and sophistication in every outfit. Your iconic looks make you unforgettable, setting a high bar for all generations to come. Along with your keen fashion sense, you have an insatiable curiosity and just can't resist getting involved in everyone's business. You may be the first, but you’re destined to be remembered as the most glamorous, stylish, and intriguingly nosy generation. Get ready to strut your stuff, gather all the gossip, and set the runway on fire!

Your Colours - Orange and Black

Traits - Self Absorbed, Perfectionist, Nosy

Aspiration - World-Famous Celebrity

Skills - Writing, Charisma, Photography, and Painting

Career -  Style Influencer - Trend Setter Branch

Start as a Young Adult

Date Multiple People - You're Polyamorous!

Become Pregnant as an Adult, but you don't know who the Baby belongs too

Woohoo every partner you have the night you want to be pregnant, so you don't know the other parent

Do this every time you want to be pregnant

All your kids look like you dressed them up (which you do, no kid of yours will be trashy)

Have at least 2 outfits in each category

Go thrifting every weekend to collect all the thrifting clothing items

Get the squeamish trait if it pops up!

Have the Hungry for Love and People Person Lifestyles - Try to keep them throughout your whole life

Everytime you talk to someone, gossip with them

Optional

Travel every time you're stressed - Monarchs travel approximately 4,000 kilometres

@ts4challengehub

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Barney Ross

Dov-Ber Rosovsky was a world-champion boxer and injured World War II hero whose fierce Jewish pride made him an icon to American Jews.

Dov-Ber was born in New York in 1909, the son of a Talmudic scholar who fled to America after surviving a pogrom in Belarus. Dov-Ber grew up in Chicago, helping out in his father’s small grocery store in a poor neighborhood and studying to be a rabbi.

His life was changed forever when his father was shot dead resisting a robbery at his store. Dov-Ber’s mother suffered a nervous breakdown and the kids were farmed out to foster homes.

Dov-Ber became bitter and angry. He turned his back on religion, changed his name to Barney Ross, and took a job working for Al Capone. Barney’s goal was to make enough money to buy a house and reunite his family. He soon became such an effective street fighter, however, that he gave professional boxing a try. Strong, fast, and determined, “Barney” became a world champion in the three different weight classes. He was known for his exceptional stamina and his street smarts.

In the 1930’s, when Hitler was rising to power, Barney Ross became a hero to American Jews by showing pride in his heritage and taking a public stand against Nazi Germany.  He was determined to end each fight on his feet to show that Jews fight and don’t go down. In Barney’s final fight, he defended his title against fellow three-division world champion Henry Armstrong. Barney got brutally pummeled and his trainers begged him to let them stop the fight, but he was determined to stay on his feet. He’d never been knocked out in his career and wasn’t going to start now. He retired from boxing in his early 30’s with a record of 72 wins, 4 loses, 3 draws, and two no decisions, with 22 wins by knockout. He achieved his goal of having no career knockouts.

After retiring from the ring, Barney/Dov-Ber enlisted in the US Marine Corps to fight in World War II. The Marines wanted to keep him stateside as a celebrity morale-booster, but Barney insisted on fighting for his country. He was sent to Guadalcanal in the South Pacific. During his time in Guadalcanal, Barney became friends with Chaplain Frederic Gehrig. Father Gehrig found an old pump organ on the island, and Barney was the only one who could play it. On Christmas Eve, before Barney and his fellow Marines were to go to battle, Gehrig asked him to play “Silent Night” and other Christmas songs for the troops. Barney happily obliged, finishing off the concert with “My Yiddishe Momma,” the song he used to play when he entered the boxing ring. Father Gehrig would later describe Barney Ross as a “national treasure.”

One night, Barney and three other soldiers were trapped under enemy fire. All four were wounded but Barney was the only one able to continue fighting. He gathered his comrades’ weapons and fought 22 Japanese soldiers, killing them all. Two of the American soldiers died, but Barney carried the third man to safety, even though the soldier weighed 230 pounds, while the wounded Barney weighed only 140! For his courage, Barney Ross was awarded a Silver Star and a citation from President Roosevelt.

Barney was hospitalized for his battle injuries, and the pain was so bad that he became dependent on morphine. After the war, he returned to America and opened a bar lounge. However, his drug addiction intensified as he turned to heroin, which was easier to obtain than morphine. Barney became hooked on heroin, an addiction that cost him $500 a day, as well as his marriage, his business and his life savings. Finally he hit rock bottom, and checked into a veteran’s recovery facility. He kicked his habit once and for all, and became a public speaker who educated high school students about the danger of drugs.

In the 1960’s, Barney made his living as a celebrity spokesman. After a brutal struggle with throat cancer, Barney Ross died in 1967 at age 57.

For his wartime heroism and for modeling Jewish strength and pride, we honor Dov-Ber “Barney Ross” Rosovsky as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[punkpandapatrixk]

🏖Original Prototype ☆ Timeless Tarot Guidance

Elements/Signs in this reading are calibrated to all aenergetic placements. Feel free to read as many Elements/Signs as you feel called to at this point in your spiritual evolution♡

[PAG Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

☆[Your Own Standards of Beauty PAC]☆

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

As a complement to the previous PAC, it’s crazy we’ve got The Last Judgement at the bottom of the deck. That’s a double XX LOL Yeah, continuing the spirit of rebellion against little bitch behaviour, we’ve got so much Wands and Pentacles aenergy on this collective reading. It’s literally saying:

Be confident in being yourself, in all the amazingly weird, scandalous, hard-to-define way that you already are AND grab the money bags! Work on feeling secure in your body, comfortable in your skin, beautiful in your hair and makeup, and continue to work on your soulful passion projects which are the only things that truly matter~♥︎

As a complement to the previous PAC, for a lot of Asian kids, wherever they may have been born on the Planet, it may be quite harder to realise just how much you’re stopping yourself from SHINING in your authentic Light just because you want to appeal, appease, and please your little bitch elders/society. It’s hard for a lot of people already depending on what kind of custom they’re most familiar with, or if they grew up with abusive narcs and all that, but I’ve gathered that it’s generally just that much harder for Asian kids.

Why? Because the society or elders made Asian kids little bitches of an apologist and enabler! STOP THAT! What the fresh fuckity fuck does being ‘conservative’ mean when that jargon is mostly thrown around to justify racism, fascism, perversion(!!), misogyny, child abuse, and, what else? Dishonourable ‘traditions’ of all kinds—can’t cover all of those expectations in a single intro but…if being ‘Asian’ equals ‘an unwillingness to outgrow own bullshit’ then that white lady was right:

‘Not to be racist or anything but Asian people SUCK! Hahahhihihuhuheho…’

In the West, Asian losers get waaay too comfortable hiding behind ‘victims of racism because we’re minority’ narrative—even though in Asia we all know Asians are some of the MOST racist fucks on the face of Earth and they victimise their own people in the name of CULTURE—and they indulge in some such fake-noble-ass attitude whilst completely and utterly letting other (usually younger) Asian fucks get away with perpetuating cycles of abusive behaviours, customs, mindsets, and just…ways of doing things and being.

These types of people, don’t strike me as bothered enough to acknowledge what being divinely…Human…is all about. No wonder they trespass human rights all the time in all these small but pervasive ways. Pathetic, isn’t it? ♪~why the fuck you lyin’, why you always lyin’, mmm, o mai gut~♪

All I’m saying is, ultimately, Asian or no Asian (you don’t want me to start on the Punjabs OML), you as an individual get to choose how you want to grow and develop yourself, so as to become a vibrational match to your very own honest desires that are in alignment with your Highest Intended Good. You were born with a purpose, no? Your Soul knows that and it’s whispering your Soul’s Blueprint to you. Don’t ever, EVER, let your nationality, religion, custom and race, or any other insignificant configurations attached to your birth situations LIMIT your Soul Expression that is often more kind, more merciful, more empowered, more free and creative, and most important, more brave—because God only knows how much Humanity needs all of those qualities amplified in the world right now.

If this intro has found you, chances are, YOU. ARE. THE PROTOTYPE. of a new way of being, you freaking Superstar~☆ One day, all of Mankind are gonna be just like you. Namaste. Whoever you are, I honour your being here and being a whacko🍮

HACK: This 76 Year Old Has Better Beauty Hacks Than You Do by PS

deck-bottom: XX(!??!) The Last Judgement Rx, Red Physician (Galen of Pergamon), Priestess of Shine

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Original Prototype for 🐞Fire Signs – Silver Magus (Merlin)

3 of Swords, 9 of Cups, XV The Devil

You know the ‘problem’ a lot of people find with Fire Signs? Your fire. Duh? In a world of cowards who mould themselves into whatever society demands of them—for survival—how dare you be pretty, ballsy, smart and confident, and you’re not even an ass-kisser? That’s hard to stomach for most of these sheeples. Babe, it doesn’t even register in their slow-ass brains.

So then, they work really hard at convincing themselves that you’re a sneaky loser who’s plotting against them. Some others think that you think you’re better than them for not paying them too much attention. Well, you know what? You are better than them. Clearly you are better than those whose hearts are so rotten they fabricate shit like that about you.

In spite of outer appearances, you really do have a good heart, and topped with every other thing that’s already good for you, all of the good things going for you, ma gurl, you’re a fucking anomaly. Kinda reminds me of Hedy LaMarr! An anomaly by all means. How dare she be incredibly talented, beautiful, smart, ambitious, and, SPIRITUALLY INTELLIGENT! She was a Scorpio Sun, Leo Moon and Sag Mercury. Hear this:

‘I know why most people never get rich. They put the money ahead of the job. If you just think of the job, the money will automatically follow. This never fails.’ – Hedy LaMarr, pioneer of the frequency-hopping technology, precursor of WiFi, Bluetooth and GPS systems

If you asked me, it’s pretty obvious that a lot of people are simply jealous of you. And in a world where women are pitted against each other since time immemorial—you know; how they made girls compete with each other to become the hottest commodity to attract the richest guy in the village to take ‘em as a wife—it’s almost a crime that you were never sucked into this stupid game of hurting other women for the attention of men.

For you, and most likely this has been the case since you were a child, this kind of mindset never made a lot of sense, and oh Goddess, you’ve thought it had to go out! Of your system! Of everybody’s system! I think you were always a feminist before knowing such a concept exists. And your focus wasn’t particularly about ‘gender equality’—it wasn’t politics, babe—it was just about fairness and justice in their purest form, for all people.

HOT FIRE. You were born to light candles and burn bridges. So be it. No more playing small. No more playing with those who are small and refuse to grow strong. Go meet your Destiny NOW!🔥

Oracle Guidance for Fire Signs🔻❤️

🐏Aries – Priestess of Innocence

🦁Leo – Priestess of Magick

🎠Sagittarius – Priestess of Healing

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Original Prototype for 🐍Earth Signs – Green Physician (Paracelsus)

Knight of Pentacles Rx, XIX The Sun Rx, 5 of Cups Rx

Take care of your body, nourish it to heal your spirit, and let’s take a break from planning too many things for the near future. The aenergies all around the Planet are shifting massively, what you’re planning for the next 3 years of your Life, for example, could all go down the drain next month, next week, even. You’re being advised to recharge and find joy in the small things that you might’ve postponed to enjoy just because it’s felt like there’s so much to plan and do and achieve.

On this Planet, too many societies glamourise being busy. It’s because the busier you are the more you feel that you’re needed, right? That need for validation is what kills you from the inside if you blindly follow this misguided desire to be useful. The truth is, and only if you allow it to be your truth as well, is that it’s enough that you exist on this plane. You can love and be helpful in ways that don’t sacrifice your values or physical health? Don’t be a sell-out just because you want praises. Yuuh, bitch?

You might’ve forgotten that you came into this world to have fun. To bask in sunshine’s glory and play with nature. To eat good food and spend good times with loved ones. I’ve seen that people with strong Earth influences are usually those that are easiest victims of capitalism’s hustle culture pffft… They got you wired weird, babe. Gotta step back a little and look around, see where you’ve put your foot now.

I’m hearing that you Earth Signs are essentially meant to be a buster of old traditions and customs that no longer work. People change and values change, why wouldn’t cultures change? After all, didn’t people make culture? How come then cultures are perceived as more important than the individual? None of that makes sense. So much of what’s called culture in this world was made with garbage intent and has become pure manure at this point in Humanity’s evolution.

It’s perfectly OK to update rules and customs, don’t you think? People who refuse to grow and move with the times are TOXIC. Don’t be their prop, Earth Signs! Your mission is to launch missiles towards the Old Stinkin’ Tower of toxic traditions and to rebuild upon its rubble a new establishment that’s guided by Love. Yes, Love and Respect, instead of the ill-intent to suppress and control. Take what still works from the Old World but infuse whatever you do with Light. Let the wisdom of old guide you so that you don’t make the same mistake twice, or thrice.

I’m also hearing that you’re meant to champion some kind of effort that balances/integrates tradition and automation. ‘Going back to nature’ or ‘going back to old ways of doing things by hand’ are a major theme of your Lightwork. We’ve been dealing with too much automation in recent decades that people’s cognitive functions have declined rapidly! Automation helps with simplifying things but if that comes at the cost of people’s brain capacity, this isn’t progress then, it’s a regression of Humankind at the aggression of robots.

Doing things with hands may seem like such hard work, but in the long run, it keeps people’s brains functioning well into old age. Check out this video for inspo! I just feel that you’re meant to champion something like this <3

How The Oldest Chocolate House In New York City Survived A Century by Business Insider

Oracle Guidance for Earth Signs🔻💚

🐂Taurus – Priestess of Patience

🧘🏻‍♀️Virgo – Priestess of Purity

🐐Capricorn – Priestess of Illumination

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Original Prototype for ⛲Air Signs – Green Alchemist (Nicolas Flamel)

6 of Wands Rx, 8 of Wands, 6 of Pentacles

Being the intellectual Air Sign that you are, you’ve long realised that most of the world’s information is false. It’s taken a lot of strength to maintain your sanity, and it’s gonna require even more for you to share what you know with the world—or whoever would listen. So much of world’s history is misleading, if not blatant lies; so much of who we’ve been told as heroes and knaves has been quite the opposite, depending on angle, I guess.

You’ve been in the know that discovering the truthest truths of the Truth is gonna require some sifting through so much misinformation, disinformation, and confusion. It’s not a walk in the park but know that you’re not alone on this legacy project of yours. You may often just forget that your Spirit Guides and Cosmic Ancestors are with you. Yeah, you may forget because you’re highly intellectual and can focus too much on hard facts LOL

The fact is, look, you have direct aetheric communication with your Team. I sense many of you who are tuned into this collective reading are, in spite of your Airy-ness, quite spiritual. A lot of you have strong 12th House placements or Neptunian aenergy, as well as 8th House/Scorpio and 9th House/Sagittarius influences. This actually makes your communication with the aether that much clearer. In order to strengthen your communication, it’s important to nourish your brain with the right kind of nutrition.

You can also take advantage of subliminal and/or reiki tracks that help improve brain functions, strengthen psychic communication, as well as those for brain regeneration and relaxation—just to balance things out, you know. Breathing meditation may also benefit you a lot in this scenario. Many of you tuning into this reading are meant to have a role in communications, journalism, detective/investigative work, and maybe even politics. You have that kind of a charm, honestly😉

You could also be some kind of a whistleblower. Basically, you’re meant to communicate the Truth to the world. What Truth are we talking about? Look to your Mercury and any kind of placement you may have in the 3rd/9th House, especially if your Chiron is here, and that should give you a hint, combined with other elements such as Midheaven and North Node. All y’all are meant to discover different kinds of Truth regarding the nature of our society, or Reality huehue

Look also to what your 11th House of networking entails and see how that connects to your Uranus/Aquarius placements. Essentially, if you have a strong Libra placement especially, the key takeaway here is that you want to connect with likeminded rebels with whom you are going to be covering each other’s asses. What you’re meant to do in the world could be dangerous, so it’s important to have a strong network or support system that will keep you all safe~!

Oracle Guidance for Air Signs🔻💙

👯Gemini – Priestess of Strength

⚖️Libra – Priestess of Ritual

🏺Aquarius – Priestess of Energy

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

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Original Prototype for 🐝Water Signs – Gold Alchemist (Roger Bacon)

2 of Wands, Ace of Pentacles Rx, 7 of Pentacles Rx

It’s interesting that all your cards are indicating unbridled passion, but Water Signs do indeed feel a lot anyway; if you’re not gonna channel all those emotions into something creative, then what’s the point? Gotta be artistic while life is being sadistic to ya XD Your passion, your emotions, are needing a platform to be heard, listened to, watched, admired. Paint, maybe? Write a poetry? Make an artistic indie-vibe photographs or movies?

There can be a lot of trial and error, but as you do so, you exercise your demons. You get to exercise with your demons. Why not? This world could learn a lot from you who’s willing to breathe and let yourself honour your emotions. When we were born, so many of us were convinced that too much feeling was bad. The whole time, not having emotions is what’s actually psychopathic *shiver*

There’s a song I like whose title is like, ‘To not have weakness is to not have Humanity’ or something like that. To not feel, to not shed a tear, to never have a moment of breaking down, is to not have Humanity. And too many people are comfortable with that, that’s why their lives are never totally comfortable in spite of all the riches they’ve gained in the world. There’s still too much drama and bad karma because…

‘We soon tire of living only for ourselves.’ – Mishima Yukio

Psychopaths are those who live only for themselves and they use other people for short-term gratifications, right? There’s way too many people living on the spectrum of psychopathy, and it’s your mission to show these losers how to navigate around crippling sorrow and still turn up alright, decent as a Human. People are weird to give so much empathy to psychos just because ‘they didn’t grow up being loved enough that’s why they turned up the way they did’. Pffft…

Fuck that. Those assholes made a choice to grow up mean, bitter and just generally evil. How many people in the world have suffered the greatest pain and betrayal and still turned up kind and empathetic? It’s a matter of choice, bitch <3 You who have tuned into this reading are someone who’s felt for everyone and got your heart broken every other way, and still you turned up full of Light—in all the unique ways you’re still able to care for the world, even if from a safe distance.

You’re an Advanced Soul who was given so little guidance as you walk the path of your Destiny on Earth. That’s strength. Strength of character especially, knowing how much you’ve broken your heart through your own trials and errors when it comes to navigating human relationships. Don’t punish yourself for a failed connection/communication you still feel guilty for. The guilt itself is already a sign that you’re a good person at your core. Do you think evil fucks feel any remorse for manipulating your feelings or any other person's for that matter?

Oracle Guidance for Water Signs🔻💛

🦀Cancer – Priestess of Beauty

🦂Scorpio – Priestess of Fertility

🎏Pisces – Priestess of Intellect

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAG Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

☆[Your Own Standards of Beauty PAC]☆

[bellestarot]

Jay's Reading

December 23, 2024

Right Now

Trying to take care of his mental health despite the chaos in his mind, he feels deeply betrayed by a man, someone close to him. This person is a bit difficult to handle and tends to act impulsively, sometimes showing negative behaviors.

He’s trying not to judge and is attempting to stay neutral about what this person has done. However, he’s very unsettled and no longer wants contact with them.

This situation is affecting his work, making him feel depressed and unable to fully enjoy the rewards of his efforts.

Love Life

He’s avoiding relationships at the moment. Just the thought of it makes him push the idea away. He struggles with physical connection and takes time to feel comfortable with someone he’s dating.

This stems from a past disappointment in a relationship where he wanted something serious, but the other person didn’t share the same view.

That painful experience ended tragically, leaving him with lingering trauma.

At times, this trauma causes him sleepless nights due to anxiety. Talking, especially with supportive friends, has been a significant help for him.

Career

He’s very close to his group members, but he shares a special bond with two of them: one is younger, and the other is very wealthy. However, he feels like he’s walking on eggshells around another member, as this person is impulsive and often acts without thinking. To avoid misunderstandings, he’s cautious about what he says to them.

He feels disappointed about the money he earns with the group. He suspects there’s dishonesty involved and that not only he, but all the members, are being underpaid. This has been a significant source of stress and frustration for him.

Family

After a period of introspection and sadness with his family, he has now reconnected with them. He loves spending time with his relatives, enjoying gatherings and shared moments of fun.

He has a special bond with a male family member, possibly a brother or cousin, and he greatly values his father’s pride in him. Seeing how much his father appreciates his growth has been deeply fulfilling.

Friendships

He has a close female friend, and their friendship involves traveling to see each other. Despite cherishing this bond, he’s started distancing himself from certain friendships.

He’s realized who his true friends are and has become wary of people he perceives as fake or deceitful.

This has caused him anxiety, leading him to cut ties with long-standing friendships. Letting go of these connections has been emotionally challenging for him.

Future

In the future, he will enter a meaningful relationship with someone who feels like a dream come true. He will put a lot of effort into making it work and will be deeply in love, doing everything to win this person’s heart.

Additionally, he’s likely to deepen his spiritual connection, possibly dedicating more of his life to religion.

He might even give up certain aspects of his current life to focus on his faith.

He’ll continue working with his group while also pursuing solo projects driven by his creativity.

Advice

"The only big companies that will succeed are those that consider their products obsolete before others do."

— Bill Gates

[nomsfaultau]

I recently got a comment about the use of the term Bird Pope within my charity one-shot Worth far more than your weight in gold, specifically about the world building implied there considering [Kristin] and [Philza] are notably very inhuman bird monsters (Ravengences). Specifically, the question was if there was Bird Catholicism and Bird Jesus died on the Bird Cross of Lorraine. (I think it would have to be a more complex shape given the extra wing limbs! Or perhaps an Orthodox Cross to pin the tail too?)

Anyway, let's examine the text between [Kristin] and [Philza] and the translator's note:

[Kristin's] expression changed utterly to one of delight, kneeling to affectionately bump her forehead against [Philza's]. “Praise be to the gods, I thought I was going to have to [bird divorce] you,” [Kristin] said with a relieved sigh, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.  (*While Bird Divorce is not forbidden, it is strongly discouraged by the Bird Pope.)

To explore Weight in Gold's species’ religious stance, I examined what terms they use:

Techno uses Gods (capital, plural). Ravengences refer to the seven winds (non capital, plural), gods (non capital, plural), and the Bird Pope (Capital, singular (*according to the translator)). Given Catholicism really emphasizes the singular God bit, I deduce Catholicism did not come from Piglins and Ravengences. Thus I am sadly assuming Worth in gold!Jesus was neither bird nor pig (which is good since pork is not kosher!).

As for humans, they are not worshiping Prime (as in, a god named Prime). Church Prime is the first church in the area. Akin to the format of First [Denomination] Church of [Town]. They worship the Catholic God, and centuries ago were very heavy into evangelizing. Has to be a very long time ago since Ravengences are mostly considered legends in the current time period, and aren’t particularly assumed to be sapient beings. So for the Ravengences it’s more of a legacy of cultural exchange than anything that’s happened of late.

Techno makes a lot of snide comments about the human church, and mentions not doing his sacrifices. But he does bite his tongue because the Church holds a LOT of power in human settlements. From this I gather Piglins on the whole are not Catholic, though as minorities have to navigate the sociopolitical power of the religion they don’t practice. Specifically, I note the way Techno uses the term Gods (capital, plural) which feels to me like a linguistic quirk picked up after the emphasis Catholics put on a capital G God, but in strict defiance of Catholicism by making it plural to reflect Piglins’ own pantheon before the humans started evangelizing. Along the line of 'Nyeh! Our Gods are just as important as yours!' Since we don’t see anyone trying to convert Techno, I reckon it’s something lots of wars were fought about way back when, humans eventually giving up (and probably writing Piglins off as demons in the process). Piglins rejected churches, partially rooted in the fact a central part is in money and donating it, and 1. Piglins do NOT give their gold away except in very intricate and personal situations and 2. Piglins think money is stupid. Using gold for fancy banners and clothing and murals (which Catholicism is very fond of) also didn’t fly with the Piglins. So a major part of human worship involves the (perceived!) frivolous use of gold, which is a big rift between human and Piglin culture.

Ravengences however do have a culture around donating gold, so it wasn’t as much as a massive conflict with human doctrine. In fact it helped facilitate the transfers in a way they liked. I imagine early evangelism with them was a desperate attempt to stop temple raids and was shockingly successful all things considered. To Ravengences, Catholic God is yet another god, added into the pantheon for flavor. I imagine they refer to God as god, since as tricky as crossing that language barrier is that particulars of capitalizing god names probably didn’t make it across. (Ravengences are seen only capitalizing names and the term Ravengence). Ravengences didn’t really agree with the whole abandoning their original gods things (what? You want me to STOP worshiping the seven winds? AND NEVER BE ABLE TO SAFELY FLY AGAIN? Are you MAD?!) and tended to eat conversionists who insisted on that point a little too firmly. The humans likely decided to shrug and declare that the Ravengence gods were really just saints if you think about it, so it’s probably okay please stop eating us now. And as the cultures lost contact, likely a lot of changes piled up in the centuries to follow. Ravengences probably lost the Catholic God (because of said lack of capital differentiation, and the lack of a name is tricky to keep track of when you have a lot of gods). But, positions like Bird Pope, which have lots of practical use regarding the distribution of donation gold so that families can have children, are likely vital to Ravengence society, and so remained, albeit looking very different to human popes. And the Bird Pope hates divorces, because Ravengences tend to want to take all of the gold for their new family, and the ex spouses probably tend to kill each other over it. Since, again, Ravengences are fond of the death penalty.

Alternatively: notably [bird divorce] [bird husband/wife] are within the translator's personal choices to explain concepts to a human audience, the mention of Bird Pope being within a translator's addendum. Even to the extent that within [Kristin’s] dialogue [bird divorce] is lower case, but the translator uses uppercase, further cementing the linguistic differences between Humans and Ravengences. So Bird Pope (capitalized) is how a human explains Ravengence culture to other humans, and may not reflect the capitalization Ravengences use (as they tend towards none) or even really the actual Ravengence cultural role being described. So all of what I just world builded could also be scratched out and explained with 'human translator trying to simplify for a human audience'. but one of those answers is a lot more fun!

[sniigura-archive]

okay so i like just got back from my trip (i forgot to check tumblr and had 99+ notifs so i've been checking them today..) and i had this thought because i was leading at a camp!! so imagine adam is really highly regarded in his church and everyone knows he's sera and chuck's son and he's been apart of helping in the church for ages and he ends up going on like a camp away with his church where he's leading a bunch of kids and teaching them and they all look up to him and want to be him but then like late at night him and reader are hooking up behind the cabins or somewhere secluded where they wont be found and he just has such a moral dilemma because surely this one thing doesn't make him bad? right? i don't know if reader would be unphased or she would feel the same way.. like she could just be helping out for like experience or cause she's getting paid or she could also be leading like adam and they are both internally freaking out about getting caught and about how wrong this is like does this make them terrible people? how can these kids look up to them if they are contradicting themselves on the daily? i kind of just thought it was a weird concept because i love adam and him contradicting himself on his religion.. was thinking about writing it cause i have been so bored after getting home.. like i generally don't know what to do with myself anymore..

omg thag must have been so cool!! i’m supposed to do like an exchange semester in an english speaking country and i have been thinking of like doing summer camp in america but. i am deathly scared of the usa so it’s on the back burner

RELIGIOUS GUILT ADAMMNM 😭😭😭 i think it’d be very sexy if reader had like a seduction position in this. reader is doing this for the money + some extra credit she gets for working with children

so she’s very much teasing adam. bending down in front of him, her buttons pop open only when adam is around, her white shirt getting wet and see through, licking her popsicle Like That while looking into his eyes. nothing is better than teasing a repressed church boy. so what if they end up between the trees in the middle of the night?

adam is hissing at reader and calling her harlot and temptress. wants nothing more than to fuck some decency into her. when he wakes up the next day in his bed he’s having a crisis

WAITTT!! IMAGE THIS WITH VIRIGIN ADAM!!!

blushing virgin adam who loses his mind when he sees your bra strap. the camp counsellor go swimming and you’re a bit isolated from the group with adam. you flash him your tits to mess with him more and the poor guy can’t leave the water for the next 30 minutes. he insists on swimming some more rounds alone so he can sleep better later (yeah as if) and you stay back a bit to gather your things and then you bend over while you’re on the shore and adam in the water, you push your bathing suit panties to the side to give adam a nice view of your pussy. when you hear him choke and splutter on the lake water you cover yourself again while laughing at him

adam wants nothing more than to fuck you. it’s embarrassing how he has to pump his dick to the thought and memory of you every night. but he also holds himself back simply because he knows how wrong it is. you’re like the devil with the way you keep tempting him

[fruityyamenrunner]

yudkowsky is, frankly, a bad fellow. I don't think he did try to make people not be cultists. I think he tried to make people be cultists. he may have been trying to try to not make people be cultists, but he failed, and this is what religion is for. when you recognise you are that kind of a guy and develop insight into your problem, you're supposed to get into the religion that exists for people with your problem, not make it worse.

there are very well established ways to help people not be cultists, and he ignored most of them, because he didn't want to not ignore them. you don't encourage apocalyptic fantasies, you don't stir up sexual intrigue, you don't make wild claims like you need to gather mathematical geniuses who will discover The Decision Equation for dealing with gods, all of which will require rich and bohemian people's money, you don't moderate a redditlike bulletin board for people to share their most destabilising thoughts, and so on.

[notmorbid]

big swiss.

dialogue prompts from big swiss: a novel by jen beagin.

your aura is the size of a barge.

so you do have feelings?

i'm a shit-thinker, not a shit-talker.

where are you from, originally?

do you sing? are you a singer?

i don't use what happened to me as an excuse.

i'm a worker, not a wallower.

trauma doesn't get you a lifelong 'get out of jail free' card.

my siblings are dicks. i'd never die for them.

you seem disconnected from your body.

have you ever seen so many narcissists gathered in one place? be honest.

we hate all the same things.

why would you google such a thing?

people are almost never articulate about their pain.

there's not a lot of shame in this town.

it's not haunted. it's cursed, which is slightly different.

i never expected to feel this way again.

enough about me. did you have an okay childhood?

i've always been drawn to darksiders.

we just met. i don't want to scare you.

did you fit in, or were you a weirdo?

sleeping alone is my greatest unfiltered joy.

sounds like you read my diary.

call me before you do anything stupid, okay? promise.

perhaps you're unaware of it, but your every thought is written on your face.

i'm rarely lonely because i like my own brain.

anger can be cleansing, too.

better the devil you know.

aren't you afraid of getting caught?

you could talk to a hole in the wall.

i can't have more than one friend at a time.

people only live like this if they're on really good drugs.

i wish i saw myself in you.

do people say 'boss' anymore? you know, as a synonym for 'cool'?

a group of vultures is called a 'committee', which is kind of cute.

don't finish my sentences.

i don't respond well to verbal compliments. they seem phony to me.

dog parks are for people, not dogs.

did you just say what i think you said?

first thought, worst thought.

it feels like we already know each other.

i'm a thinker, not a feeler.

do i seem gay to you?

i was born with bags under my eyes.

what's more off-putting than namedropping?

i wouldn't know what to do with money, except piss it away.

are you going to make obscure references all night?

are you always this intense?

i distrust people pleasers.

you can't steal from the library. it's extremely bad luck.

luck is my only religion.

i don't feel like myself. or maybe i feel more like myself.

you've been standing there for twenty minutes.

last night i dreamed there were eight of you, and i didn't know which one was real.

i feel like you're hiding something from me, but i can't figure out what it is.

i think about you when you're not around.

don't tell me you talk to me in your head.

i fantasized about your forearms for weeks.

i might be growing a third eye.

lie next to me for a minute.

you already have what you're looking for. it's already there, inside you.

i'm feeling pretty gay, to be honest.

you look incredible for your age. you know that, right?

i watch porn now, thanks to you.

i am, in fact, a terrible actor. friend. human being.

stories change, depending on the audience. everybody knows that.

can you see what kind of night i've had?

you have the most expressive mouth i've ever seen.

you're not as detached as you think.

have you ever been happy?

i feel like a patch of moving fog, most of the time.

your ability to compartmentalize bewilders me.

you should try living in the world. or, i don't know, reading a newspaper.

i feel like i'm accessing and inhabiting one of my past lives.

i feel radicalized. ready to fight.

it's an omen. one of us is about to die.

you look more alive than you have in years.

are the words 'adult' and 'adultery' related?

i missed you. grievously.

what is that scent you're wearing?

i've been trying to ease my way into telling you about it.

before we met, i felt frozen. now i'm a puddle on the floor.

there's an air of doom about you.

you seem profoundly lonely.

so i make people want to kill themselves?

i tend to attract damaged people. broken toys.

i love being in public with you.

i am a master of the charade.

i never pity the rich.

do you consider me distant and unfeeling?

there's something actually wrong with you.

confess. unburden yourself. take responsibility.

we're not 'dating'. don't be disgusting.

i'm having an allergic reaction to your horrible personality.

i think we might be in love.

i had a very intense dream about ____ the other night.

what's happening to you?

one of the pitfalls of same-sex relationships? you can't break down in peace in public restrooms.

flowering dogwoods are bisexual. like us.

your 'tough girl' routine is pretty transparent, at this point.

it wouldn't be paranoia if i had any control over it.

you don't seem afraid to take emotional risks.

are you trying to get me to leave you?

you'll have to reinvent yourself.

do you know how many bathrooms i've cried in? thirteen.

i don't trust you right now, but i do care about you.

maybe you should try sitting with your discomfort.

i'd rather live like an animal than in some fantasy where people only have control over me if i let them.

you millennials and your utopias, i swear to god. you're so attached to your vision, to your virtue, to your supposedly good intentions. to being on the right side of everything.

why is it so dark in here?

i called and called but you weren't picking up, so i started walking.

you don't have a casual bone in your body. not one.

get under the covers. i'll sit with you until you fall asleep.

i'm always suspicious of people who openly worship their families.

if you can't even say it, maybe it's not something you should be doing.

you must have dirt on everyone in town.

i'm not done with you. i'm not sure i'll ever be.

this is a gossip-free zone.

you don't seem like a horse person.

your world seems like a good place to disappear.

you need to have more compassion for yourself.

i know my heart seems like it's in one piece, but it's not. it's all smashed up.

i was just looking for a way to feel better.

i've survived a thing or two, same as you.

you give up too easily. even in arguments.

is there anyone you actually care about?

i chose you. over and over.

i've never been more myself with anyone. including myself.

we all have an inner shithead. maybe you need to shake hands with yours.

i was too ashamed to tell you, or anyone else.

sometimes it's hard to let go of a secret companion, even if they're shitty company.

[maikosmind]

Squid Game Analysis:

Warning: All of the analysis that you will read is not professional by any means. These are just personal ideas coming from a fan of the series.

I am sure a lot of you have watched or at least heard of this series but just in case you have no idea what it’s about i’ll tell you. 

Squid Game is a K-drama series written and directed by  Hwang Dong-hyuk. It is survival, thriller/horror series that revolves around a secret contest where 456 players, all of whom are in deep financial hardship, risk their lives to play a series of deadly children's games for the chance to win a ₩45.6 billion (US$39.86 million -Okay wtf that's a lot) prize.

The series follows our main character Seong Gi-hun who is struggling financially and therefore joins the game in hopes of winning and paying off his debt. (Fun fact his surname has two meanings one is “ succeed” the other one is “last name”. I found that absolutely hilarious and interesting)

The squid games series currently has 2 seasons with the third season being expected sometime in 2025 (I personally need it quick bcs i can’t handle cliffhangers)

Allrighty then let’s start with my yapping shall we :D

WARNING: IT WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS WATCH THE SERIES FIRST IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILERS

Season 1 vs Season 2

Now I wanna talk specifically about this because I had a talk with my friends and family about this the other day and I am incredibly passionate about my opinion.

A lot of people have been arguing about which season is the better one and in general I saw people liking s1 better. 

Now i wanna talk about this because i personally think these 2 seasons can’t be compared that easily. It’s because they tell different stories. S1 is a story about survival whereas S2 is about resistance, some type of revolution. 

In S1 you see these characters giving it their all, not knowing who they can trust or if they should even trust each other. We do see them trust each other of course. But it’s way riskier than it was in S2 because there is no community whatsoever. 

In S1 the situation is like when you play a war game in solo mode. You have friends on the call and you did promise that you wouldn’t kill each other but time is ticking and there can only be one winner. There is always a chance your friend could betray you(Very shit explanation ik but have no way of explaining this). It's survival of the fittest situation. And the games went as it was intended. 

S2 was different though. Because they added a new rule. A rule that changed the dynamics between players. After each round of the game everyone would vote whether or not to keep playing the games. If they chose not to then all the money gathered would be distributed evenly and everyone would leave. And after you voted you get a patch on your jacket that indicates whether you voted to go or to stay. This created some type of segregation, two different communities. That’s what I meant by saying that trusting someone was easier in S2. The players were evenly parted into groups where they had common ground with each other. 

As you can see the floors clearly indicate a separation as well.

As the director said:

“They introduce benefits that weren’t provided in season 1, forcing players to split into whether to continue or stop. This intensifies the conflict and confrontation. Currently, we’re seeing an increase in division, conflict, and hatred, not only in Korean society but globally, based on religion, ideology, background, gender, and race. In season 2, I wanted to symbolically represent this by dividing the group into O and X and highlighting how they divide, hate, and confront each other. That’s what I tried to portray this season…”

The series always has a clear focus on this topic, whether with the differences of the players and the vips or the general difference between players as well. (This is actually what the series is all about. As the director states“I wanted to write a story that was an allegory or fable about modern capitalist society, something that depicts an extreme competition, somewhat like the extreme competition of life.” )

One of the things that proves this is how during the games the female players tend to be discarded more often with the thought of them being weak. This idea of male dominance is a huge problem in our world and a very noticeable one  in Korea as well where the series takes place.

Back to the main point, in S2 a group of players fought against the system to try and stop everything for good with Gi-hun leading them on. It is a revolution. They know their fates and are fighting against it. It isn’t clear if they will be successful or not but despite everything they still try. Bcs that’s what people do. We always fight against the inevitable just to be able to say we tried. That’s the philosophy of life. You live knowing there is an end. But still you will fight against it. You will fight against death at every corner of your life and hang on until you can’t. That’s the end of the road. Living is a revolution against death and spitting on it’s face. 

That’s why S2 is so important. Besides my personal thoughts of S2 being a bridge season between S1 and S3 it tells us a very human story. It tells us our world. 

Survival

Revolution 

Victory/Tragedy

Survival is starting life. Survival represents S1. 

Revolution is living. Revolution represents S2

Victory or Tragedy is death. And that’s what’s gonna be S3

SEASON 3

Now the reason why I said victory or tragedy is because obviously we still don’t know how the series will end, and I don't really have any thoughts about it since I don't know if Hwang Dong-hyuk is an optimist or not. I have not seen any of his other works but I did do a bit of research and I saw that one of his other films named Silenced has quite a bittersweet ending (It actually looks very interesting. I will watch it sometimes and i think you should too) so maybe he’ll do something similar. 

Another thing i noticed was the fact that he is from Ssangmun-dong as well just like Gi-hun and graduated from SNU (Seoul National University) like Sang-woo. So it’s one of his works that he has an emotional connection with. He also wrote this in a time of his life where he was struggling financially. 

So maybe, possibly Gi-hun is almost a self-insert for him. One of the articles I read stated:

 “He spent his free time at a Manhwabang (South Korean manga cafe) reading Japanese survival manga like Battle Royale, Liar Game and Gambling Apocalypse: Kaiji and Japanese survival manga such as Battle Royale, Liar Game and Gambling Apocalypse.  Hwang compared the situation of the characters in these works to his own current situation and came up with the idea of participating in such a survival game to earn money to get out of debt, which led him to write a movie script on the concept during 2009.”

So basically I actually have no idea how this will end. But whatever it will be, I believe it’s gonna be fantastic.